#yep that's it that's the fic

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Some Bumblebee and mother Ratchet :)

I dont know if that's the artstyle but is Ratchet crying?? That's kinda sweet if he is 😭

Here's some G1 shots where it's just them cause I'm a sucker for these 3

[morningnoodles]

thinking about the headcanon of Thorin being immediately attracted to Bilbo the second he stepped inside Bag End and like duh of course he would be when THIS GUY AND HIS SEXY NIGHT SHIRT is what greets him

[pjs-everyday]

closeups of our cheeky thief: lost and found, finders keepers— if ya leave it behind, it’s hers! (she’ll give it back to ya… eventually 😉) 🩷

cheeky thief comic: part 1 // closeups // bakugo's shirt // part 2

[ghostbsuter]

It was Halloween, they were in Central City for some candy pickings (if their fathers know, it's too late, they're here and absolutely getting that stomachache in the morning once they're done here.).

Jon— Superboy had Robin in his grip, flying from apartment complex to houses, one ear out for flash, incase the hero accidentally stumbles upon them.

(He's doing some extra patrol, it was Halloween after all.)

It was spooky day and when they finally rest up on a roof, rummaged through their goods, did Robin and Superboy notice the glowing skull at the bottom.

It looked like it could be from gotham, honestly. It was creepy, dirty and Jon has it in his hands, studying and playing with curious spark in his eyes.

"Put that down superboy—! That's clearly cursed!" Robin warns, trying to take the skull, yet the other dances from reach.

"If I rub it 3 times, do you think I get 3 wishes?"

"Those are genies you're talking about, not skulls!"

Not waiting further nor listening, really, superboy rubs the skull 3 times and—

Nothing happens.

"Nothing. Will you pit the damn skull down now?"

Sighing, Superboy does so, until the skull starts glow.

And glowing it is, a bright green, frost growing along the ground and it was beginning to eat the entire apartment if they didn't do anything!

As the cool mist grows, they step and tense as a figure approaches through.

"Congrats, no idea how but you guys found Pariah Darks former skull! So much less work for me now."

[luna-loveboop]

@kikker-oma

Happy Fan Joy July, Oma!!!

Oma, thank you so so much for making Fan Joy July and sharing it with us! Our fandom, our artists, writers, readers, etc have loved seeing or taking part in this crazy challenge.

This is our gift to thank you- from artists all around who were affected by, or got gifts from, or took part in Fan Joy July. We all love you so much- so we made letters/art for this (Zelda themed!). Many said that they had already wanted to make/write you something, and this gave an opportunity.

One of the things I've loved about this month is how community/interaction centered you made it. The challenge was for yourself to make art each day (you absolute maniac /affectionate)- but then others joined. This July we saw or made art or fics with recommendations. Every day you made art for a writer with a scene from one of their fics, and inspired others to do the same, and writers even wrote every day for an artist based off an art piece they made! This led to a month of gift giving- everyone interacting and getting love for creating.

You truly led to a month of Joy for a lot of loz/lu fans- making the name "Fan Joy July" quite accurate

Thank you, Oma

Thank you for the gifts you gave all of us and the way you inspire others

Additional ramblings and art credits below the cut :P

I'm so grateful to all my artists who stepped up so we could do this when I asked- almost 36 hours and 19 artists. The art is like patchwork, with all these different styles, both traditional and digital put together. But that's exactly what happened- we all got drawn together, just like the other month-long challenges. It's so cool how art always connects people.

The artists who participated are @zolanort @la-sera @nancyheart11 @galenfeadraws @shade-pup-cub @arecaceae175 @isasan347 @ghosthoard @smilesrobotlover @unexpectedstormy @skyloftian-nutcase @knight-of-aether @uniquevoidflowers @jinxedruby @windwakingwhale @skyward-floored @xaeorian @blarefordaglare and me Thank you to all of you- You are all so cool and I'm glad! If I accidentally missed tagging or listing someone please let me know I'm so scared of if that happened djskdjdkd

There are letters based off of the colours/theme of each of the Lu boys- it's mainly Zelda and linkeduniverse themed... but we couldn't not have frogs for Oma! I did a frog, his name is Froggy and I'm very proud.

