#I toned down the demon king design a bit

[st-hedge]

I am waiting… waiting for you…

#loz #loz totk #legend of Zelda #tears of the kingdom #link #ganondorf #ganlink #it’s almost one year since ganlink became canon #(IM KIDDING) #I’m pretty sure it was ganon who actually called to link to come and find him not Zelda #ya sneaky shit #I toned down the demon king design a bit #just so he doesn’t look as deep fried #but god I adore how he looks as a demon #very kissable

[writing-havoc]

Let it be that

♡ Summary: It's late in the night when his demons wreak the most havoc. You're there to keep Nikolai company.

♡ Pairing: Nikolai x reader

♡ Fandom: Shadow and Bone, Grishaverse

♡ Warning(s): None,,,, I think. There's a bit about a snake swirling in a gut if that's a particularly bad ick

♡ WC: 2.4k

Yooo a Nikolai fic for the Nikolai lovers.

This is written in sort of a weird in-between stage? He has control over the nichevo'ya in him, so the sleeping tonics aren't really necessary anymore, but he's still king. So do with that what you will.

It's basically 2k+ words of him yearning.

Please excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Hope you enjoy <3

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

Eye bags threaten to weigh down his entire face from beneath the wanning tailored mask. He was told by Zoya he looked as if he lost a fight with an ambidextrous boxer. And if the tired, yet handsome, man in the mirror truly was him, then she was right.

He really needed some sleep.

But it refused to come to him. Tonics and blood coming to mind at a mere glance of his bed. It makes his stomach turn and gives him the uncomfortable urge to constantly look over his shoulder, despite the threat being inside. And when he realizes that, he can't stop staring at his hands and chest, and it almost looks and feels like the black that covers his fingers is trailing up his palm, and then he blinks and it starts all over.

No matter how in control he feels, some days there's just a lingering anxiety about it.

Sleep isn't coming. Not for a long time. Not until he physically exhausts himself and passes out, and then still he may resist.

But it's not like he has anything to do. His quarters are barren of anything he may find interesting at this hour, and he would rather not get piss drunk just to pass the time with an early meeting tomorrow- today?

He takes a look out his window, marking the positions of the shadow from the moon, and confirms that it is, in fact, today.

It only makes his eyes hurt, a low growling coming from in his mind and possibly escaping his throat.

A knocking on his doorway startles him out of it.

"Enter." He says a lot more curtly than he intends. He bites his tongue.

"I don't think I want to anymore given that tone." Immediately he bites it harder, if only to stop a long winding nervous ramble about the new flower placed outside his window, which also happens to be your favorite.

You stand in the space of his open doorway, hand on the handle and your body half ready to tuck tail and flee. "May I?"

"Of course." He says, a bit too fast, and takes out his chair from his desk and drags it over to beside the bed.

The door shuts with a grand thunk, and your footsteps pad over quieter than ever. He places a pillow on top of the hard wood, just how you like it, and gestures for you to sit.

"I know you aren't a fan." You say, sitting atop the pillow. "So I wanted to hang out for a bit."

He smiles softly, and vaguely notes the roses drifting in at the corners of his eyes. "You mustn't stay up just for me. Beauty sleep is vital, especially for someone as attractive as thee."

You snort, giving him a look that at surface level reads annoyance, but he knows better, seeing the fond disbelief for what it is. "'Someone as attractive as thee?' Really? Didn't know this was a poetry class."

"I have to keep you on your toes. Can't allow you to know everything now can I? How would I ever surprise you?"

"You surprise me every day, Nikolai." His heart thrumps against his chest. "I don't think a change in vocabulary is required."

He snorts. "You have me there."

"That I do."

He takes in your appearance, and nearly gets on his knees when he realizes the soft white cloth that covers your torso has small embroideries on it, all of which hold a certain interest to your craft and possibly his own.

Gears, nuts, bolts, and wires stipple along your shoulders, falling down to your torso, where they plunge into flowing water at the hem. A design similar to a grisha kefta dances along your other sleeve, the same color at the bolts with dashes of purple if you look close enough.

He realizes you are the one that embroidered the details into the shirt, your signature shading technique used throughout the piece.

"How long did these take you?" He barely brushes his finger over the hem of the shirt, then presses down to feel the individual stitches.

You pick up the hem, feeling your own work as well. "A lot longer than I would like." Your voice is low and rumbly as you try to remain relatively quiet. "I kept messing up and changing the color part way through. I actually had to change shirts because I restarted so many times on the first one that the threads didn't want to hold together."

He believes it.

The care you take to make sure every line serves a purpose is inspiring. It makes him want to tinker with the parts around his room, take apart a clock like the young boy he once was did, now that all the clocks are his.

Perhaps he could sneak to Lazlayon. David will probably still be there. The three of you could work until his meeting.

But you'd be cranky the rest of the day. You'd have no problem staying up late to accompany him until it becomes a problem, and then you do yourself the disservice of playing it off like it's fine when everyone else is giving you a very wide berth in the halls and courtyard.

He would like you to have a social life.

"You alright?" He hears you ask.

You're half smiling when he looks up, trying really hard keep his eyes locked on yours and not elsewhere. "I'm not that readable. I know I'm not."

"You had nothing on your face." You admit, leaning in. "And that was the problem."

And doesn't that make him feel bare, vulnerable. To be known so well that even a lack of an expression is an expression in and of itself.

He feels his lips pull apart, the slight stickiness of his mouth slowly separating as he tries to think of something witty, something fast, and it feels like his mind is blank except for the blaringly obvious reason.

"I can't sleep." He whispers, eyes fluttering. "I can't sleep, and everything that could help is exactly the reason why I can't." He let's the hem fall from his fingers, dragging what feels like 40 pounds of dead weight back over to his own lap. "And you're sitting here, staying with me, and there's nothing I can do about the ocean of guilt my stomach and heart and any other organ that has the capacity for feelings are swimming in."

Guilt is the reigning emotion, making it feel like a snake is swimming through his gut, playing with his liver and choking his heart and lungs. If he thinks about it he can feel the tongue flickering and tickling stomach.

He's grateful you're here, but he wants so badly to either force you to leave or drag you into his bed so that you might get some modicum of sleep.

But you'd fight him every step of the way, pushing your heels into the floor (which would scratch them up and you'd complain about it tomorrow) and getting yanked out by his guards when they assume the worst.

And if he chose the second one... it twists his insides in a more pleasant way, but makes his head swim, and really really scares him. Because if you take it the way he really wishes it was, the way he dreams about, then he loses you, and may be seen as just like his father. And that's the worst thing he could ask for.

So he's stuck. He's stuck with the guilt until you decide to leave.

"I feel like we have the same conversation everytime I'm here." You chuckle, and he chuckles too.

"It's probably because we do. Or at least some version of it with varying words of vulnerability."

You lean forward more, arms crossed over your chest. "And it always ends up the same."

It does. It always ends with you sitting there for a few hours until you tire and then he has a guard guide you back to your room.

"But it doesn't need to." He scoots along the side of the bed, sinking into the sewn cloth filled with wool and feathers. "You're tired when you walk out of here and need an extra four cups of coffee when you wake up, and you hate coffee."

"But I like you." You turn in his chair facing directly towards him and he can't breathe anymore.

He doesn't know what way you mean that, if it means in any capacity the way he yearns for it to be. So he waits, with baited breath, for you to elaborate.

"I like you." You emphasize once more. "I like staying up into the latest hours of the night, either talking about everything and nothing or sitting in silence. I look forward to them, actually. Just existing in your presense is enough to make the obscene amounts of caffeine worth it."

It's on the edge. It could be a confession or it could just be you being nice. And he would rather throw himself into the unsea than be one of those guys he hears you complain about.

"I want to be here." You stand and move your chair, pushing it away from the bed. He barely has time to sit up straight before you're right in front of him, legs falling open to allow you closer as your hands come up and rest on his cheeks.

"I want you, Nikolai, wholly and completely, just as you are now. With every flaw and blemish etched into your being, a demon awaiting in your chest." Your thumbs gently glide over his bottom lip, coming to rest at the corner of his open mouth. "But there's a small part of me that fears you do not want me in the way that I want you."

He doesn't know how to respond. He couldn't possibly begin to string together any number of words that could convey even a semblance of the sincerity you ambushed him with.

