#reshaper ic

[astrumocs]

Childhood Promises

POV: Otavah; The Reshaper Characters: Otavah Minera (The Reshaper) & Adenza Ickore (The Lustrous) Setting: Incredibly distant past, when the two were both in their early to mid teens.

----- Google Docs Link -----

You throw the alien fruit- an orange, you’d been told- up into the air, and catch it with one hand. You do this repeatedly, idly, as you attempt to do the same thing with your other hand, although using magic instead. It floats untouched up into the air, higher and higher with each twitch of your fingers, before returning to hover just above you.

The motions interchange, one after the other, until eventually, you find a steady rhythm to do both simultaneously. Once you hit your stride, your brows knit with concentration and you continue these motions for easily the next ten minutes.

“Minera, I wish to speak with you!” calls an annoyingly familiar voice, beneath where you sit amongst the tree branches. Their tone was calm, only raised in volume enough to catch your attention.

Unfortunately, your annoyance doesn’t stop there, because you were so busy focusing on your fruit-tossing that you didn’t notice their approach. Your face twists as the two oranges fall from the air and bump you straight in the forehead.

“Ow- What do you want, Sole? Can’t you see I’m busy?” you grumble, one hand moving to soothe the aching spot on your skin as you turn to look down at them.

Adenza replies, tilting their head curiously and speaking with a little smirk clear in their voice, “With tossing oranges? It did not seem too important that we couldn’t talk.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you from all the way down there over my terrible headache.”

The gold blood giggles, “Then I’ll come up to meet you, how’s that?”

“How about n--” You’re not even able to finish your refusal before their glassy wings have carried them up onto a tree branch beside you. They’re looking down at you, head hovering over yours. A big pout crosses your face as you push their shoulder, sitting up so they’re no longer looking down at you.

“Oops, too late,” Adenza says, already swinging their feet lazily.

You roll your eyes, turning properly now to look them right in their silver and orange eyes. “Ugh, fastidio, you’re my least favorite troll, you know?”

Adenza only continues to smile at you, until a moment passes and a mischievous look crosses their face, “Actually, I think you like me… don’t you, Otavah?”

Immediately you scoff, turning your head away from them indignantly and crossing your arms, “As if- I don’t get attached to people like the rest of you do.” And yet, there’s the faintest bit of blush dusting your cheeks when you say this. Frustratingly.

Adenza hums, mulling over your reply a moment, giving you enough time to shake off their comment and look back at them.

“Why do you phrase things like that?” They finally ask, expression more focused and discerning this time around. “Like you’re different from us?” Adenza’s eyes are brighter now, reflecting a flare of their inner light. One might call it symbolic of a burning curiosity, something that would only have a bittersweet irony down the line.

Immediately you tense a bit, giving them a wary look and closing yourself off slightly. “I didn’t say anything weird, mind your business.”

Gentle, that’s how you’d describe the way their next words came out, and understanding, too.

“It’s okay, Otavah. Do you want to know a secret?” they lean towards you slightly, like they’re about to whisper something to you.

You can’t help it, you’ve always been the curious type, so you lean in slightly as if to indicate that you did indeed wish to know it.

“I’m weird too.” Their smile is serene.

There’s not a second that passes before you roll your eyes and groan, “That’s hardly a secret! I already know you’re weird, even without the fact you’ve also got wings.”

“I mean I’m not a troll either, silly,” Their gaze falls down to their fingertips as a warm light glows from the surface of each one, then they flicker their gaze up at you. “I think I’m a star, like the ones in the sky.”

“Oh? And what makes you think you’re something as amazing as that? You’re just trying to seem better than me aren’t you- came here to rub that in my face or something?” You’re on your feet now, looking down at them as if to compensate for your sensitive ego being hurt.

“Being an alien is amazing too, you shouldn’t compare yourself to me so much.” They stand as well, regarding you with a playful air as if to ease your self-consciousness.

You blink in shock at their astute observation, not fully knowing how they could possibly know such a thing about you. “Wh- I- How did you know that, no one knows that!” 

After your childish outburst, you manage to realize the gravity of such a reveal. Mutants were barely tolerable around here, but an alien? You’re not strong enough to defend yourself yet--

“Don’t make me hurt you…” Your expression turns serious- or as serious as an inexperienced with combat child can muster, anyway, and you raise your hands up in a defensive position.

“I won’t tell, I promise.” They assure you, hands outstretched slightly in your direction.

“How do I know that? You’ve always disliked me-” You rebut quickly.

Adenza’s expression turns somber, which isn’t all that special except for the fact they’ve never directed it towards you before. “You’re my friend, Otavah.”

The admission causes your hands to fall and your expression to settle a little. “You have to make a deal with me, then I’ll believe you.”

“A deal? ...Do I get anything out of it?”

That gives you pause, your face scrunching as you think before you make a quiet little ‘oh!’ of realization to yourself. “I won’t harm you! You promise me you won’t tell, I promise I won’t harm you.”

“Ever?” They question you, surprised.

“Sure, why not-- But you have to promise seriously, handshake and everything, that’s how the magic works.” You say completely seriously, immediately extending your hand to them, urgent with the want to secure your secret… and not yet aware that you didn’t need to hold hands about it.

“It’s a deal then.” they smile brightly as they grab your hand and shake it, now forced to keep your secret to themself.

“It’s a deal,” you say in reply, bound to never cause them harm.

[cogitxtio]

Amiya filled my office with fresh flowers today.

[threadbareturnbacks]

You know what? Happy Disability Month to those who were disabled by accident. Cars, skis, ice, sand, rocks, horses, just plain bad luck. Broken bones and backs that never heal. Shoulders that can't lift or move right. Wrists that don't turn. Hands that can't grasp. Brains that don't work right anymore. Legs that don't move anymore and eyes that won't recover.

The shame, the blame, the frustration, the wishful thinking that tears you apart. The beauty of small victories and simple kindness. The community you build. Reshaping a life with no warning. Mourning for the person you once were. Joyfully embracing the person you now are. Happy Disability Month to you too (even if you aren't ready to use that word yet)

[messenger-of-babel]

Sugared Kisses

Summary: You build gingerbread houses with Bruce and he wonders what he did to deserve you. (Bruce Wayne x reader)

Word Count: 1.4K

Notes: Second posting for the day to try and catch up, a little treat for you all as an apology. Two Bruce posts back to back and two fics of around the same length same day. Crazy. Merry Christmas!!!

RiRi <33

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"What is that supposed to be?" you laugh, looking over to the mess on Bruce's board next to you. The billionaire drops the pieces of gingerbread in his hands with a defeated sigh, the cookies clattering to the tray.