Here's a picture with a list of who did what-

Normally I would apologise for my handwriting, but you guys would just tell me it looks good anyways and honestly it does look good. :D Sorry for the ink splotches tho, and I hope you can read it.

We did this for you, Oma, because... well you are awesome /gen. You gave us the opportunity for a great month and we wanted to say thank you for all the joy you brought us so... thank you :)

Art :D

As for everyone who said they wanted to talk to Oma or other Fan Joy July artists who they loved sharing this month with... feel free to tag and share in the reblogs. Share the joy I guess- there's enough to go around :D

Happy Fan Joy July, Oma :))

[not-rab]

at the Black Manor some time in the 1970s

Remus, exiting Sirius’ room:

James, exiting Regulus’ room:

Rita, exiting Bellatrix’s room:

Alice, exiting Narcissa’s room:

[mediumgayitalian]

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

Nico’s hands still on the stubborn pillowcase. “To…my cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Um.” He resumes, sliding slowly away from Will’s wide round eyes, stuffing the puffy square of feathers into its fabric prison. The ghost of geese past are not happy with him. He is their prince. They will submit. “Yeah? You could all those other times, too.”

“Yeah, but I want to come over.”

“Yes,” Nico agrees, wondering if this is perhaps one of those moments Kayla warned him about. Has it reached day five of Will not sleeping? He doesn’t think so. He was napping when Nico came into the infirmary this morning to help with the tidying he promised to do. At least he was drooling enough that Nico hopes he was sleeping. “You mentioned.”

“So I can?”

“Yes, Will.”

Maybe it’s just an American thing. Nico has been noticing some Moments lately. He’s not sure if all teenagers have unanimously decided on some code they’d like to speak in during the few months he was busy defeating his great grandmother, or if maybe he’s finally stuck around long enough to notice, but nobody says what they mean, nowadays.

(He has gathered, thus far, that ‘on fleek’ is a synonym for ‘aflame’, although ‘yeet’ continues to evade him. Perhaps because Cecil and Lou appear to have indulged in the sick delight of replacing their every word with the term with the sole purpose to Confuse. Or perhaps, as Will has so indicated, they have each endured one concussion to many and are beyond any hope.)

“Sick!” That one Nico knows, at least. “I’ll come by after my morning shift? Connor got cursed by the Hypnos, Hecate, and Aphrodite cabins this morning so I have to do brain surgery before he forgets how to feel genuine human connection again, but I’ll be done by noon. Probably. I mean, Connor has a thick skull, genuinely I mean, which is why his lobotomy has been delayed so many times, but so long as I —”

It has been under Nico’s notice lately that Will eyes, genuinely, sparkle. He has read the cliche time and time again and rolled his eyes almost every time: diamonds sparkle. Water sparkles. Snow sparkles. Eyes reflect, and sometimes glow with reflection. They do not sparkle. To claim a set of eyes are sparkling is to profess to the world and all capable of registering your words that you are a brainless idiot who cannot dredge up from the depths of your mind, the most barren and bereft back corners, a single unique or clever comparison; a minutely original way to describe excitement or animation.

And yet.

Will is indeed very animated, and very excited about very many things, and it shows on his face; in the wideness of his grins, the springing mass of his curls, the stilted and flailing gilt of his languid limbs. It also shows, perhaps most obviously, in his genuinely magnificent eyes — Nico has seen the Logan Sapphire. He has touched the precious thing with reverent hands, stared in awe as it thrust out the light shine upon it like the golden ichor of Ouranous swirling with the sweet saltwater to birth Love Incarnate. He knows glittering, he knows gleaming, shimmering and shining and twinkling.

Will’s eyes sparkle, like the very tip of a mountaintop, like the crackling ends of a flame, like dewdrops on spider silk. It is transfixing. It is alluring.

“—ico. Nico! Hello-o?”

It is also a trap.