He's a king for saints sake. Words are supposed to come to him in times of need.

But his mind is an endless fog, and the only thing he can think of is you.

You standing above him, pads of your fingers touching him so gently, palms radiating a warmth that makes him want to lean in and soak in it (he does), and a perfect mouth and mind that pair so well.

He needs to convince you. He needs to somehow tell you that you mean everything to him and more.

"Did you know my favorite drink is brandy?" He asks, looking you right in the eye.

Your eyebrows crinkle, but you smile. "I did."

He tugs you towards him, hands sliding up your back as you take tiny, unsure steps closer and closer. His fingers trail under your shirt, right against your warm skin and in the divet of your spine, and squeeze you until you're completely between his legs, chest leaning back just to get a look at him.

"If there was ever a time where you wanted the last drop of it, saints, the whole bottle, I would give it over in a heartbeat." Goosebumps dance along his skin when your fingers meet the base of his neck, toying with the hair. "If you hated the way a painting looked, i'd throw it out of the castle, and have it burned on the steps if it should please you. If you wanted a pastry from a shop two hundred miles away, i'd fly there immediately, ride there as fast as I could, or sprint the entire distance, if it meant you could eat it."

Your eyes scittered around his face, watching his brows, his eyes, his mouth, and even his ears, for anything. Anything he would give you to tell you he was lying.

But there was nothing to give.

He really would give you the last drop of brandy. He really would fly, ride, sprint two hundred miles for a pastry. "I would kiss you right now if you should request it, or leave from my own chambers should you request that instead."

"Nikolai." You whisper his name, his eyes fluttering the same time as his heart.

"I want you." He tells you forthright. "I want you in the way you want me. If you should ever need to be confident in something, let it be that."

Please, please let it be that.

You look at him, and all he can see is someone he wants. There isn't a thing about you that makes him turn away. Not your eating habits, not your hygiene, not your smell or your walk or your stance.

And as you lean down, placing those perfect lips right over his, definitely not your taste.

It's coffee and whatever berries were leftover from supper, the stickiness of sugar coating your lips from when you licked them clean.

You lean back, and he feels your lips press themselves over his cheek. His stomach turns and turns and turns and it won't stop. It makes his breath shakey and his closed eyes roll even further and further back in into his skull until he's sure they won't ever come back.

But more importantly it makes him feel warm, and warmer yet as you place a kiss over his eyes, the corners of his lips where your fingers rested, between his brows, the awkward bridge and tip of his nose, his chin. Your hands are gentle as they rest in the space between his neck and shoulder, and even still as your fingers find his nape and your lips kiss his again. Each part of him feels raw and exposed.

It's terrifying, and every bit as pleasing.

When you lean back a second time, he opens his eyes, and sees you smiling.

He hums. "If this is where not sleeping gets me, I'm going to have to do it more often."

"You already do it almost every night." You chuckle. "Besides, you don't need to go through all of that just to get a few kisses. I'd be happy to hand them over whenever you like."

"Whenever?" He presses.

"Whenever."

"Now?"

"If you like."

"I would like very much."

He's not all that surprised when you indulge him.

#nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov x y/n #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfic #shadow and bone x y/n #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfic #fanfic

[little-caeruleum-blog]

Hello! If your request are open I was hoping you could do a scenario with RedSon x reader

The reader either a crush or a s/o who’s favorite color is red, so RedSon’s reaction to seeing the reader in a red sun dress with matching red makeup! Just a short lil something sorry if your asleep I’m in Guam right now and it’s the middle of the day! Also sorry not doing requests right now! Thank you and have a good day

Shades of Red|| Red Son x Reader Bulletpoint Outline

A/N: Oooh, this sounds like a cute idea! I don't have a lot of details to help me understand the full picture so I apologize if some of the things aren't quite right.

You love to wear red, all kinds of red. Pink, coral, scarlet, ruby red, maroon, burgundy, etc. From wearing red clothing to wearing red makeup.

And you just happened to notice that a certain red-haired prince's eyes would stare with such intensity in them whenever you wear your favorite color.

It wasn't hard to notice. In fact, you seem very flattered by the entire thing. Of course, there was no doubt that Red Son's favorite color was red as well, seeing how he was always wearing the long stretched trench coat.

So why wouldn't it be fun if you decide to wear a different shade of red every single day?

On the first day of your little scheme, you wore a knee-length burgundy cardigan, similar to Red Son but embroidered with roses on the ends. You also wore a white tank top with black leggings and red high tops.

On the second day, you wore a ruby red skirt with a black shirt and a black corset, a top with your hair pulled back with a hair tie with red ribbons.

On the third day, you wore red corduroy pants with a long sleeve black shirt with a red dragon design on them.

The outfits were very fun to put together every time you saw him. But what was better was Red Son's reaction to them.

His cheeks turn bright pink as he tried to come up with an insult. He was never the one to outright compliment someone, even if it was towards his crush.

He could not stand it. You just looked too good with each shade of red you wore each day. But instead of telling you, his hair would just burst into flames. Or he would go and vent it to MK and Mei, who happily listened to their new best friend!

He would vent about how it was infuriating to try and talk to you without wanting to swoop in and kiss you! How the reds complimented your skin tone and how they made you glow like a ruby gem. He was just about to let all hell go loose! But he doesn't know how to express it to you!

Mei and MK listened, agreeing and trying not to laugh at his temper tantrum. It was adorable to watch him act like this. And they wanted to help him.

Mei wanted to be sneaky about it. She knew of your little scheme and wanted in to get you and Red Son together. MK was willing to help too.

So before you could coordinate your next outfit for tomorrow, Mei decided to drop by and suggest that you wore one of your dresses for today.

The dress she suggested was a pretty red v-neck sundress with white daisies pattern, a light brown sunhat, and with Mei's help, ruby red lipstick with red fading to black eye makeup.

She helped you get to the spot where she had everything set up for her and Red Son to have a nice picnic together. It was underneath a willow tree and was a bit far from the city.

MK would be with Red Son, using his Monkey King power to barge inside the prince's room. He would come up with an elaborated lie, one that he had to rehearse to sound convincing enough, that you and Mei were in some sort of trouble with a demon.

Red Son was quick to come to your "aid" and before he could release fire at the supposed demon, he stopped when he saw you patiently sitting down on the blanket. His eyes laid on your red lips before he spotted the red dress you were wearing.

By now, his face was turning beet red, one that rivaled the red on your dress. He started to stutter and, heavens forbid, even compliment you. You can feel yourself blushing too, not thinking that this would get this sort of reaction from Red Son.

Red Son finally managed to come up with something to say in this awkward moment. "You... that red suits you well."

That made you laugh at first and offer the empty space on the blanket for Red Son to sit down on. He happily accepted and laid his head down on your lap. You gently played with his hair as the two of you talked. Confess your feelings to one another and even share a small kiss on the lips, leaving a red-stained lipstick on his face.

#lmk red son x reader #lmk redson #red son monkie kid #red son #monkie kid red son #lego monkie kid #lmk fanfic #lmk fanfiction #lmk x reader #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #lego monkie kid fanfic #lmk #writing requests #request open

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

Working on another idea called the Kingdom of the Forgotten

It's a rewrite of Chip and Dale 2022, this time centralizing on Oswald as the antagonist. Here's a small snippet showing the tone of this version.

Bendy is fun to throw in as well I can't play the game due to all the jumpscares, which cause my POTs to flare. But I'm trying to learn the lore in other ways to include him in this,

This is seperate from the Off the Animation Table AU

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

Mickey slowly blinked consciousness returning, groaning as he sat up a hand going to his head. He remembered talking to Oswald and confronting him about his possible highly illegal Bootlegging operation.