"A car." he sighs, eyes tired and saddled.

"A car, huh?" you say, stopping work on your own gingerbread house to look at his. If you could even call it a house, it was a deflated mess of frosting and biscuit.

"Yeah," he says gruffly. "See, the wheels were supposed to go here..." he picks up some circular discs of gingerbread in one hand and presses it to the larger mess of cookie, which spills between his fingers. "Then I'd put the doors here, and it was going to have this shape, and then, see?" He looks over to you, eyes desperately pleading that you understand what he's trying to explain. "Then it looks like the Batmobile." He mumbles, turning his face away in embarrassment.

You let out a giggle, lifting a hand to his cheek to bring him facing you once more.

"I see it." you smile, kissing him on the cheek. "Maybe we can reshape it like this..." you hum, placing your hands over his. Gently you guide his hands, picking up the soft gingerbread and pushing it back into a box shape. "If you hold it here, we can get it to set."

You leave his hands once he's holding it in place, picking up one of the piping bags to your left. Carefully you pipe where the cookie meets before going over a second coat. "Move your hand a bit." you murmur, tongue poking between your lips as you try to revive his gingerbread sculpture. You hear him laugh quietly above you, lifting the heels of his palms so you can squeeze the nozzle under.

Bruce looks down at you, face almost level with the table and eyes narrowed in determination and focus. He feels the smile settle on his face as naturally as breathing, shoulders relaxing as the tension melted out of them. These were the moments that he forgot that he was Batman, and that under the dress shirt he had rolled to his elbows, cuts littered his biceps, and his stomach and chest were painted black and blue. He forgot that he had a multibillion-dollar empire in his hands and more voicemails from board members in his phone than contacts. He got to just be Bruce, pure and unfiltered. for a moment the tiredness seeped out of his eyes, and he felt ten years younger when he was with you. No, he actually felt his age for once, like the world wasn't spinning on its axis at double speed anymore. He felt like a young man, strong and capable, and not the weary heart that surpassed Alfred's with baggage. He felt when he was with you that he was the Bruce he was supposed to be, the Bruce he could have been had that night never come to pass. So, when he looked at you, so carefree and determined to make this gingerbread batmobile with him simply because you wanted to spend time with him, he finally felt like a man that his parents in heaven could be proud of.

"What are you looking at?" you huff, making him look down at you. you've slithered between both of his arms to ice the doors he tried to attach, a smear of icing on your forehead. He casts his signature grin down to you, shaking his head. "You, of course, darling." he murmurs amused. "Have you finished?"

"Just about." you grin, pushing hair from your eyes.

"c'mere," he says, pulling you up by the forearms once he's let go of the gingerbread mess he'd made. grabbing a napkin form the end of the table he wets it lightly before dragging it across our forehead in small strokes, making sure the sugar melted off your forehead. "You got a little personal with the creation there, dear." he chuckles. god he wishes you could look at him with those grateful eyes forever. The way that your lips curls at the corners when you smile at him.

"And you said that this was a silly idea." you grin, looping your arms around his neck. His arms settle to your waist, and he bumps your foreheads together.

"Yes, well, I've known to be wrong at times." he playfully scoffs.

"And is this one?"

"This is most definitely one." he grins, pulling you close for a kiss. The taste of you is coated with a faint spice, icing powder and small flicks of frosting accidentally coating your lips. You respond happily, the smile that splits your face breaking the seal of the kiss.

"Have you been stealing the gingerbread?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"No." you protest, batting his pec with mock offense.

"Then why can I taste it on you?" he teases back, rocking with you side to side.

"Maybe you’re the one that’s been stealing it. You gingerbread stealer, Christmas thief."

He shakes his head, laughing. "You're impossible."

"You love me anyways." you grin, kissing his chin.

"That I do." he says softly, looking down. "That I do."

When you both finished your creations, you displayed them in the kitchen alongside the rest of the families. Alfred normally made the one gingerbread house, seen by guests at the annual Gala and late year clients of Wayne Industries. His was a large replica of Wayne tower this year, dusted with snow and melted sugar-stained windows.

Next to it sat Dick's, the one who had convinced the rest of the family to make gingerbread house this year. It was a simple traditional house, with sugar spearmint leaves for bushes and a gumdrop walkway. It was a little broken in the roof, the proof of his ambition lying in the chocolate Santa he had placed in the chimney. As a result, the roof was slowly sinking in from the weight.

Tim was the only other sibling to have participated in Grayson's forced bonding, Jason being out of state for something suddenly and the rest of the manor having their own holiday plans. That just left you two with the toy boys and Alfred this year. In comparison he had created what seemed to be the most structurally sound house. "What is this?" Bruce asked puzzled. you put your house on the table, bending down to look at it closer.

"I don't know," you reply equally confused. "Some sort of condo?"

"It's so...boxy." Bruce hums.

"I think it's supposed to be high end and modern. Look, there's a driveway and this must be a garage." You point at another section of the house. The whole thing looked like a luxury villa, supported by beams made from chocolate swirl sticks. Bruce hums.

"Well at least it's not going to fall apart." he shakes his head. "Unlike this one." he holds up his own creation. When he's placed it in line next to yours (a tasteful beach house complete with surfboards out the front) you pinch his side.

"I love it." you smile, leaning into his side and he puts an arm over your shoulder. "Did you ever build gingerbread houses as a kid?"

He shakes his head. "No, not really. I only got to watch Alfred; this is my first time."

"Well, be proud of yourself, Mr Wayne." you tease, pointing to his batmobile. "It's a gorgeous first build."

"You think so?" He asks, smiling down at you.

"I know so." you reply.

Together you had fixed the batmobile and decorated it. It was a replica of one of his earlier models, back when he first started being the Dark Knight. It held together well, decorated sparingly so it looked festive and not tacky. You had helped him cut shapes from sweets to decorate the dash with the buttons, and the wheels were covered with split Oreos.

you don’t miss the way that his eyes soften and light up when you compliment him and his car, like a young boy proud of making the podium in a race or getting a ribbon at the science fair. "Let's do this again next year." you hum, bumping his shoulder with your head.

He looks at your two creations side by side, smiling softly before he looks up for a moment. he whispers a small thank you to the two angels watching over him who had brought you into his life, before dropping a kiss to the crown of your head.

"I think that will make a wonderful Christmas." he whisper softly.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way from now on.