“Sounds great,” Nico says loudly, voice like cold soda over vanilla ice cream. He clears his throat, twice, to no avail. His vision begins to blur as the heat pouring off of his face warps the air. “Um. See you then?”

Will nods, or at least Nico hopes he does. His curls bounce, anyway. They are hard to miss. They remind Nico tangentially of how laughter sounds, unimpeded by shame; how the shimmering satin of a ribbon would curl and bend under the smooth slide of the scissor’s blade.

(His father’s circuit of jesters often included poets playwrights. They also doubled as Nico’s babysitters. Surely no lasting consequences, that.)

“Yes!” He flashes a smile, then, and it becomes imperative to note that his eyes squint at the force of it, and his slightly-too-big teeth brush his bottom lip, and he has, in fact, on each cheek, a dimple.

Now, Will is often and even frequently called Apollo Junior by just about every living soul in camp, up to and including Immortal Camp Director And Horse, Chiron; and uproariously once even Mr D, God of Wine. Allegedly, as taunted by Kayla, even by Will’s own mother. The golden hair and unfortunate habit of winking and legs for days do most definitely create an image.

Nico, however, contrarian he be, must deny: he has seen Apollo. Apollo is beautiful and golden and charming, but Will is not quite his spitting image. Will, more aptly, is the son of the Sun. He glows; the glare of his smile leaves impressions behind in the cells one’s eyes, the glide of his limbs is almost dragging, languid. To look at him is to commit yourself to blinding. To seek so desperately the solace of the light as to ignore the unsettling sting of the burn.

“I can’t wait!”

As a blissful cloud moving in front of the solar system’s brightest star saves your eyes the eternal fate of darkness, Will’s duty so saves Nico from an eternity of shadow. He returns, humming softly and horribly, to his work, sifting through folders and updating patient files, and Nico exhales the breath setting foundations in his lungs, slumping forward in fervent relief. A melancholic reprieve from the summer rays, if only for a moment.

He waves goodbye, or at least he hopes that he does, rushing out the infirmary doors and tripping down the rickety porch steps.

“Hurrying somewhere, Nicholas Claus?” drawls Mr. D, throwing darts a perilously balanced apple atop the horns of a satyr bleating in morse code.

“That was not even an attempt,” responds Nico, and hurries away before he can be dolphinized. Dolphinified? Made into a bottle-nosed beast. (Why bottle? Of all comparisons to make, who decided bottles were the utmost separate object to which the snout of the slippery beasts should be named? Oh, wait, drunk people. Bottles. Okay. Mystery solved.)

He manages, in his heroic retreat across the common, not to destroy entire swathes of grass and plants, a feat for which the Muses could perhaps write epics about. Truly he is capable of the utmost restraint and self-control. He does raise several full sized wolf skeletons, but they seem primarily preoccupied with hunting down the the Stolls, so a win-win as far as Nico is concerned. Probably not for Connor, who is apparently cursed or concussed, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he has managed thus far with his startling amount of daily braincell loss so by statistic and happenstance he is bound to survive another incident.

“There has to be away to shut myself off,” Nico says, out loud to himself, proceeding the slam of his cabin door and the heavy breathing upon it. He turns to his altar. “You mentioned an off button, Father. I don’t suppose it has been successfully implemented.”

No answer comes forth. He indulges in a brief moment of self pity, wherein the Nico who lives in his brain clears his throat, digs around the messy confines of his mind to find an imaginary black hoodie, slips it on, digs around again for a dagger, and stabs himself, choking and twitching pitifully. Real Nico then walks with great purpose to the exact geological centre of the stone cabin.

“Okay,” he says again. He nods, once, narrowing his eyes in determination. The Nico in his brain opens one curious eyelid. (Does Will do psychiatric assessments?) “Okay, this is. Hm.”

It is not the first time they have been alone together, after all.