"Well well well" his head whipped around at a voice that sounded deep and somehow wet,"Looky who it is," he scrambled back as he was met by a creature dripping in ink its face consumed by teeth, it was a demon toon of some sort however the mouse didn't care to find out more, his heart pounding as the creature slammed a hand down near him leaving an ink splatter

There was more laughter in the shadows as he squeaked curling in on himself, giggles ensued as the light above swayed, showing gleaming pie eyes surrounding them

"Alright, Bendy, you have had your fun. You'll get to have more soon my friend," the creature looked towards the other voice looking disappointed but his body morphed in a sickening blob that writhed until finally a toon emerged it looked like a cutesy Demon from the early rubberhose era, he smiled at Mickey, his pie eyes however shined with a malicious nature

"Of course, Ozzie!" He giggled, skipping towards where the voice came from before the rabbit stepped into the light with a smirk on his face as Bendy and was that Felix, stepped up behind the other,

Oswalds form was not of the Once Upon a Studio design, it was his Trolley Troubles look. However, he wore the same business shirt the sleeves now rolled up as he glared at his little brother, crossing his arms,

"Oswald? Why?" The mouse quickly stood up confusion running through his mind as the rabbit snorted

"Still have your eyes closed? You see Bendy here? That form is the result of experimentation, my son was lobotimized Felix was hit frequently by dip stained whips, all of us have been the victims of Human Primalness, this made us wiser then most,"

"So we can just demand an apology!"

"oh, you naive little mouse, that won't do anything," he shook his head,

"Nothing" Bendy snarled,

"But I wouldn't expect the King of the Known to know what happens to The Forgotten,"

"King of the Known?" Mickey repeated slowly head cocked in his confusion

Oswalds eyes met his, narrowing

"Tell me Michael brother mine, what do you think happens to toons like me? Like Bendy and Felix, ones that humans have forgotten like old toys and play things?"

The mouse paused and thought, he would think they'd be allowed to peacefully retire until they flickered or decayed to the point of non-existence, so that's what he vocalized,

"I would think you'd be told good job and retired to some place peacefully,"

Howls of laughter went through the space Oswald joining in, his friend elbowing him,

"Man Ozzie ya said he's so naive but I didn think he was this deluded!" Came from the Ink demon as Mickey shrunk,

"Told ya Walt's golden boy" the other quipped back, it struck at the mouses core a bit of anger now burning at the name of their creator coming from his brother's mouth like poison,

"We are torn apart Michael,"

"Experimented," came Bendys deeper more sludge like voice,

"Abused," Felix glared

The mouse felt sickened as more joined in shouting what had happened to them after their fame faded,

Assaulted

Burned

Cut open

Tortured

He felt his stomach twisting as Oswald held a hand up, the voices simmering down as he crept closer,

"Your the beloved Mickey Mouse, King of the Known" his brother leaned over with a smile as Bendy giggled and Felix smirked," You know who I am? I am the King of the Forgotten the lost and Mistreated you've met our darling Bendy from the forgotten Joey Drew Studios and you of course know Felix, my brother in law. But I won't dare forget my Citizens! "

Mickeys eye s winced as the Studio lit up before they adjusted and they went wide, hundreds of Black and White toons some dripping others flickered but all glared at the mouse who suddenly realized why Chip and Dale told him not to confront Oswald,

"Welcome to the Forgotten Kingdom!" He threw his arms out as everyone joined him in jeering and laughing,

#mickey mouse #oswald the lucky rabbit #disney brothers #The forgotten kingdom #bendy and the ink machine #batim bendy #felix the cat #disney #warner bros #universal

[adamwatchesmovies]

Little Nemo: Adventures in Slumberland (1989)

What Little Nemo: Adventures in Slumberland does successfully makes it worth seeing. Keep that in mind as you make your way through the rough patches. When this movie is bad, it weighs so heavily on your nerves you can’t stand it.

Young Nemo (voiced by Gabriel Damon), is brought to the dream kingdom of Slumberland by King Morpheus (Bernard Erhard). As the king’s new heir, Nemo's job is to guard his future subjects against the Nightmare King, the terrifying demon-like ruler of Nightmare Land. When Nemo accidentally opens the passage between the two worlds, he, his no-good friend Flip (Mickey Rooney) and Princess Camille (Laura Mooney) are Slumberland’s only hope.

This is a great-looking movie. It’s filled with stunningly complex shots, all of which have been brought to life by talented animators. As we navigate through a variety of inspired locations, we meet inventively designed characters and creatures. When the film is solely about movement, action, and our hero's adventure, it’s great. The images and animation have aged remarkably well and the special effects are top-notch. Something is refreshing about seeing a meticulously assembled animated picture like this one where you know each frame was hand-painted and hand-drawn. The gags that hit their mark help as well. If you’re passionate about animation, you should track this film down and take a look… once.

“Little Nemo” is meant for kids. LITTLE kids. Much of the dialogue in the first 30 minutes is disposable. People explain to us what we’ve already deduced from what’s happening on-screen, or we’re simply hearing Nemo say “wow!” And “yippee!” as his bed flies him through the air. You’re begging for him to have a friend or sidekick to bounce conversation off of. ANYTHING to stop the inane sounds coming from the boy’s mouth. Be careful what you wish for. Eventually, we’re introduced to Nemo's flying squirrel sidekick, Icarus (Danny Mann). the rodent is the definition of annoying and his character so useless to the plot you’ll look back fondly at the pointless non-dialogue we left behind. Unfortunately, he isn’t the only animal sidekick. Little ones may not mind the introduction of one goofy character after another but every grown-up will. It’s bad enough the plot is simplistic to a fault and the characters juvenile to the point of being unrelatable to anyone over the age of 8 but they undermine anything that might’ve been cool to the rest of us. Combined with the dreadful soundtrack courtesy of the usually bankable Sherman Brothers (who do not offer us a single memorable note or verse), you'll be tempted to put the film on mute. There's got to be some kind of soundtrack that will synch up to the tone of the images somewhere....

Rewatching Little Nemo, the visuals still dazzle but the annoying bits are so egregious it made me wonder how I managed to sit through it not once, but twice. At least the film is obviously bad - at least story-wise -, which will hopefully prepare you for the overall experience. And yet, what's on-screen is so striking you're compelled to keep watching. Perhaps it isn’t so bad after all. I’d hate to dissuade you from seeing it in case it sparks that bonfire of imagination within you. Consider yourself warned but encouraged. (On DVD, May 24, 2019)

#Little Nemo: Adventures in Slumberland #little nemo #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #Masami Hata #William hurtz #jean giraud #yutaka fujioka #windsor mccay #Mickey Rooney #Rene Auberjonois #Gabriel Damon #1989 movies #1989 films

[savethelastdan]

loving leads to bleeding (and your beauty is a blessing)

SessKagu off-shoot of this one except Akinori lives :) 

originally written for @sweepingtree 

When fourteen-year-old Akinori returns from the fortune teller’s home, he is ashen and quiet. 

This is not like his son, so Sesshomaru waits until the sky is dark and everyone else has retired, before going to the witch’s home himself. 

He hears of a future where he once again wanders alone; where hope sleeps away the years under a blanket of ice and snow; and Kagura screams curses at his back as she folds herself over their child’s corpse. 

Beneath his choking grip, the fortune-teller croaks a curse, if he is to intervene in fate’s design once again. “Your wife, your human daughter - when will it be enough? You must learn to accept grief, instead of forcing it’s hand.”  

But of all things, this is not one that Sesshomaru will accept. 

The Panther King dies the next morning, and Akinori turns fifteen.

-

Seed

“Mama, when will I have a spider mark like yours?” 

Kagura stills. From the hot spring’s shallow end, Akinori’s bright eyes watch her lips curve down. 

His mother is pretty, and thus so is her frown; but he feels guilty all the same. After all, the rare times she frowns are usually because of Papa, not because of him. 

“You won’t.” Dipping her hands in the water, Kagura scrubs at her neck as she answers. “The man who put this mark on Mama is gone now.” 

“Gone?”

“Dead.” When she says it, her lip curls, and since it’s halfway to a smile Akinori feels a bit better. 

He’s five years old, so he knows what death is, of course. Death is the time his big sister burst into tears because a bird flew into the side of the door during a storm; the thing that means he has only a sword waiting for him to grow up, no grandfather to go with it; the girl named Kanna his mother talks about when he sits on her lap by the looking-glass.

Death is sad, most of the time. But from the way his mother smiles as she wades over to wash his hair, maybe it isn’t always. 

-

Bud

“You’re sulking.” It is a statement, not a scolding. And yet, Akinori shrinks when he hears his father’s voice come up behind him. 

Pouting, he pokes his head around the trunk of the tree. Sesshomaru stands there, arms loose at his sides, and waits. 