[scugbox]

OVERANALYZING NEURON FLIES. THE TAG LIMIT HAS STOPPED ME BUT IM GOING TO CONTINUE HERE THEN SINCE I STILL HAVE SOME THOUGHTS.

About the orange goop, which I'm convinced is probably dead(?) neuron flies, I think it would taste VERY strange. Definitely picks up some taste of metal/dust from the surface it lays on. Can't decide whether it should be extremely salty of unbearably dull. Leaning towards the second one. A very tasteless, sticky substance that covers up the entire inside of your mouth when being chewed. It takes ages to get it all down your throat and it leaves a faint taste of metal/blood behind. Yikes. Probably the reason why nothing else in the game eats it.

Another thing I thought of is that absorbing neuron fly nutrients would make spearmaster more energised and clear minded. Not really a taste, but I don't think thing fella CAN taste. Instead I propose this. Plus a slight teeny tiny electrical wave going through them every time they puncture neurones.

At the very end I would just like to say that although I have zero evidence for it and I will never get any evidence for it, I just can so clearly imagine nsh's neurons tasting fruity. No pun intended. I just think they taste like gummies. Still giving the same sour-like sensation on the tongue. And srs's would be spicy, no comment. Also very warm. Sliver's would taste like andruts pre collapse and like literal nothing post collapse. Nothing with a dash of whatever karma flowers may taste like.

Uhhh nothing else to add here if anyone decided to actually read all of that I wish upon you a lot of delicious neuron flies in the future. Although I don't think I made them seem tasty. Cause I don't really think they are. But hey. We're all neuron flies enjoyers here.

Personally I think they're staticky, gelatinous, and flavorless

Please reblog for sample size I saw this post, someone asked if the texture was egg, and now I'm really curious

[jonathansthickthighs]

My Sweetest Heart 2: Yandere! Fushiguro Toji x Reader

Description: You have a one night stand with Toji and now he won’t leave you alone.

Part 1 here

Part 3 here

Part 4 here

Part 5 here

Trigger Warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, female reader, AFAB reader, toxic behavior, stalking, desperate toji, no smut this chapter, implied smut, alternative universe (no curses), age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, toji is in his mid 30’s)

A/N: im so overwhelmed by the amount of notes on my first post, tysm :’). This is a soft, slow chapter. Steamy smut next chapter 🥵

Not edited!

It had been a week.

Disconsolateness spread through Toji’s chest like a wildfire, the wretched feeling not leaving his soul since that damned night. But was it really damned? Toji dreamt of that night from the moment he set his gaze on you, but why. Why did you have to behave like he was nothing to you? He was certain no man would ever make you experience the ecstasy he made you feel, the pleasurable sensations you felt only he could provide. Yet, you haven’t answered a single one of his texts. The extraneous feelings were clouding his mind, making his thinking unclear.

The things you do to him.

If you could squeeze your way into Toji’s mind, you would be able to see the profoundness of his love for you, but he wasn’t sure how long he could let you explore his mind before you fell into an deep abysm of pure darkness. He would never allow that darkness to collide with the love he held for you. He would never in his life time hurt you in any way, nevertheless he would not hesitate to hurt —kill— any man who did as much as lay his eyes on you. You were his one and only treasure and he was never one for sharing.

Would it seem too desperate to call you? He already refrained himself from texting you more than twice a day, but the way you were ignoring him was making the hole his chest feel larger with each painful minute that passed from the lack of notice from you. He spent the last seven days watching you from afar, which was nothing new to him, but he felt the progress he made with you had dissipated. Why did you have to behave like he was nothing to you?

You were right across the street from him.

You were at a local café, sipping on some iced coffee. He knew you lied to him when you told him you didn’t drink coffee; he had watched you enter and leave the place countless times. Thus it was another reason why he felt hurt by you. He was aware of how despicable he was, nevertheless that’s not how he wanted you to perceive him. That’s why when you started making all those excuses, he felt like you were seeing right through him, like you could see how bad of a person he truly was. In the labyrinth of his soul, he felt an inexorable need to reshape your gaze upon him, the same way he would mold clay under the weight of his hefty fingers. Even if the whole world saw him as scum, he harbored a silent hope to be seen through a lens untainted by judgment by you.

Each beat of his heart was chanting a plea for you to fill the void within. He wanted to demonstrate he had a vulnerable tenderness reserved only for you.

He observed you chatting vigorously with your friends —the same ones from that night. He wondered if you told them about him. Would you go into detail about everything he did to you? Would you start getting flashbacks from all the things he did to you? He could envision the supple flesh of your thighs rubbing together, feeling your underwear dampen from the memories of him mounting you, making you squirm under him. Toji felt himself harden in his pants at the picture of you getting all hot and bothered because of him. A recollection of memories of your enchanting body flooded his mind each passing day, his groin aching with a ceaseless desire to be engulfed by your tight, warm cavern once more. He needed you more than he ever needed anything in his entire miserable life.

He decided the only way he could reclaim your attention was in the flesh, so before he could form another thought about it, his large figure plotted his course toward the café with gumption.

He strode into the aesthetically pleasing looking place, with practiced nonchalance, feigning ignorance of your presence as he made his way to the counter to order some simple black coffee. Once he paid for the overpriced coffee, he turned straight to the table you and your friends were occupying. You were laughing beautifully at something silly your friend had said and in an instant, you locked eyes with Toji.

A smirk tugged the corners of his scarred lips. He could tell you were experiencing a sense of inner turmoil running through you. Your friends noticed your shift in mood, their gazes pivoting towards the source of your abrupt change in demeanor. When they noticed what you were looking, they started giggling teasingly questioning if that was “the hottie you banged the other night” quite loudly. It was safe to say your friend weren’t ones for being subtle.

On the other hand, Toji’s chest swelled with pride upon learning that you did, in fact, tell, your friends about him. He was starting to believe that approaching you in the presence of your friends had been a nothing short of brilliant. He was well aware of his talents and it was abundantly clear that the most conspicuous one was his charm with women. He was going to win over your friends so they could influence you into giving him a chance, knowing all too well the powerful sway that a woman’s friends held over her decisions —especially when it comes to men. He was going to use your friends to his advantage with unyielding determination.

Toji could see you visibly tense up as he made his way to your table.

As soon as he was standing in front of you, your named rolled out of his mouth almost seductively, the smirk never leaving his perfectly sculpted face. “I hope I’m not intruding, wasn’t expecting running into ya here. It’s so great to see you!” He exclaimed without forgetting to greet your friends, forging politeness. He couldn’t give two fucks about your friends, but in order to execute his plan it had to be done.