In the weeks following Gaea’s defeat and Will Solace’s nonstop, irritating persistence, Nico has been thrust in his proximity an incredible number of times. From his three day stay, during which he was simply so unconscious for so long his father was concerned enough to manifest onto the mortal plane and poke at his soul until he responded, to his unofficial indoctrination (ha) as a nurse, to camp clean-up efforts, to cabin renovation, to general life — they have become friends. Coworkers, at least. Together they make the camp a little more bearable for everyone in it, including Nico. It is rewarding work. It is illuminating work; Will is a good teacher, and he is funny, and he is good company (and he happens to have very long legs that he does not bother to cover up very often and Nico has eyes that do what they please). They have been in Nico’s cabin together several times over the last few weeks.

Never before has Will come over without some kind of stated purpose.

At least, not and absence he has made so obvious. True, the renovations took longer than expected, and the paint on the east wall is smudged from where Nico shoved Will, shrieking, off the stepstool, and they have perhaps, on occasion, used Nico’s illegal Wii when they were meant to be helping Annabeth make plans for Capture the Flag, but —

But.

Intent.

Is important.

It has been made abundantly clear to Nico over the summer that he has friends upon which he can rely. Reyna has made a point to Iris Message him at whatever Roman tryhard time she believes he should be awake, prompting an attempted murderous shadow travel that left him unconcious in Missouri and at the unfortunate end of many people’s shouting. And Will’s friends, who can perhaps at this point be called his friends also, have created a game entitled “How Many Grapes Can We Flick At Nico During Lunch Before He Goes Ballistic And Sends Us To Purgatory For A Little While” (four), which they are inclined and inspired to play every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Piper enjoys dragging him around to do Things. Jason is just around constantly. (Does he sleep? Nico should check on that properly.)

He had a point, somewhere. He’s sure he did.

It was maybe the impending anxiety attack, helpfully informs Brain Nico.

“Ah,” regular Nico replies, then grapples around for his least favourite pillow, slams it into his face, and screams at the top of his lungs for several minutes.

Brain Nico decides once again that commentary is the way.

I think we are an all powerful demigod of something, he muses. Dirt, maybe? Bad vibes? I can’t quite remember.

“The dead?” inquires regular Nico.

Do you think those years isolated in the Labyrinth perhaps situated us firmly on the shores of mentally unwell? responds he, blissfully unhelpful.

“I think that was Tartarus, actually,” says regular Nico, and promptly banishes his brain self to the deepest recesses of his mind, among memories of the taste of liquid fire and Calculus.

With the remaining, functioning (well.) part of his brain, he places both palms on the cool floor and attempts to focus.

Juicy Fruit It gets right to ya Juicy salt Hmmm Juicy Fruit, The taste the taste that’s —

For the love of all holy things, Nico begs his brain. It doesn’t work, but what ever really goes right in his life, so he pushes past the increasingly louder replays of eighties commercial jingles and maps out the ground below the cabin floor, pushes through the layers of underground.

Ah. Perfect.

He pulls up the very aptly placed skeleton of a cat, letting it scratch and sniff about his cabin before cautiously approaching him.

“You will be sure to tell it to me straight,” Nico says solemnly, holding out his hand. The cat bobs its nasal cavities in and out of Nico’s fingers and, apparently deciding him to be worthy of its attention, rams its skull against his knuckles. Nico snorts, running a fingernail along its cranial sutures and grinning as its purring echoes in his mind. “You seem very wise.”

The cat’s caudal vertebrae rattle in indignation, miffed at the mere idea that it could be anything other than wise. Nico is honestly quite impressed by its ability to glare without actual eyeballs, eyelids, or thought power.

“I am going to name you after my sister and pray that’s not weird,” Nico says. “I mean, I don’t think she would mind. You’re pretty cool, actually, and Hazel’s cool, kind of, so. Win win.”

Hazel the Cat seems unbothered by her christening, curling up in Nico’s lap. He runs his hand from cranial base to coccyx, finger dipping and bumping along the ridges of her spines, and settles against the cool floor, attempting to breathe evenly.