“It’s not fair.” He points one claw towards the bottom of the hill, where his favorite cousin is still playing with the annoying boy from the demon slayer tribe. “She’s younger than me, how come she’s taller?” 

Sesshomaru scoffs in the back of his throat. “What a thing to fuss about.” 

Akinori is only eight years old, but he burns with what someday will be dubbed a righteous adolescent rage at his father’s refusal to take this seriously. “Papaaaaaa. I’m the strongest one, I should be the leader. But Minako said it had to be the tallest - “

“She’s taller because you have more demon blood. It will take longer for you to grow up.” Sesshomaru’s gold eyes glance over his son; Akinori doesn’t notice, but his wife or even his sister in law could hear the admittance beneath his words that this is not something he dislikes. When Akinori only pouts further, he moves to let a hand rest on his son’s head. “Let her be the leader for now.”

“But - “ 

“Akinori.” Sesshomaru’s thumb grazes the half-moon on the boy’s forehead; the mark of their family. “Let her.” 

The unfairness of it all puts the exclamation out of his chest, as he shoves his father’s hand away. “Ugh, why?” 

Sesshomaru sighs; his hands return to his sides. “Because you will outlive her.” 

Later, Kagura will scold him for saying it like that (as though she is anything other than blunt, herself). Because Akinori is eight, and hearing his father speak so calmly of his family passing away is scary. Scary enough that, when it is time to leave, he wraps his arms around Minako’s neck and shrieks. 

I’ll save you like Papa saved Big Sister Rin! 

Four parents discuss it in hushed (and extremely frustrated) tones that night; Akinori never finds out exactly what they say. 

So death, he thinks, half-asleep on Jaken’s shoulder as he’s carried out of his aunt and uncle’s hut, isn’t only something that happens to people he’s never met. 

It’s something to be feared. 

-

Bloom 

Pulling the blanket over his shoulder, Kagura sits on the side of her son’s bed. Though she’s watched Akinori sleep his whole life, since becoming a teenager he’s found it creepy. Whenever he complains, she just laughs and admits that she can’t help it. 

“It’s like my heart is outside of my chest again, only this time it’s wandering the world and getting into trouble,”  she says to Sesshomaru once. At the time, he hadn’t said a word. But the slight dip in his chin made it clear he’d understood. 

Now, her husband stands in the door, head held high. Some might think it means he’s proud; but Kagura’s spent too many years by his side to be fooled. 

“She said that he was fated to die.” 

Air rips away from her lungs, ready to fasten itself into a sharp weapon; Kagura forces it back, not willing to wake her child. “When?”

“His birthday.” Sesshomaru unfolds the mokomoko from his shoulders as he speaks. When it drops to the floor, out of the corner of her eye Kagura marks spots of blood staining the white. “It has been prevented.”

She thinks of Kohaku, showing off his latest successful hunt to a line of nieces and nephews; Rin, smiling and laughing within a huge crowd of villagers; her own reflection, growing older in the mirror. “Good. I wouldn’t let you come back here otherwise.” 

The statement is an unspoken allowance for him to come closer, and he does. Their sleeves brush as Sesshomaru settles beside her. “The witch spoke of consequences.” 

She says it without thinking. “Whatever they are, they’re worth it.”

For a moment, they are silent; both entirely focused on the sleeping boy. Kagura regains focus first, turning to look her husband full in the face. A speck of blood marks his brow, and she brushes it away with her finger. 

“It’s quite a lot of trouble, loving something this much.” She tries to keep her tone light; it doesn’t quite work, with the weariness in Sesshomaru’s eyes. Kagura lets one hand rest on his shoulder, and the other on the slight swell hidden beneath her robes. “Do you think your heart can handle another?” 

-

Akinori turns fifteen. He is gifted the sword that fights death, and a fan that makes corpses dance. His confidence in wielding each makes his sister shake her head in disbelief, and his mother show all her teeth in a smile. 

His father’s servant, Jaken, drinks too much and tells him the story of his birth. How he, the spawn of a wind demon, had no air in his lungs. How it was only the sword now hanging at his hip that saved him. 

“And now he’s gone and messed with things again! Oh, please try not to worry Lord Sesshomaru anymore, Akinori,” Jaken wails, wobbling back and forth as his eyes roll back. “I don’t think any of us could survive it if you do.” 

Akinori goes to his father, that night, and cries in his chest like a child. Because whether it scares him or saddens him, love is a bigger part of his story than death will ever be.

ALTERNATE (DARK) ENDING:

“It’s quite a lot of trouble, loving something this much.” She tries to keep her tone light; it doesn’t quite work, with the weariness in Sesshomaru’s eyes. Kagura lets one hand rest on his shoulder, and the other on the slight swell hidden beneath her robes. “Do you think your heart can handle another?” 

Sesshomaru’s lips part, but whatever he plans to say never makes it out; instead, he freezes, chest expanding in an inhale. 

“What is it?” Alarm sends her heart pounding hard against her ribcage as her husband’s yokai energy heats and expands, turning the edges of her vision red. 

He reaches over, clearly fighting to be gentle, and pulls the blanket down. Kagura swears under her breath, blood running cold.

On the back of one shoulder, a brown spider’s mark stains Akinori’s skin. 

#sesskagu #inuyasha #savethelastdan #shespitsfire #sesshomaru #kagura #rin #kohaku #kagome #kagura of the wind #jaken #oc

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 8

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: death mention, possible minor body horror with regards to injury

It had been a fortnight since Andariel. Morgan was adjusting to his new reality, one where speaking much louder than a whisper for more than a few sentences made it feel like he'd been screaming his throat raw. Where pain was out of proportion to the damage that caused it. Where his left arm was all but useless. Although he felt well enough to get up and move around, the wound on his arm showed no signs of closing. An inky colouration had spread out from the puncture, extending up above his elbow and down to his wrist. It turned his stomach to look at it. Any remaining strength in the limb was negated by the pain that shot through it at the slightest jostle or pull. Akara's expertise in the healing arts was not sufficient to handle a wound like this, caused by a demon queen and determined to linger. She had offered her sympathies and a supply of bandages, which at least allowed him to bind the damned thing so he didn't have to see it. His own limited knowledge of medicine did not extend to this manner of injury either, so simply keeping it covered and clean seemed like the best option available.

Morgan had been spending most of his time and energy on meditation and geomancy. Physical pursuits were not very attractive at the moment, so instead he focused on improving his magic. He would need it more than ever now, given the state of his arm. Eventually he would return to the graveyard he'd marked, to check on the restless spirits there, but he wasn't yet well enough for that journey.

The ground around the encampment was largely untended, but the soil was good. Morgan had been using it to flex his magical abilities cautiously, not wanting them to suffer from disuse. He turned small patches at a time, shuffling the richer earth up toward the surface bit by bit, until eventually there was a respectable area prepared. Nobody had asked him to install a garden, but it felt like it might be a useful contribution. It also helped to ground him. He had often tended the gardens back home, and found now that he was missing that work.

Short forays into the surrounding fields were still within the scope of Morgan's ability. Over the course of about a week, he'd managed to successfully transplant a reasonable variety of usable plants. Comfrey, feverfew, yarrow, and chamomile had all been easy enough to spot, and each had at least one medicinal use. They also had the benefit of being reasonably hardy, taking root well in the freshly turned earth. He had also experimented a little with some preparations of other plants he'd found - an outcrop of sway grass by a small lake, some sage nestled in among a patch of bright trefoil, a little bark from the willow just outside the encampment - but despite following standard procedures for preparation, none of the resultant concoctions did anything to relieve the pain of his injury. He took some fruits from what looked like an oleaster, intending to dry them for another attempt in the future, but he kept his expectations low. If the wound wasn't going to heal properly, it stood to reason that the other effects would also linger.

Cain had been good company, stopping by often. He inquired about the garden as it was talking shape and seemed legitimately interested in the various applications of the plants filling it. Morgan took care not to speak at too much length on any one topic, endlessly interesting though they were. Equally fascinating were the tales Cain had to share in exchange. The story of Tristram had been a sobering one, between the king's corruption by Diablo and the destruction it had wrought. And it seemed that it was not yet concluded, given the hero-turned-dark-wanderer who had fled. It would be worth pursuing that tale to its conclusion; Morgan's original request had been duly fulfilled, but the evident threat to the Balance was more pressing than returning to the Necropolis.