Your lips curved upwards, a hesitant smile forming on your face. “Toji, wow! It’s good to see you too.” You rose from your seat awkwardly extending your arms in a friendly embrace. He instantly enfolded you into the embrace of his strong arms, not denying himself from indulging himself to the irresistible urge to inhale the delicious scent of your hair. Gods, if only he could live in your embrace forever. You were wearing a yellow summer dress that hugged your frame exquisitely. Holding you so close, taking in your scent, plus this little piece you were wearing had him almost coming in his pants. To make things even better for his perverted self, he was certain, by looking at your cheeks flushing with a deep hue of scarlet, that you had felt his hard on press against you while you were being embosomed by him.

Your friends gaze bore into at you expectantly as you jumped momentarily forgetting their presence. With a quick apologetic smile you hastened to introduced them. “Oh! Toji, these are my friends.” You told Toji each of their names and he nodded attentively, inwardly acknowledging that he was going to forget their names instantly. “It’s a pleasure. With all due respect, I have to say this has to be the most good looking friend group I’ve seen, quite frankly.” He playfully danced on the edge of flirtation, his words laced with a charm that clouded the insincerity of his words. And of course, your friends giggled gullibly, already smitten by the Adonis standing in front of them.

“No wonder miss ma’am here went for you. Not only are you a sight for sore eyes, you’re also good with your mouth!” Your friend teased, the rest of them agreeing with her making your cheeks deepen into a brighter shade of crimson, the flush of embarrassment spreading like fire across your delicate face. Toji knew what you were thinking. You knew exactly how good he was with his mouth, having experienced the onslaught of his fierce tongue in your cunt.

“Ah, you girls flatter me. And trust me, your pretty friend here is well aware of what this mouth is capable of.” He joked, eliciting peals of laughter from your friends.

“Girl, he got a sense of humor too? Why haven’t you married him yet?” Your other friend chimed in. In response, you laughed with a hint of discomfort, failing to understand how your friends couldn’t feel the tense atmosphere that surrounded you. You had recounted to your friends how he had been texting you nonstop for the past week, collectively agreeing to label him as nothing short of a creep. Yet, as they now met him face to face their skepticism suddenly melts away and they transform into Toji advocates? You didn’t understand. “Why don’t you sit with us, Toji? Let us get to know you a little!”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Toji chuckled, planting himself in the chair right next to yours, a little too close for your liking. He turned to you, a wide grin lighting up his features, meanwhile you settled into your seat with a frozen expression, like that of a deer in headlights. The morning after your night with him lingered in your mind, haunted by the memory of his hand grabbing your hair. Though he didn’t harm you, a sense of unease lingered, leaving you unable to shake the feeling of dread. You thought you’d never see him again, so running into him here took you by surprise.

As your other friends interrogated Toji, your best friend seized your arm, pulling you aside so she could talk to you closely. “Oh my God! You never mentioned how nice he is! Why have you been ignoring him this whole time, you bitch!” She voice came out in a furious whisper.

“I’ve told you before, I’m not looking to get into relationship at the moment and he’s so persistent. I just don’t want to lead him on.” You replied feeling annoyed at her abrupt change in demeanor. “The best men always come when you least expect them. I think you should give him a chance! Just go on one date with him and see how it goes from there on.” She insisted, her tone pleading. You were starting to feel guilty for avoiding him. Could your best friend be onto something? One date wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“Fine, but only one.”

Your best friend erupted in excitement at your agreement and sprung from her seat.

“Well girls, remember that thing we had to do? We gotta dash.” Confusion clouded the faces of your friends, prompting your best friend to shoot signals with her expressions, discreetly urging them to leave you alone with Toji. “W-wait, wha—“ Stammering in puzzlement, you attempted to grasp the situation. Your friends caught onto the unspoken cue and swiftly began gathering their belongings preparing to leave you two alone.

“Yeah, that’s right. We have plans… without you.” One of them giggled teasingly as they hurried out of the café.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

You couldn’t believe the scene unfolding before you. You made eye contact with Toji and he chuckled at your bewildered expression. “Quite the friends you’ve got.” He remarked casually, trying to hide the fact that he was shaking from excitement at being alone with you at last. He was fighting hard to conceal the thrill that vibrated beneath his skin.

You let out nervous laugh in agreement and joked, “Right. Making plans without me all the sudden.”

An awkward silence settled between you for a moment before you decided to break it, “Toji, about the texts—“

Toji interjected quickly, “Oh, don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I understand if things have been hectic lately. I’m just glad you’re okay. No pressure at all. Although, I do hope we can talk once in a while, I would like to get to know you more.” Toji mastered the art of concealing the ache of your week long indifference, cloaking his wounded heart with a facade of nonchalance. Determined to shield you from the depths of his longing, he masked his feelings, refusing to unveil his yearning for your attention.

You smiled genuinely at him for the first time since he got here. “I wouldn’t mind that at all. But, I would like to clarify that I’m not looking for a relationship right now. If we could keep things casual, I would really appreciate it.”

Toji felt a twitch in his eye; you were going to make things difficult for him. “I get it, sweetheart. No compromise.” For now.

You grinned at his acceptance and suggested, “You mentioned a mean ramen place in your texts. How about we go there now?” The realization that you were asking him on a date sent a wave of anticipation through him. Getting to talk and share his time with you again was the only thing he had been looking forward to the whole week. He let his gaze linger on your soft features, you were undeniably beautiful. He was determined to make your heart his, he knew he had to step up his game.

“I would love to, sweetheart.” Toji replied eagerly, excitement coursing through his veins. Temptingly, he added, “We could also go watch a movie at my place afterward, if you’re up for it.” You squeezed your thighs together, considering the myriad possibilities that could unfold once you two were alone at his place.

“Sure.”

[kaijuno]

About 22,000 to 23,000 years ago, an individual, most probably a young woman, undertook two perilous journeys separated by several hours, carrying a toddler at least once. It all happened at Lake Otero, a large Ice Age lake, the shore was teeming with wildlife such as mammoths, ground sloths, camels, dire wolves, American lions, and other extinct megafauna.

The trail they left behind, located in present-day White Sands National Park in New Mexico, spans 1.5 km and comprises over 400 human footprints, giving the oldest evidence of human presence in the Americas and reshaping our understanding of when the first humans arrived.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hey I absolutely love your fics and I was wondering if you could write a fic about Erik/magneto x reader and she has powers like pitch black but can’t control them and was tortured bc of them before the x men found her

I’ve had this idea for absolutely ages and would love to see how you write it :>

Comfort in the Darkness

The halls of Xavier’s mansion were quiet at night, the usual bustle of mutant life reduced to the soft hum of the building’s systems and the occasional creak of the ancient wood. Most of the residents were asleep, lost in dreams or, in some cases, nightmares. But you were wide awake.