“It’s just.” He swallows. It takes a try or two, to work around the massive stone borrowed in his throat, and Hazel the Cat nips playfully at his fingers until his lungs settle again. “Before we had something to do, you know? We’d be cutting bandages, and he’d be all, hey, did you know bandages are mentioned in one of the first ever medical manuscripts and definitely predate it by many hundreds of years, and I would say I did, actually, I talked to the guy who made that clay tablet, and his eyes would get all wide and he’d be like no way, tell me everything, and then I would just talk forever.” Nico huffs. “We had something to talk about, you understand. Something to do.”

Nico tries to imagine what Hazel his Sister would say. Probably something along the lines of you are an impossible person, which is code for I have about as much luck as you do in this century, pal, the best I’ve got is hope for the best and remember adults no longer smack you for standing wrong. Which. Fair.

Hazel the Cat just purrs in his head again. It’s as encouraging as anything, he supposes.

“Am I supposed to have…conversation starters? He likes twizzlers and intentionally bad poetry. Maybe I could do something with that?”

Hazel the Cat shrugs at him.

“It’s not even — okay, it’s not just that, though. What is — how close is close enough in a casual setting? Or too close? How am I meant to greet him? Am I supposed to offer something? Make something? What do I do if there’s a lull in conversation? Or if it’s all lulls? Oh, gods, how much silence is socially appropriate —”

Hazel the Cat twists in his hold, meeting his eyes as if to say well I don’t think you’ll be struggling with that last one.

“Shush,” he tells her, but his mouth is twitching. “I’m just — I don’t want him to finally realize I’m weird. Or boring, gods. He’s such a hyper person, you know? He never stops. And I am supposed to entertain him! I think!”

This time he can actually hear his sister’s voice, in the back of his mind — you’re such a dummy. Ringed with fondness from the many times she’s said it to him, shoulders nudged carefully together, head knocked gently against his. You are weird and boring. Most people are.

“Ugh,” he sighs, tipping his head back until it rests against the mattress. “Friendship is hard work.”

Hazel the Cat swishes her tail, rattling the discs of bone like a rattlesnake. It’s a surprisingly soothing sound, like rain pinging softly against his window, or the flutter of the poplar trees outside of his father’s palace. Unconsciously he matches his breathing to it, slowing until it’s even, gentle, deep. His eyes, without any direction from his brain, drift until they blanket his hazy eyes, heavy as stone..

“S’not that serious,” he murmurs to himself, soothed under the weight of his feline friend. “S’just Will, I guess.” A beat. He smiles, slightly, a small, curling thing, mimicking the coiled heat in his belly. “It’s just Will.”

———

part two

[mother-ofthe-universedraws]

Sup babe, guess what I finally did

[not-rigel]

deep sigh.... councilwoman sevika<3

[themeraldee]

I think Homelander would love someone who gets jealous. Not 'i need space to calm down for a bit' jealous but 'i'm gonna either be super clingy or fuck you into the bed for the rest of the night' type of jealous. Because his SO doesn't kill people even if they're chill with it.

But imagine them having a jealous streak and Homelander finding it out because after a while he connects the dots of people flirting with him or Vought pushing a relationships for media purposes to the times his SO is suddenly VERY clingy or is pouncing on him

yes yes YES!! My man's ego is gonna be through the roof. As if it already wasn't. But if it's the kinda jealousy that makes his SO clingy he is SOO gonna indulge in that anytime there's a chance (upon finding out about this in the first place).

With all his previous relationships not caring about him to that degree to finally have someone who literally FIGHTS for his attention? He's smug as hell. Teasing you about it when he figures it out.

"Don't tell me you're jealous." He's biting back a grin, instead cocking his eyebrow.

"How could I not be! She was all over you!"

"It's her job. Madelyn wants her to be my public girlfriend." He keeps riling you up. Especially mentioning the new superhero meaning to act as his new 'girlfriend'.

"Well maybe you should tell Madelyn that it's not happening." You walk him to the couch and he lets you push him down on it. Immediately straddling him. "You..." You start off with fire in your eyes. "Are in a happy committed relationship. It's not fair that I have to see you with other people." You're close enough to nuzzle into his warmth, your face stuffed in between his neck and his collar, inhaling that intoxicating scent of his.