He'd also been alternating between meditating on ways to improve his clay golems and creating small versions to test the changes he'd thought of. So far he had come up with a lot of failed designs, going too far to the extremes to test the boundaries. A build with above average mobility that would crumble in combat, a strong and sturdy make that could absorb a great deal of punishment but would be too slow to hit anything that wasn't standing still. Now it was time to rein it in, to tinker with proportions and the flow of magic through the construct until something better emerged. Morgan slipped easily into the in-between state, retreating into his mind while his body rested in a comfortable cross-legged position. A pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree he was leaning against. Today would be good for focusing on the smaller details. He lost himself for a time in the contemplation of his designs.

A crawling, prickling discomfort pulled him back into reality. The sun was getting low in the sky. Someone had put their hand on his shoulder, and they were speaking to him.

"- word I've said, have you?" It was Blaise, looking annoyed.

Morgan shifted away from her, and she let her hand fall. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't hear you. I was meditating." The rough sound of his voice was another thing he was still getting used to. He rubbed his throat gingerly. Should have thought to keep some water nearby.

"Of course you were. I said, I talked to Kashya and she's agreed to give you some training. If you're going to keep fighting monsters and demons, you'll need some help. With your swordplay. It's not very good."

She was right, of course. Now that he could no longer hold a shield, his sword would have to be defensive as well - and magic had always been his strength, not actual physical strength or coordination. He'd been planning to refocus himself entirely on the magical side of things, but this was undeniably a good idea even if he didn't relish the prospect of physical training. Any formal instruction in the use of a sword would be useful.

"When?"

"You're welcome. Whenever you're ready. As soon as tomorrow." Instead of turning to go, she sat next to him. He expected her to keep talking, but she didn't. Maybe she was working up to something. The silence stretched uncomfortably. She didn't like him, she'd often said as much - so why was she staying so near? He'd been doing his best to be avoidable, true to his word. She hadn't been taking advantage of it, instead crossing his path at least once a day. Probably some sort of sense of obligation. The Sisterhood had been treating him with a cautious, grudging respect since Andariel's defeat. It was... strange.

That reminded him of a question he'd been meaning to ask. Now seemed as good a time as any, so he turned to study her. "Blaise. Why did you tell everyone I killed Andariel?"

She startled visibly and raised a hand to shush him. "What the hell, Morgan," she hissed, "you can't just say-" she cut herself off, looking around furtively. Apparently satisfied that nobody was eavesdropping, she continued in hushed tones. "Look, if Akara and Kashya knew I killed that big ugly bitch, they'd never let me get away from this backwater. It's different for you. They're expecting you to go. And when you leave, I'm going with you. At least until I'm well away from here. This place... I'm not really cut out to be part of something like this."

"Ah." That explanation made enough sense. He hadn't realized she wanted to leave, but then he often didn't realize things about other people. Perhaps he'd misinterpreted her loyalty as fondness. There wasn't always a correlation there. She hadn't exactly been talkative during their time together - not to him, not about personal wishes and desires. It also explained the closeness; by spending time around him, she was putting on a front, laying the groundwork that would justify her departure. Satisfied, he turned away to look at the sky. It was starting to be tinged with pink, and it was lovely to see.

"How do you do it?" Now it was her turn to scrutinize him. She was staring intently at his face as though it was going to hold anything other than confusion. Do what? Had he slipped back into his thoughts and missed part of the conversation? "I mean, doesn't it bother you?" That clarified nothing. He stared blankly, and she huffed. "People don't like you. As a necromancer. I mean, we didn't exactly give you a warm welcome. But there's no way it's just us. Your kind are... well, hated."

Oh, that. It was just a fact. He'd come to accept it easily enough. People didn't usually take kindly to him even before they knew his particular area of specialization. He shrugged, wondering idly what had lead to the question. She didn't seem to like that response.

"It's normal," he offered.

"It's not normal! How could you think that's normal? How do you... live with it?" She gesticulated, as though the waving of her hands might clarify her meaning. It did not. How else would he live? He took a moment to search for the words to frame it.

"As followers of Rathma, we are driven by pursuit of the Balance. What others think of us is not important."

"Not im- Morgan, of course it's important! The way people treat you matters. You have to rely on other people all the time."

"I try not to."

Blaise pinched the bridge of her nose as though the conversation was giving her a headache. "Yeah, I know you do. But sometimes you don't have a choice. Like - there's no way you could have gone up against Andariel alone, she would have killed you in a second."

"Mm." While certainly true, it didn't change much. Alone, he would have been more cautious, planned better. Probably died anyway. Others would have come to take his place. His individual life only held value in the contribution it could make toward the Balance. Death came inevitably to all things; to die in service was at least honourable.

Blaise seemed agitated. "I don't think you understand - this is life and death stuff. For fuck's sake, you nearly did die! When-" she lowered her voice, which had risen in frustration. It shook a little. "When I brought you to Akara, she argued with me. She didn't want to waste her supplies on you. She was just going to let you die on her doorstep, because she doesn't like you. That's not normal. You can't just think that's okay."

It certainly wasn't extraordinary. That was why necromancers generally brewed their own potions, not that he'd had either the time or the forethought to reach for his own during the encounter. He started to shrug again. Akara had been pleasant enough since - oh. All the pieces came together suddenly, but the picture they formed didn't quite make sense. Blaise had lied to save him. She'd decided, probably on an impulse, out of desperation, to frame him as the hero because the healer wasn't going to touch him otherwise. She had wanted him to live, and had sacrificed her own part in the story to ensure his survival.

Of course, that type of instinctively selfless behaviour was part of the reason he'd decided she was a genuinely good person. But having that kindness extended to him - that was new. He didn't quite know what to make of it. People weren't kind to him, as a rule. That was familiar, at least, predictable. It didn't feel like he'd done anything to earn this special treatment. He'd have to tread carefully.

"It's what I'm used to," he said quietly. "Death comes to all things. We do not expect others to delay it for us. But you... are extraordinary." It didn't really feel adequate, but he would need some time to process this new information, and the moment would be long past by then. "Thank you," he added. That also felt shallow. He had no reference to draw from - what was the appropriate way to convey this tangle of feelings? Indebtedness, surprise, gratitude, admiration, and those were just the aspects he had names for. He purposely held her gaze for a moment, hoping she would be able to glean something from that since his words weren't doing the job.

Blaise opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Instead, she stood and stretched. "I bet you haven't even eaten today. Come on, Charsi made these beautiful rabbit pies. You have to try them." She extended her hand toward him. He didn't especially want to join a communal meal, but it would be rude to refuse such a rare offer. And he had, in fact, neglected to eat. He took her hand to pull himself up. Tomorrow he would attempt to train with Kashya, but right now he wouldn't worry about it.

#my writing #story: unbidden #death mention tw #body horror tw

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Fluff on MC taking Helena to a Ren Faire?

Trigger Warning: Reference to abuse

***

I smile at the memories that flood my mind as I slowly pulled Helena's old cloak out from of the back of the closet. The smell of wet earth and campfire fills my senses as I lay it out onto the bed, pulling out the light brown tunic that hung behind it next. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago -  yet, just yesterday - since the last time we had worn them.

"Hm? What is all this for, My Love?" Helena says as she walks into the room, immediately tracing her fingers softly over the soft dark fabric of her cloak. A small smile of fondness reaches her mouth, and my heart can't help but swell.

"Sorry, babe. It's a surprise." I say. She beams at the last word and moves closer to me.

"I still remember the day you picked this out for me." She says warmly. "You looked at me like no one else ever had. You were the first person to ever truly see me, you know."

"Lucky me." I say with a smirk, pressing a firm kiss to her lips. "Now, let's hurry up and get these on. Sophie will be here any minute."

She stares at me inquisitively for a moment and then hums, walking over to the bed as she takes the soft fabric into her hands. I can't help but stare as she begins to strip from her daily wear, and magically transforms into the woman who originally stole my breath away. The woman who didn't know her true worth, who battled her inner demons day after day until she finally found peace. She catches me staring and I blush. Her sapphire eyes turning hungry as she realizes the affect this is having on me.