Sleep had become a rare commodity since you had been rescued. Every time you closed your eyes, the memories came rushing back—dark, twisted things that made your stomach churn and your chest tighten. You had tried everything: reading, listening to music, even meditating as Jean had suggested, but nothing could chase away the shadows that haunted you.

Tonight, you had given up on the idea of sleep entirely. Wrapped in your blanket, you wandered through the mansion, hoping the familiar surroundings might bring some comfort. Eventually, you found yourself in the kitchen, your safe haven during sleepless nights.

The soft glow of the refrigerator light was oddly reassuring as you searched for something to take your mind off things. Your eyes landed on a tub of ice cream tucked away in the freezer. Ice cream had always been your guilty pleasure, a small comfort in a world that often seemed overwhelming.

You grabbed a spoon from the drawer and settled down at the counter, hoping the cool, sweet treat might soothe the anxiety gnawing at your insides. But even as you ate, the shadows within you stirred, the darkness that was part of you, yet something you couldn’t control.

You didn’t hear the door open, too lost in your thoughts to notice the figure that had quietly entered the kitchen.

“You should be asleep,” came a deep, familiar voice, the sound of it low and gentle in the stillness.

Startled, you looked up to see Erik Lehnsherr—Magneto—standing in the doorway. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes that you had come to associate with moments like this, when the world was quiet and it was just the two of you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Erik didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he walked over to where you were sitting, his presence a calming force in the oppressive darkness of your thoughts. He glanced at the ice cream and the spoon in your hand, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“You’re not alone in that,” he murmured, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside you. “Many of us here have trouble finding peace at night.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. You had seen the signs in others—the haunted looks, the way some of them carried themselves as if they were constantly waiting for the next fight. The mansion was a sanctuary, but it couldn’t erase the past.

Erik’s gaze fell to the spoon in your hand, and with a small, almost imperceptible motion, he used his powers. The metal of the spoon shifted, reshaping itself with a quiet creak. When you looked down, the spoon was no longer a simple utensil—it had transformed into a delicate metal flower, its petals smooth and cool to the touch.

You stared at the flower, surprised by the gesture. “For me?” you asked, looking up at him.

Erik’s expression softened, his eyes meeting yours. “Yes,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “A small gift, to remind you that there is beauty in your power, even when it feels uncontrollable.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, focusing on the flower instead. It was a reminder that even the most chaotic forces could be shaped into something beautiful, something meaningful. And Erik, more than anyone, understood that struggle.

“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching the flower to your chest as if it were a lifeline.

Erik reached out, his hand gently covering yours. The touch was warm, grounding you in the present. “You’ve been through more than anyone should have to endure,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. “But you are not alone anymore. You have people here who care about you, who will help you find control.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear that, to be reminded that you were safe now, that you weren’t fighting this battle by yourself anymore.

As you sat there, the ice cream forgotten, Erik began to speak in his native language—German. His voice was low and melodic, the unfamiliar words flowing like a lullaby. You didn’t understand what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. The sound of his voice was enough, comforting and steady, a beacon in the dark.

The tension in your body slowly began to ease, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up with you. You leaned against Erik, your eyes growing heavy as the soothing rhythm of his voice lulled you closer to sleep.

Before long, you couldn’t fight it anymore. You drifted off, your head resting on Erik’s shoulder, the metal flower still clutched in your hand.

Erik noticed the moment your breathing evened out, your body going limp against his. He fell silent, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. For a long moment, he just sat there, letting you sleep against him, the rise and fall of your chest a small sign of peace after so much turmoil.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, Erik slipped one arm under your legs and the other around your back. With ease, he lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You stirred slightly, but didn’t wake, your face buried against his shoulder.

Erik carried you through the quiet halls of the mansion, his footsteps soft against the polished floors. When he reached your room, he nudged the door open with a gentle push of his power, stepping inside and making his way to your bed.

He laid you down gently, tucking the blankets around you with surprising tenderness. For a moment, he just stood there, watching you sleep, a faint smile on his lips. You looked so peaceful, so much younger when you weren’t burdened by the weight of your powers and your past.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch as light as a feather. “Schlaf gut,” he murmured in German, the words a soft wish for a peaceful night’s rest.

With one last look at you, Erik turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He would stay close tonight, just in case you needed him. You were safe now, and he intended to keep it that way.

[bigskydreaming]

Remember that time I wrote this post and then when Bobby's next book was ultimately revealed a few months later it was......Duggan's X-Men book and he proceeded to do all of this AGAIN for another year and a half?

Good times, good times. Totally didn't play myself here at ALL.

Just realized…..Marauders #27, the end of the current volume, came out today and that means its over! Bobby and Christian are no longer Duggan’s to……

*checks notes* 

- literally only write two pages worth of appearances every ten issues, during which Bobby just flexes with his powers in ways he’s definitely been written doing for twenty years but for some reason Duggan is always convinced he invented, Christian just drinks martinis, talks about his ‘mutant name’ and pretends only existing to project an air of ennui counts as having a personality, shhh, its fine, and this is considered writing two high profile gay characters in a relationship by a self-proclaimed ally who loudly congratulates himself on twitter for putting them front and center in his book. 

By which in retrospect, after the two and a half years he had them solely to himself, we can now definitively conclude he meant: on the covers of a handful of issues that they largely don’t even appear in and in an even smaller handful of issues where their only actual pagetime has them totally disconnected from everything actually going on in the book plotwise and thus completely fucking irrelevant, if one were inclined to be generous in their assessment of said narrative relevancy.

No but literally this is the last issue featuring the Marauders cast Duggan assembled for this book, of which Bobby was hyped up as one of the main leads as opposed to the dozen or so Hellfire Club randos which were NOT hyped up as the leads or even mentioned in the initial marketing for the book at all, but turned out very much were the actual main leads…..and what was Bobby doing during the Marauders’ final mission together?

Well, he was busy….not being there. Because he randomly decided to go to Niffleheim and fight frost giants because…..not really sure. But he did ask Christian to let Emma and Kate know that he wasn’t in town or this dimension at the moment, and that oh yeah also once he was done dunking on frost giants for the ego boost, he and Christian were going to go on vacation in Ibiza and probably not come back. I’m not even kidding. That actually happened. Why did Bobby feel a pressing need to fight frost giants? Were frost giants ever a part of this book or a threat the Marauders faced or remotely relevant to their mission statement of mutant rescue or even somehow connected to the Hellfire Trading Company plots? Nope. He just…..went off to go fight frost giants in the final issue while the rest of the team went on a mission to steal eight billion bucks from those Verendi brats. Because hey, why not. Makes about as much sense as anything else he did in this book.