"Mhm you're right it's totally not fair." You feel the rumble of his voice in his throat.

"Stop taking this lightly!" You're already peppering kisses across his neck. Your hips having a mind of their own are already grinding down against him.

You have this intrinsic need to make him smell like you, to touch him and kiss him everywhere you can. If you can't be out there in public with him you'll make sure that he remembers your fingers and lips all over him. Not a part of him that's been untouched by you.

"I'm not. I just love when you get like this." He finally lets himself grin at the needy way you're pushing yourself against him and he couldn't be happier that you want him this bad.

He needs to make you jealous more often.

[lexithwrites]

i cant even imagine how frustrating it must be for katsuki, he has so many feelings so many emotions so many thoughts and he has no idea how to put it into words outside of his own head. he just glares because he's frustrated at himself, not anyone else. he doesn't understand how izuku can just say whatever he feels perfectly, whilst he jumbles it up and just yells because he can't do anything in life gentley. he just communicates through glances, frowns, huffs, sighs, grunts, scoffs, eye rolls. but god does he wish for once he could just say how he feels

[lihhelsing]

To-Do: Eddie Munson

Coming SOON

Based on this post

[arsonistmoth]

Aight takin a quick com break to share my ideas on the KITTY FAMILYYYY <3 (aka my take on Forneus and her kits) Headcanons under cut cuz some of them are sAD and also I tend to blather on.

Forneus has always wanted kits of her own, though perhaps not a Tom in her life to get them (She is content as she is, a traveling merchant who sees so many faces, so many stories in a day). So, by the power of a one-night stand with some dashing tall tom, she gets her wish. Albeit bittersweet when her kits come stillborn. She prays and prays to the god of death, begging, pleading for her babies to come back to her but its not Narinder that hears her fervent prayers first. She's given a choice by the god of war...Bury them as is her right, or give the kits to them. They will take them to death's gate where they just might know a shadow of life. She leapt at the chance. Not one day goes by where she doesn't think of her two little toms and how they must have grown. She knows, in her heart, they will return to her somehow..and she will know them by sight and scent the second she sees them. Aym and Baal grew up in the gateway with their master. They were a gift to a lonely god and in them he found some semblance of company and...love. Of course we all know Narinder is not the besssst of influences and it shows in the two young toms. They are fiercely loyal, quick to temper (in aym's case), and deadly in combat. Though it wasn't always so. Kits must learn and they must grow... Accidents are bound to happen- (perhaps like being given a new sharp pointy weapon only to hurt yourself immediately thereafter and have the god of death pinch your scruff between two claws to make you stop squirming as he heals you) Though their cloaks are nice and warm, the pair have only ragged tunics beneath it. After all, not many dead arrive with a) nice clothes and b) clothes big enough for the toms. Its fineeee. they're fineeee. After the events of the game, Aym and Baal choose to stay with the cult to be close to their mother and Master. Baal eventually finds himself a mate and even settles down, having a litter of twins with his orange tabby queen named Fion <3 Aym is content for a time, staying with his family and his new niece and nephew...but eventually wander lust grips him as it gripped his mother. He heads out into the world and, though he sends a sparse letter here and there, he has not been seen since. Lamb think's he's crossed the sea. Hopefully he finds whatever hes looking for. to end this on a happy note: Forneus loves her grandkits and would die for them. She has also slapped Narinder. Once. (you dont call yourself a poor father figure to kits you took care of. not around her. "You were all they had! They love you and cherish you do NOT spit in their faces so!"

[acehardys]

when they tell the story of my life...

[javelinbk]

After lunch, we all returned to the Dakota, where I hoped the repartee might become somewhat more sparkling. Yoko and Linda paired off for a bit and chatted amiably—the two of them got along famously, bonded by the shared experience, perhaps, of being married to a Beatle—while John and Paul stood by the windows overlooking Central Park, watching as the afternoon sky turned a whiter shade of pale over Manhattan. They remained silent for long stretches, until awkwardness forced one of them to take a stab at conversation.

“Are you making any music?” Paul asked at one point.