"If you keep looking like that at me, my love, we will never make it to this mysterious surprise of yours." The promise in her tone makes me blush even harder and I quickly start changing into my tunic before I can change my mind, her eyes never leaving me until the last strap is fastened.

"Well.. let's get going. Sophie's downstairs." I say quickly.

I make it about half way to the door before Helena stops me - bringing me into a heated kiss as she wraps her arms around me. It takes everything in me not to immediately undress her, not to immediately take her right then and there, to write my love into her skin - but the joy I knew she was about to feel gives me the strength to finally pull away.

"As you wish, my love." She says with a laugh as she takes my hand is hers and leads us out of the apartment.

Sophie gives us a wide grin from inside of the car. She’s wearing the outfit Solaire gifted her for the wedding, and I can’t help but smile.

"You girls ready?" She asks as Helena and I get into the car.

"You bet!" I exclaim, unable to hold my excitement back any longer.

Helena simply hums as she leans into the back seat - always so completely content to sit back and watch the scenery of the world pass her by. Every so often her curiosity would get the best of her and she'd inquire about something interesting that she had never seen before, and I was always more than happy to answer her. The incredible growth she had gone through since coming to this world was one to be truly inspired by. She was finally beginning to see her worth, and I would spend the rest of my life making sure she felt it everyday. I can't help the extreme surge of excitement that passes through my body as we finally make it to our destination. This would be a day that Helena would certainly not forget.

"Are you ready, babe?" I ask as I turn to face her. She smiles at me fondly and nods.

"Always, my love. I would follow you anywhere."

I blush slightly at her affections, always disarmed with how she could turn a phrase. We exit the car and I take her hand in mine, eagerly leading her through the parking lot and towards the large wooded area in front of us. A giant wooden sign that read KING RICHARD'S FAIRE stood above the entry way.

"Helena. I have a feeling you're going to feel quite a bit at home in here." I give the woman at the gate our tickets and Helena's eye widen with a sort of awe inspiring joy.

"What... what is this place?" She asks barely above a whisper.

"This, babe, is a renaissance faire. It's basically the closest thing we have to your world... only without the magic, unfortunately." I take her arm in mine and start to lead her through the crowded faux cobble stone walk way.

"How incredible.. It literally could be taken directly out of the human realms." She says as she slowly takes in all of her surroundings. The smell of caramel apples and turkey legs fills the air as I lead her over towards the large shopping area.

"I figured we could look around for a bit before the jousting match begins." I say, stopping at a shop with a particularly large selection of beautiful hand made rings. The smooth wood and polished stones so carefully inlayed into each one, reminded me of my own ring. I smile as I run my fingers over it - the wood slightly worn now, but the feelings it invoked were just as strong as the first day Helena had slipped it on my finger. 

"Come on, girl. I need a turkey leg, and now." Sophie says abruptly before running off towards the food vendors. I laugh as I'm sufficiently pulled from my day dreams and follow after her. The smells are delicious and thoroughly overwhelming to the senses. My mouth waters as we finally catch up to her, and I take Helena's arm in mine.

"What are you thinking, babe?" I ask her, squeezing her hand gently. I watch as her pensive eyes scan their way across the many fair delicacies, catching the glint in her eyes as they land on a vendor selling fresh meat pies.

"Do those not remind you of our first meal together, My Love? After we escaped?" She asks the words so casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. To escape her abuser - her literal demons - the woman who made her kneel until her knees were black. Even after all these years, her strength still astounded me. Blinking back a few tears, I give her a nod and begin to lead the way.

"Of course. I still remember that day like it was yesterday." I give her a warm smile as we take our place in line.

"It is amazing how detailed everyone's costume here is. You would not know they were not from my world." She takes a moment to scan the crowd and I do too -. My eyes immediately falling on a woman who's costume could only be described as epic. Her ashen skin so meticulously painted - brilliantly accented the silver and purple hues that intertwined through the complex braids that decorated her hair. The four arms she adorned moved with ease, remarkably realistic to the untrained eye. The sultry lines of her face only slightly obscured by a black lace veil that covers it. A beautiful red head stood next to her, dressed regal enough to be royalty - her arm tightly wrapped around the woman's waist. The love in their eyes was undeniable - unwavering - and I couldn't help but smile. They were chatting with a gorgeous dark haired woman - who looked entirely unenthused - emerald tips flowing down her shoulders, and a petite woman who stood next to her - wearing a scowl on her face, and the most flawlessly painted flowers I had ever seen put on a person's body.

"Their costumes are incredibly well done, no?" Helena asks, looking over at the same group of people.

"You could say that again, babe." I reply with a laugh, just in time for a set of silvered eyes to lock onto mine through the intricate designs of a thin veil. I can feel a slight blush rise to my cheeks as the woman smirks - giving me a small wink before turning back to her party. Helena catches the exchange and smiles.

"The woman has excellent taste, at least." She says fondly, and I feel the blush start to grow darker.

"A-anyways.. We should go find Sophie. The jousting tournament is about to begin." Helena gives me an inquisitive look, and I continue. "It's like a Knight’s sparring match. Complete with horses.”

She gives me a small hum and we make our back through the crowds. We find Sophie talking with a group of guys dressed like elves, each one of them completely enamored with her. I laugh to myself and wave her over to us before heading towards the other side of the fair ground. Helena's excitement only grows with each vendor we pass, with each specialty food that reminds her of home. It was heartwarming to me that she could still look back on that place with such fondness. A place that once held so much darkness and pain for her, so much hopelessness and death - Now could be a place of warmth. We didn't get to visit the others often, but Helena always treasured it when we did.

We get to the outside arena just in time for the show to begin. Everyone in the crowd had a flag to wave - blue for one knight, and red for the other. I buy Helena a red one before the three of us take our seats. The crowd around us, a sea of red flags, cheers as their opponent enters the arena, with loud boos and hisses as the Blue Knight takes their spot. The look in Helena's eyes is one of pure wonder and joy as the two knights begin their battle. Round after round until finally, much to the crowds dismay, the Red Knight falls. The Blue Knight, sits up proudly on his horse, with a smug smile on his face as he addresses the crowd.

"Your mighty knight hath fallen! Is there any just commoner that would like to avenge his death!? Anyone who will duel for his honor?"

His voice bellows across the crowd as they all remain quiet. I can see a small smile come to the corner of Helena's mouth, and had to laugh at what I can tell was about to take place. She gracefully stands, instantly demanding attention like the Goddess that she is.

"If you would do me the honor, dear Knight. I would love nothing more than to avenge his honor." Her voice is calm and collected as she steps down into the crowd, and onto the brown grass of the fair grounds.

"A-as you wish, my lady." The Blue Knight - obviously taken back by the fact this tall, blonde, seemingly harmless looking woman, wanted to duel him. "The weapon of choice today is the mighty sword. I hope you are ready, Miss."

The glint that comes to Helena's eyes almost stops the man from handing her the swords at all, not even aware of the damage she could do to him - even with a set of prop ones, such as these - Helena takes a moment to bow before they both take their stances. As soon as the starter gun goes off, all I can see if a blur of moonlit hair against the crushed night velvet of her cloak. Each flawless swing takes the Blue Knight by surprise. She's the most incredible thing I've ever seen - A cyclone of strength, and beauty - pain and healing. I watch as her cloak twirls one last time before the knight fall to his knees. The crowd erupts into applause as he raises his swords and then lays them down as a sign of defeat.

“You have won, My Lady. You have defeated me.” The man says as he plays the part and falls besides his swords.

Sophie and I can't help but to scream and cheer with the rest of the crowd as Helena rises - her silken hair falls back effortlessly against her shoulders, not a strand out of place, not a breath to catch. She was perfect - Outshining the sun as she stands ever so humbly in front of the crowd. A small smile on her face as she locks eyes with me. To the people in the crowd, what she did seemed to be a truly incredible feat, but they had no idea what Helena had already overcome in her life. How she faced and battled demons much bigger, and scarier than this, every day of her life - and just like today, with the warm sun shining behind her like a beacon - She triumphed. She’s risen each time a little less banged up than the last, and sometimes, like today, she rises as the great and powerful sorceress that she is, with a cool autumn breeze in her hair, and a warm smile on her face.