BUT WHATEVER. HAHAHAHAHA ITS OVER, Bobby and Christian aren’t Duggan’s anymore, they’re headed off to another book WHICH WOULD REALLY BE GREAT IF MARVEL WOULD ACTUALLY SAY WHAT BOOK THAT IS NOW. 

(Like seriously what is the deal with pretty much every Destiny of X book having been announced as well as most of their casts and yet for some reason nobody seems able to just say what book Bobby and Christian are going to, just that they’re definitely going to be in another book and that’s why they won’t be in Orlando’s Marauders, cuz like he did want them but they weren’t available for him to use?)

Honestly though I literally don’t care at this point because wherever they’re headed at least it won’t be Duggan writing them and that’s good enough for me right now. Hey maybe whomever IS actually writing them next will actually….write them? We can only hope!

I’m gonna keep crossing my fingers they’re headed to Al Ewing’s X-Men Red title, because that would be a dream come true. He’s actually someone I would trust to write Bobby well and prioritize him, and I love the rest of his X-Men Red cast and would kill to see Bobby alongside Ororo, Gabe, Nathan, Berto and Erik, dealing with the Great Ring and opposing Brand’s machinations, like omg that would be so ideal. Honestly Arakko remains the part of the current X-books I’m most interested in and it just makes sense for that to be their destination given that what little focus Bobby got in the past few months in Marauders, pretty much the only content specific to his character or stated interests was all about Arakko, so like, I can’t imagine where else they’d be sending him or why, but whatevs. Guess we’ll see. 

There’s still been no announcement of what book Alyssa Wong is writing for the X-offices in Destiny of X, so it could be the reason Bobby and Christian’s DoX plans have been kept under wraps and they weren’t announced as part of the Red lineup is because they’re in whatever that mystery book is instead, and like, I probably wouldn’t hate that because what little I’ve read of Wong’s Marvel work I really like. Its largely just not having any idea what her book’s premise is or direction its aimed at that has me being like ‘Ewing or bust!’ But if they’re in Wong’s as yet unannounced book instead though, like I really doubt I’d mind, I just can’t say with one hundred percent certainty since who knows what the fuck the pitch for it even is. *Shrugs*

But anyway, for now I’ll just stick to being happy I don’t have to wait another two years to see somebody other than Duggan actually DO something with Bobby while the dude gives himself all the gold stars for trotting him out every ten issues for a ‘feat’ he then tries to pass off to fans of the character as though they really just ate and you’re welcome.

Hahahaha bye Duggie and may the Bobster never be stuck under your pen again. You’re not the worst, cuz you’re not Bendis, but you’re still pretty bad and I did not like you and also I think you suck. 

[astrumocs]

❄️ reshaper!!!!!!!!! !!

Reshaper is, of course, at the ball ! He's flitting about between his companions and friends, most of whom already have plans of their own, but still managing to catch them for chats here and there.

When no one is looking, he uses a little magic to change the color of someone's outfit, but only in the back out of their sight, or he's causing someone to spin a few extra times as their dance partner attempts to twirl them, making them dizzy before chuckling and wandering away.

Oh, and of course, he's stealing too. Can't be helped, really.

When he partakes in the dancing himself, he switches casually between partners having interesting conversations and gossip, some of which you may learn about right now...

[vhaena-targaryen]

“A grim place, Dragonstone was built by Valyrians with arcane arts, fire, and sorcery. Capable of liquefying and reshaping stone with dragonflame, the dragonlords used their magic to shape Dragonstone to look like multiple dragons.” - GRRM, The World of Ice and Fire.

Book Dragonstone runs through my head a LOT because D&D could’ve went so hard with it. It’s so beautiful.

Art in order - Marc Simonetti, StrangeQuarkk, JordiGart, and I couldn’t find the artist for the last one😕

[dippedinmelancholy]

I know everyone says Nesta had this healing journey and that she got better despite the IC treating her terribly but . . . I really don't think she did. I think she forged beautiful friendships. I think she found two women who love her for her. I think she found that there is something in life worth living for. But the problem is the people who locked her up and called it help, not a single person wanted her to heal. They didn't see anything in her character or personality that they wanted to keep. They beat her down until she replaced the unsavory parts of herself with things they believe are better. It's earnestly depressing. When I first read CassianxNesta, I saw this beautiful story of two people seeing things in each other neither of their families saw. A recognition of twin flames. And in ACOSF, all you see if Cassian hating Nesta. Then fucking her. Then hating her again. Then everyone only seeing her as a weapon to be contained and reshaped so they can use it. Never a woman who lost everything. Never a woman who maybe just needed someone to fucking listen to her. Not fix her, not tell her how she's fucked up, not remake her, not tell her to get over herself. Idc if you like her or not. I really could not care less if you take insult for Feyre and think she's the softest, most loving character who deserves everything. All people deserve someone to just listen to them. To show some empathy. To simply be there for them. Absolutely no one tried to be there for Nesta. Not Feyre. Not Elain. And sure as shit not Cassian.

[slutty-transformation-stories]

Flipped The Script

Abbie's hotel room was a sanctuary of calm amidst the bustling city outside. The walls, painted a soothing shade of ivory, reflected the soft glow of the pendant light above her. She sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, the script for her next blockbuster film spread out before her. Her eyes skimmed over the pages, her mind racing with the nuances of her character, a complex pattern of emotions and motivations that she longed to bring to life.

Without warning, the TV across the room flickered to life, the screen illuminating with a vivid pink light so intense it seemed to pulse with energy. Startled, Abbie looked up, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn't touched the remote. The only sound in the room was the distant murmur of the air conditioner and the rustle of pages as they turned in her trembling hands.

The light grew brighter, and the room felt as if it was vibrating. The hairs on her arms stood on end as the TV's static grew louder, forming a cacophony of high-pitched squeals and crackles. The script fell from her lap, forgotten as she stared at the pulsing, unnatural glow. The light began to expand, the pink hue stretching outward, reaching for her like a living, breathing entity.

Abbie's fear morphed into a strange sense of tranquility as the light enveloped her. It was warm, like a gentle embrace from a long-lost lover, and it seemed to whisper sweet nothings into her ears, soothing her racing heart. The chaotic energy in the room settled, and she felt her muscles relax, her breaths growing deep and even. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and she leaned back into the soft embrace of the hotel bed, letting the light wash over her.