“Well, you know, I play some stuff for me, but I’m not working on anything. Music isn’t what’s driving me at this point. It’s all about the baby. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m always recording,” Paul said. “I couldn’t live without the music in me life.”

Then, for a spell, they fell back into silence.

It seemed that these two rock ’n’ roll behemoths, men who in their youth had all but defined the zeitgeist of the ’60s—who had inspired an entire generation and redirected music’s very destiny—were now, a mere decade later, struggling to find things to say to each other.

A part of me found it sad. But then, what was I expecting? Even the best of childhood friends eventually slip into separate lives. It’s called growing up. Now they were just two old chums who no longer had all that much in common. It was unreasonable of me to presume that merely being in the same room together would somehow ignite the genius and energy of John and Paul’s initial creative partnership.

Still, on the walk back from the Dakota to the Plaza that evening, as I passed all the glimmering Christmas lights and heard snippets of holiday melodies wafting out of the few restaurants and bars that were still open and serving, I couldn’t help but think that history might have been made on this day.

“Are you making any music?” Paul had asked John.

What if John had said something like “No, but me guitar is in the next room. Let’s sit down and make some…”

God only knows what classic Lennon-McCartney creation might have been born that afternoon.

Excerpt From ‘We All Shine On’, Elliot Mintz

[fairylibe]

Trick or treat ….. Jude Jazza fairy please ✨

full moon encounters.

431 words. halloween event. au. features: fairy! jude jazza × gn! reader.

꒰ summary ꒱ they say the full moon can tamper with one’s sense of direction. in which case, only the mysterious, curious spirits may accompany you to the end.

the moon appeared larger than usual tonight, and around you were trees, and before you a winding path.

i could have sworn i was going straight, but this path zig zags?

your heart was beating out of your chest, the anxiety from being lost starting to make it hard to breathe. it was only your eye caught an amethyst glow in your periphery that your anxiety turned into rapture. your hand reached out to touch that orb-like light, relishing its slightly cool sensation as it faded to nothingness.

“didn’t anyone teach ya not to wander in places ya don’t know when the moon’s full?”

you turned at the voice, finding a silver-haired man. notably, he had wings, illuminated by the bewitching moonlight. fairies with mysterious powers were rumored to reside in forests, away from humans — he must be one.

“hah, what’s with that look? the road ain’t gettin’ any straighter with ya dozin’ off like some twit.”

“i could do without the twit…” you muttered.

“yeah?” his grin only widened. “well, seein’ as yer lost n’ cowerin’ round here, i see no bigger one than ya.” his voice was a bit teasing, maybe sadistic even.

he walked past you and ahead of you, not bothering to turn back. “wh—are you just going to leave me here?!” you shout, chasing after his distancing back.

“if yer gonna cause trouble, then don’t bother.”

so… does that mean i can, if i don’t cause trouble…?

at first, you took smaller steps, testing if he’d barrage you with more insults, but gradually, you found your steps growing more steady. being around him even started to feel safe. he didn’t talk to you, but he walked with smaller steps over time, as though making sure to pace himself so you wouldn’t lose him.

this continued to the end of the path, where he finally spoke: “oi.”

“hm?”

when you turned to him, you were met with a small pain on your forehead. it took you a moment to realize he flicked it. “ow…!”

“that’s yer punishment.” there was that grin again. “don’t go wanderin’ places ya don’t know, ya twit.”

that was the last thing you heard him say. your vision was blurry as sleepiness wrapped you in its gentle embrace, so you didn’t know what expression he was wearing, or how those amethyst eyes shone…

but his voice was a tad softer than it had been. that, you were sure of.

after all, for how mean he was to you on the way out of that forest, you would loathe to miss such a thing.

fin.

꒰ tag list . ꒱ @drachonia @weepinglycoris @velisle @candiedcoffeedrops @.comment to be added or removed!

꒰ dedication . ꒱ @judesmoonbeauty | til 10 , 31 , 24! send me “ trick ” or “ treat ” and an ikévil character for a drabble! 🎃