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #lovestruck helena #helena x mc #love and legends helena #helena klein #fluffy #fluff #sporadic sunday

[mantrabay]

Hitchhiker From Another World Part 2

Improvements and edits.

.

“Watch your driving, there." Lelia being brash.

Her different voices now somersaulting.

“Very quite aren't we, Josh?"

Josh mark you!

Grilling me like an interrogator trying to crack a stubborn suspect.

Without a word of warning Lelia raised her voice and got into a tantrum.

“What's the matter ….lost something?”

Joshua said anxiously.

A curious search resembling a scrum ensued.

Then more silence.

I craned my neck and spotted an uncanny regression.

Lelia talking to herself in a child-like manner and then changing tack.

“Don't worry. Found what I was looking for.”

Another void.

A tense lull. A little lockjaw appears when the juice runs out of discourse.

I squinted in the mirror once more.

This time Lelia was talking to her palm.

Staring vacantly at it she kept repeating the name Linda.

Lelia continued oblivious to what I saw or might be thinking.

She hummed this strange lullaby.

Suddenly my "selves" surfaced in an uncontrollable flurry.

I tried to suppress them but failed abysmally.

The "whispers and selves" started to have a life of their own.

This car is getting a bit crowded.

It's being converted into a train with fantasy passengers on board.

The sort one hears late at night hurtling through the countryside as dim lights flicker.

Both inside and outside this vehicle a tumult of events was took place.

Out of the blue the rain poured heavily.

“The gods or the elements must be cross or something.” Lelia opined.

“Let’s get introduced to my playmate in a palm.

Linda, these are Joshua’s true other selves.”

Lelia chuckling.

A comic situation arose where I changed my voice for each of my "selves" by way of introduction.

My great powers of concentration helped while driving.

"Pleased to meet you, Linda.”

Lelia altered her voice when teasing all my "selves."

She had some experience as a ventriloquist.

But Lelia was having this hypnotic effect too.

I was being manipulated.

One by one my highly personalised complexes were being extracted and subject to a rigorous interrogation.

This was some hitchhiker.

Was this car journey now becoming a high rent farce or a mock therapy session from an amateur shrink?

The rain continued to lash and my other "selves" felt like the last sting of a dying wasp.

A certain lightness ensued.

Almost as if my “aspects” were floating away.

For the first time my "other selves“ didn't seem to have this grip on me.

But deep down I knew I wanted to keep a little of them.

Although they were a burden they did have their positive aspects.

“Jonah … he still bugs doesn't he.

He’s almost like one of those "other selves!"

The "whispers" I heard earlier … I've a very delicate ear.

Those under the breath "whispers" gave the game away.

The names and complex relations between them."

Lelia now probing very deeply.

The wind howled and seafront rain waves splashed across my bonnet

There was a warped synchronicity.

As my complexes receded so did the thunderous weather.

They were working in tandem.

“Wash it all away. Come on, come on

See me waving my wand.”

Lelia chanted.

The Exorcist film had nothing on this.

Before his very eyes Joshua's "reticence" and the other "selves" were disappearing virtually.

Against the backdrop of all this inner and outer cacophony Lelia kept looking out the window.

Was that this home she mentioned earlier getting closer as Joshua was

"going home” to himself?

“Windows are amazing.

They show us the world but sometimes screen us from it.”

Lelia notes.

fog from the car window.

“Trees and branches swaying. Clouds darkening.

Thickening ominously.

Exodus of pedestrians seeking answers.”

Her voice penetrating Joshua.

“Am I being cleansed of what they call inner demons?"

Joshua panic stricken.

"This other worldly person has me spellbound.

There's a chessboard in this moving vehicle.

A total stranger has me in her palm.” .

Lelia assumed various postures.

As Joshua was the driver she didn't want to send him to sleep.

Lelia's voice was either a hypnotist's drone or excited sports commentator.

Joshua could never forget this encounter.

“Don't forget Jonah too. Joshua wherever he might be.”

Her sinister tone rising.

“The name on your credit card.

I found it earlier when searching for my script.

Joshua Jonah king.”

Joshua confessed he was an only child.

“Am I a prisoner?.

Must button my lip.

I'm being freed and incarcerated by this person, the likes of whom I've never met before.”

Joshua felt a final therapeutic process coursing through him.

Very little was left of his "selves,” whispers.”

Joshua drove through a stoically preserved area whose haunting nature was blurred by this encounter.

“Terrible to have all these half-worlds revealed with such clinical accuracy.”

Joshua to himself.

Lelia's voice gradually lost its domineering tone.

At this point by accident or design the tense atmosphere eased.

“You are probably wondering where this is all going to end.

Maybe I have whispers, Jonah's and selves to face too.”

A casual Lelia random comment.

On this occasion a composite of adult confidence and infantile charm.

“Oh here we are, this place.”

She stated.

Joshua had undergone some sea change catharsis.

“Should I thank Lelia or what?

Jonah my make-believe twin. Don't really need him do I?”

Joshua pondered.

“Back to earth my dear.

This is where we part.”

Lelia again.

“Better change the name on that credit card.

It could bug your company!”

Lelia cackles..

“See that building..

It's called “Another World School of Acting.”

Acting is therapy..

Therapy in every sense!

They are auditioning for a play

“Inside The Split Mind." She said.

"Wonder will I get the part?”

Lelia looked away sadly.

“Off I go. Enjoy yourself or yourselves or whatever is left of them.”

Lelia laughing through her tears..

“Better get out of here fast, Josh.” Joshua to himself.

“I'm beginning to sound like her.” Joshua now driving at top speed.

“It will be awhile before I offer someone a lift again.

I suppose I should be grateful to her.” Joshua’s face now a deep red.

"Well, Jonah, I guess I'm going to miss you and all those "issues" in a way.

But at least I can be myself …. sort of.”

Short story by mantrabay copyright protected

[phoenixtakaramono]

The Untold Tale - ch2 Preview

SUMMARY: Let it not be said that Shen Yuan didn’t know how to be an accomplished—arguably better—writer than Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! A middle-aged author in his hubris, he’d unknowingly triggered his fate and had his consciousness whisked away into an unfathomable mystical world that he would later learn to be based on Proud Immortal Demon Way and his very own work-in-progress. When given the opportunity to customize his character’s stats and to design his one remaining Customizable Skill Slot, as a veteran reader of transmigration stories and its tropes, Shen Yuan demanded, “Grant me the protagonist’s halo of course!”

The SYSTEM was silent all but for a minute.【Understood. Unique Skill <<PROTAGONIST’S HALO>> activated. Esteemed Host, you share the Unique Skill <<PROTAGONIST’S HALO>> with one other.】

“Who?”

【This world’s Luo Binghe. From the original novel series.】

“...Hold on, I need some time to process this.”

(Little did Shen Yuan know that this world’s Luo Binghe is the same sadistic Heavenly Demon “Bing gē” who’d stumbled upon the alternate universe version of his “Shizun” enjoying marital bliss with “Bing mèi” in one of the released Extra short stories. It was also too bad that Shen Yuan, in his mortal form, resembled Shen Qingqiu by a good thirty-to-forty percent.) 

(It’s a sort-of redemption fic. I think Bing gē deserves his own Shen Yuan. Some soulmates are just meant to be....)

Luo Binghe didn’t reply immediately when the low voice graced his ears. He was content to drink his fill of the fortuneteller before him, his breath stolen. 

It was as if the Heavens had sculpted this extraordinary fairy from the white nephrite mines of the Tian Shan Mountains and had breathed life into their creation. Such a man gave the impression of a heron found resting in the wetlands, with an immaculately majestic white plumage and tall stature and long legs. The crown had lent him a dignified air, with its moonstone threads giving off a resplendent iridescent sheen in the moonlight. Aside from the face, any sign of skin was covered up beneath the many fabrics of dark blue finery and silverspun threads. The gossamer tips of the white embroidered wings on the back of his outer robe fanned out along the bend of those wide sleeves as though the wings of the egert were extended around the wearer himself, the outstretched tips of the chiffon weaving gracefully in the air from any subtle breeze or movement. 

Luo Binghe stared brazenly at the man’s high collar which was fastened securely around the throat, not allowing a sliver of skin to be exposed. In contrast, the mink fur of the man’s outer robe looked luxurious and soft to the touch, begging for him to sink his fingers into it. 