The pink glow grew more intense, and images began to flicker at the edge of her vision. She saw scenes from her life, moments of joy and sorrow, success and failure. They danced around her like a silent film strip, each scene more vivid than the last. She watched as her childhood memories played out, her first kiss, her graduation, her mother's proud smile at her first award show. The light grew brighter still, and the images grew more rapid, swirling together like a kaleidoscope of her very existence.

And then, amidst the chaos of her memories, the whispers grew clearer. A voice, sinister and seductive, spoke to her from within the light. It whispered promises of power, of adoration that would never fade, of a world where she could have anything she ever desired. The voice grew stronger, its malicious intent seeping into her mind like a poisonous vine wrapping around her thoughts. It spoke of the price she would have to pay, of the sacrifices she would have to make, but the allure of such a life was too much to resist.

Abbie felt her body responding to the siren's call. Her bones began to crack and shift, elongating and reshaping. She grew taller, her breasts swelling to an unnatural size, and her waist narrowed to an impossible hourglass figure. Her once medium-length, dark brown hair grew, cascading down her back in waves of gleaming platinum blonde. Her skin took on an ethereal glow, her eyes turning a piercing shade of ice blue. She could feel her cheekbones sharpen, her jawline more defined, her features more alluring than ever before.

The pain was exquisite, a symphony of agony and ecstasy that played out across her nerve endings. She bit her bottom lip to stifle a moan, her teeth sinking into the plush flesh as her transformation continued. Her clit swelled and throbbed, demanding attention, and her pussy grew wet with anticipation. The voice grew more insistent, whispering dark desires into her mind, filling her with an insatiable hunger for power and control.

Her eyes snapped open, and she took in her new form. Her once-petite frame had been replaced by a body that screamed temptation and dominance. Her breasts were now voluptuous, the areolas a dark pink that stood out against her alabaster skin, her nipples stiff and begging to be pinched. Her ass had ballooned into two perfect, round globes that would make any man, or woman, drool. She could feel the weight of them, heavy and pliable, a symbol of her newfound sexuality.

The whispers grew into a cackle, echoing in her mind like a chorus of approval. The voice grew stronger, speaking words of corruption that resonated within her very soul. She felt a thrill of excitement, a rush of power that made her heart race. Her thoughts grew darker, more twisted, as the voice whispered of the endless opportunities that awaited her.

The TV screen flickered again, and she saw a montage of scenes that weren't her own memories. They were scenes of debauchery and excess, of power plays and manipulation. The voice spoke of her new life, one where she would be the most desired and envied woman on the planet, a star not of the silver screen, but of a different kind of stage entirely.

As the images grew more graphic, the voice grew more urgent. It whispered of a world where she could have any woman she wanted, where her beauty would be the tool she wielded to bend others to her will. The scenes grew more explicit, showing her in various states of sexual conquest, her new body used to its full potential, her power unbridled and unrivaled.

Her thoughts grew hazy with lust as the whispers grew louder, the images more vivid. She saw herself on the sets of her former life, but now the script was different. The cameras rolled as she seduced and dominated, leaving a trail of pleasure and pain in her wake. The crew watched in awe, their eyes glued to her every move, and she reveled in the power she held over them all.

The TV's static faded away, and the room grew still once more. The light from the screen bled into her reality, casting a rosy tint over the luxurious hotel suite. The voice grew softer, but its words remained etched in her mind, a constant reminder of what she had become. The pain of her transformation had ceased, replaced by a strange feeling of completeness, as if she had finally found her true form.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present as she heard the distant sound of a male voice calling, "Action!" The scene around her shifted, and she found herself no longer in the hotel room but on a film set. The walls of the set were flimsy and painted with the illusion of grandeur, and the smell of industrial lights and fresh lube filled the air. She lay on a plush velvet sofa, her new body sprawled out in a pose that was both inviting and commanding.

Before her stood a towering, muscular black man, his cock thick and hard, a stark contrast against his dark skin. The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a hunger she had never known before. This wasn't the Hollywood she knew; this was a world of raw, unbridled desire where the currency was lust and the prize was power.

He stepped closer, the tip of his cock glistening with precum. His eyes locked with hers, and she could see the lust burning within them, a reflection of the need that now consumed her. Without a word, he positioned himself between her legs, and with one swift, brutal motion, he rammed his cock into her pussy. The force of it made her gasp, the pain mixing with a pleasure so intense it was almost overwhelming.

Abbie felt a surge of power rush through her as she realized she loved every second of it. She had become the embodiment of desire, the object of every fantasy. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, feeling every inch of him stretch her to the limits of what she thought was possible. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, a symphony of flesh on flesh that seemed to resonate with the very air around them.

Her new memories of this life began to flood her mind, and the script she once knew was replaced with scenes of depravity and lust. She remembered the first time she had been fucked like this, the initial shock giving way to a deep, primal need that had only grown stronger with each passing day. She had been a star in the world of porn, her performances legendary, her appetite insatiable. Her former life in Hollywood now seemed so dull, so predictable, a mere shadow of the power and adoration she now held in the palm of her hand.

[mercymaker]

thanks to @euryalex and @vspin i've been non-stop thinking about that malstarion asoiaf au and i've managed to flesh out some background and story for them and take some photos. starting with astarion!

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 in the 'a song of ice and fire' au:

In this verse, he is a Westerosi nobleman, a second son who was on his way to visit the Free Cities when their ship was attacked by pirates. Most of the people on board were put to the sword, however, he—as a comely young man—was captured and later sold as a bed-slave to a Lysene pillow house. Years of forced servitude reshaped him from a cocksure young knight to a sultry courtesan and a true master of his craft, able to lure many men and women to pay his bedchamber a visit. Yet, even as comfort and coin were aplenty in Astarion's life, none of it changed the fact that he was no longer a free man. And soon, he was served a very painful reminder as he was sold again, this time to someone with little interest in pleasure. Relishing in inflicting pain on others wasn't exactly a rarity in certain parts of the continent, however, Cazador turned it into a form of art. And his depravities did not end there, as the man was rumored to have dabbled in blood magic as well...

[ncat]

The Conduit

So heres the conduit! I'm very happy with how this turned out.

The conduit as a class is best described as a "Con Based Martial with spellcaster aesthetics", since, mechanically, it fills a martial role, being a class that doesnt use resources, with a primary party focus on dealing damage, while flavor wise, it goes around slinging blasts of energy at people.

This class mechanically is very much based on the warlock of 3rd edition, with flavour and some mechanical inspiration from the Kineticist of Pathfinder 2e.

The two core design elements that I tried to stick to with making this were 1. Being resourceless and 2. Customizability.

For the first point, none of the class features are limited in uses per day. No feature adds an additional resource for the player to track, nor uses spell slots nor etc. The closest it comes to a resource is its Exertion mechanic, where certain things tire out your conduit character. Though, this serves less as a resource, and more as a temporary debuff, reducing your damage output whilst its in effect, before being easily removed.

The second point is customizability. The first element of this is subclasses. Of course, theres the variety of subclasses to pick from, but notably, is that unlike other classes, you aren't bound to picking just one subclass. From 7th level onwards, whenever you reach your subclass feature level, you can choose to continue advancing in your subclass, or you can take the initial features of a different subclass. This means while you can do a more traditional route of going "I'm the lightning guy, I'm taking lightning every level", you can also do an avatar style "Master of 4 elements" and have 4 different subclasses by level 20. Mix and match them as you like, be the "Fire and Lightning" person, be the "I control water mostly, but also a little bit of ice", combine your elements and so forth.

The next part of customizability is in talents. Talents are very much your classic invocation style feature, of which there are... like. 60 of them at this point. But! Theres a lot of variety in what they do. While you have your choices of ones that give additional powers, like flight or teleportation or whatnot, a large bulk of them are dedicated to one thing: Reshaping your elemental blast. Go out there as a fire guy and blast people with fire, then turn around and literally explode everything around you in flames, then focus your blast into a roaring line of fire that pushes everything within it towards you, and then rush the last man standing with a spear made of literal fire.

The talents are designed around not just being able to reshape and modify your blast in a bunch of different ways, but you can combine them together and do cool stuff.

Because at its core, I wanted to design this class to fill a very specific style of fantasy, and thats of the type of magic you see in some settings where its just "I control this one element", and then from that the mage turns that into a billion different things.

A fire wizard will say "I can cast fire bolt, fire ball, and scorching ray". A fire conduit instead just has an elemental blast, but they can turn that elemental blast into a bolt that is hurled at one person, or have it explode into a ball of flame, or split it into multiple beams.

Its very much a creativity first subclass, and thats whats behind its capstone! The capstone is all of this at its epitomy, the ability to freely reshape your elemental power (By freely, temporarily learning talents) into whatever form you imagine.

Hell, customizability is built even into the very core of its flavour

Yeah <3

I hope you guys enjoyed reading this class as much as I enjoyed writing it and as much as I enjoy talking about it <3

[celebtf]

HANS AND THE MAGIC SNOW

In the kingdom of Arendelle, the winter chill had finally given way to the gentle warmth of spring. Anna and Kristoff's love blossomed alongside the blooming flowers, much to the envy of one man: Hans, the disgraced prince who once sought the throne through deception. Consumed by jealousy, Hans devised a plan to rid himself of Kristoff once and for all. He had heard whispers of an ice witch who hid in the forbidding mountains, known for her dark magic and powerful spells. Determined to win Anna's heart and take Kristoff's place, Hans set out on a journey to find her.

After days of treacherous travel, Hans stood before the ice witch's lair, an fortress of ice and snow. The witch, intrigued by Hans' ambition, agreed to help him—for a price. She handed him a vial filled with shimmering, enchanted snow. "Apply this snow to the face of the one you wish to become, and to your own," she instructed. "You will transform into them, and they will transform into you. But beware, for magic always comes with a cost."

With the vial clutched tightly in his hand, Hans returned to Arendelle under the cover of night. He waited for the perfect moment to put his plan into action. One evening, as Kristoff slept soundly beside Anna, Hans quietly entered their room. He sprinkled the magic snow onto Kristoff's face, watching as the transformation began. The snow glowed brightly as it touched Kristoff's skin, spreading like frost over his features. His skin tingled and then burned as the magic took hold, bones cracking and shifting under the pressure of the spell. His rugged jawline softened and narrowed, his cheekbones raised, and his nose became more refined. Kristoff's golden hair darkened to a chestnut brown, growing shorter and neater. His blue eyes flickered and shifted to a deep green. Kristoff's body felt like it was being stretched and compressed at the same time. His sturdy, muscular frame shrank, his broad shoulders narrowed, and his calloused hands softened. Even his voice altered, taking on Hans' smoother, more polished tone. His simple, practical clothes morphed into the fine, tailored attire of a Southern Isles prince.

Hans, trembling with anticipation, then applied the remaining snow to his own face. He felt a rush of cold spreading through his skin, as if his very essence was being reshaped. The sensation was overwhelming, like ice flowing through his veins. His own sharp features began to morph and broaden into Kristoff's. His chin and jawline squared off, his nose widened, and his cheekbones lowered. His red hair lightened to a sandy blonde, growing longer and wilder, matching Kristoff's unkempt look. Hans' body underwent a significant transformation. His lean build expanded into the muscular form of the ice harvester. He could feel his shoulders broadening, his arms thickening with muscle, and his hands becoming rough and strong. His height increased, giving him Kristoff's towering presence. His princely clothes transformed into Kristoff's simple, practical outfit, complete with fur-lined boots and gloves, fitting snugly over his new, muscular frame.In an instant,

Hans' appearance was now that of Kristoff, and Kristoff awoke to find himself in Hans' body. Dazed and horrified, Kristoff looked at his unfamiliar hands and felt his altered face, the mirror revealing Hans' face staring back at him. "+Anna, help!" he cried, but his voice—Hans' voice—only added to the confusion. Hans was quicker. He dragged Kristoff to the palace dungeons, claiming that the treacherous Hans had returned to exact his revenge.

Anna, heartbroken but trusting her beloved Kristoff, agreed to exile "Hans" to a remote island, far from Arendelle. As the real Kristoff was taken away, Hans—now in Kristoff's form—comforted Anna, whispering sweet lies and promises of a happy future together. With the real Kristoff gone and no one the wiser, Hans began his new life. He reveled in his newfound status, enjoying the love and admiration he had always craved. Anna, unaware of the truth, found solace in her new life with the man she believed to be Kristoff.

Far away, on a desolate island, the real Kristoff—trapped in Hans' body—struggled to survive, his heart heavy with despair and betrayal. No one would believe his story, and there seemed to be no escape from his lonely exile.And so, Hans, disguised as Kristoff, lived a life of comfort and affection, while the real Kristoff languished in isolation, the victim of a cruel and cunning plot. The tale served as a grim reminder that even in a land of magic and wonder.

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