He was the very representation of how Luo Binghe had imagined a celestial being to appear sequestered away in the coveted Heavenly Realm, mature and self-restrained and untouched by matters of the secular world. Luo Binghe shifted, briefly scanning the surroundings. Like seeing through a fog, colors of this mystic world were not as vibrant as that in the Mortal Realm. Frozen clouds hung in the outskirts of the infinite pond, the picture of twilight outside, with heaven and earth enveloped in silver and white.

Because Luo Binghe was once brought up with the common people who believed in everything divine—or supposed to be divine, no matter whether it was associated with Buddhism, the Dao, or the cult of the dead—he was familiar with the folklores and fictions that populated the imaginations of his countrymen. The educated class never made it an occasion to question the validity of the myriad of deities worshipped by the illiterate masses. Except for deities, everything under the sky was the King's land; everyone on these lands were the King's subjects. For reasons of courting blessings and averting calamities, mortals in their middle empire followed the teaching of Confucius in their religious beliefs, including the lesson to treat all divinities with reverence and to regard them at a cold, respectable distance. 

And among those popular tales, Luo Binghe was familiar with the mythology of the Eight Great Fairies. Like cultivators, they represented the pinnacle of human beings who had acquired immortality and magic through the constant practice of the esoteric discipline of Dao, achieving a status of divinity and ascending from the secular world. If this celestial was a fortuneteller, then his situation reminded Luo Binghe of the story of Ho Hsien-ku. Endowed with a supernatural power, the magician could make divinations and prophecies without the slightest mistakes.

“My story?” Luo Binghe rasped, intentionally obtuse. His expression relaxing, he permitted his hand to be lowered but he kept the tight grip on the man’s wrist. 

When the immortal had spoken, contrary to his aloof and handsome appearance which resembled white frost, his voice was as refreshing as a spring brook. Every word he’d uttered was infused with a bit of warmth, reminding Luo Binghe of the afterglow that followed the setting sun—even with the slightest warning lodged in that tactful entreaty. He’d called him xiōng dì, so Luo Binghe could surmise the celestial considered himself as Luo Binghe’s senior.

It was obvious that while he was wary of a Heavenly Demon’s sudden appearance at his residence, the ethereal being didn’t seem to bear him any misgivings. He seemed more curious about how Luo Binghe ended up here.

“...This lord doesn’t recall crossing a silver bridge,” Luo Binghe continued slowly. In their tales, the Heavenly Realm was ruled by the Jade Emperor who presided over a court of deities worshipped throughout China. Only human beings who had lived exemplary lives were allowed entry after death by crossing the “the silver bridge” into this domain and being reborn as gods.

His body and mind felt strangely refreshed, the internal fire no longer consuming him. There was a faint recollection of the feeling of fire abetting as the yin energy flowed through him, and even when he’d begun to regain consciousness, he remembered registering the feeling of a pair of hands on his back guiding him to lie back down. Realizing the significance of his position on the immortal’s lap after falling into the river, his eyes were overfilling with indescribable emotions after piecing together what must have happened. It was a small revelation that made his head dizzy.

The serene gaze settled upon his face, and beneath the thick eyelashes that were devoid of color, the immortal was assessing Luo Binghe with an intensity that he himself didn’t mind returning. 

In the deep recesses of his mind, Luo Binghe compared the differences of his features against two similar faces. He committed to memory the beguiling shade of jade found in those pale eyes, with the emotion that swum in them as calm as the surface of a lake. They were quite different from the cruel bottomless storms of his Shizun and the gentle overcast skies of the other “Shen Qingqiu.” 

To Luo Binghe, the existence of this person was akin to finding a painting that had been carefully preserved and well-hidden, like a fairy who has hidden his existence from the realms for centuries. His unusual appearance could even be likened to the seven wonders of the world, a peerless beauty that could even overshadow the female white snake spirit Bai Suzhen from fable. Celestials were naturally an enigmatic sight that stole a second glance and set the heart at ease. Luo Binghe felt as if he’d discovered an elusive treasure of indescribable rarity which had never before been gazed upon by the likes of mere mortals or demons. 

And he was undoubtedly his shizun, even with the differences. 

This was the one—the special existence that belonged to him. A chance encounter between a celestial and between a human who had the blood of ancient demons fallen from heaven running through his veins could only be testament to the natural balance of order.

The sudden damp touch against the side of his face made his eyelids jolt slightly, reacting to the drag of fabric along his skin. 

A pensive air seeped into the celestial’s demeanor, and Luo Binghe could sense he was contemplating Luo Binghe’s facial features. Deep in thought, the pad of his thumb carelessly brushed against his jaw, making Luo Binghe’s pupils constrict.

They were a pair of scholarly, masculine hands. Although the fortuneteller wore gloves, Luo Binghe could presume that those long fingers held a bit of roughness to them, calluses formed from training with a sword or from other extraneous activities. Having trained in the art of cultivation himself, Luo Binghe could not disregard the white sword sheathed at the immortal’s waist as being worn for decorative purposes. He gave the deceptive impression of being quiet and harmless, but Luo Binghe had discerned his body to be capable of releasing stored-up strength at any time. From his position lying on the immortal’s lap, Luo Binghe could sense the contoured muscles hidden beneath the folds of fabric. 

A mental image suddenly appeared in Luo Binghe’s mind which made him want to slide those offending garments off and sink his teeth into that pale, untarnished flesh which resembled the moonlight. The emotion in his gaze became all the more lascivious as he imagined the colors that’d bloom, branded by him.

In the same measured tone, the immortal proclaimed, “You are Luo Binghe?” When the smile spread across Luo Binghe’s face, the fortuneteller soon matched it. He answered himself amicably, “Yes, you are the one whom the fates smile upon…. It is an honor to finally meet the reputable young lord who presides over the demons. I present to you my greetings.”

“And to be able to meet you is seven lifetime’s worth of blessings.” He saw those snowy lashes flicker as the brows flew up. Seeing surprise coloring those features, Luo Binghe swallowed and rasped, “Permit me to be so bold, but this xiōng dì would be honored to know what this simple fortuneteller’s name is.”

Those pale jade eyes flickered past. “...I am known as Shen Yuan.”

Luo Binghe mouthed the name, repeating the consonants and the syllables. A look of hunger flitted across his face, before his expression soon resumed its natural state, sweet and indulgent. 

He can be good to this Shen Yuan.

(Chapter 1 can be found on AO3. Link is in my profile)

#svsss #luo binghe #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #bingyuan #shen yuan #the untold tale #phoenixtakaramono #WIP #preview #ch2 #If I'm lucky I can maybe eke this out by Nov #if not then you can consider it a December gift #bc good lord the sheer number of comments from just the prologue alone #I am flabbergasted #TUT will be updated b4 G&G #my writing #scumbag system #the scum villain's self saving system

[justwritingsomethingsisuppose]

Beauty and the Beast - Crowley x reader, CH1

Title: Beauty and the Beast

Prompt: 100 themes challenge; #36, Fairy Tale

Pairing: Crowley x Female Reader

Chapter: 1/? (I’ll work more on this while writing for the other 100 themes, so new chapters are likely to be slow)

Rating: Currently PG, will eventually be upped

Author: justwritingsomethingsisuppose

Warnings: Violence at some point, body image issues, I’m ripping this off both movies and the Beastly movie and the og story so thats a warning too, good luck. Re-writing this off a 5 year old story. Alternative universe.

Once upon a time, in a land faraway, a young prince lived in a shining castle. His name was Fergus, and he was destined to be the king after his father and mother, King Lucifer and Queen Rowena, passed away. Although the young prince had everything his heart desired, he was spoiled and selfish and unkind.

One winters night, a cold and wicked storm rolled over the forest their castle resided in. Freezing winds whipped at the shaking windows and stone walls. Prince Fergus seemed to care not as he pranced about the castle, pretending to sword fight an imaginary dragon with one of the fireplace pokers.

Late into the evening, a knock at the castle door echoed through the main hall. Fergus lowered his fireplace-poker-sword to his side and watched from the staircase as a servant rushed to answer the knock.

The door swinging open revealed a woman, hair gray and back bent with her old age.

“What do you want?” Prince Fergus’ young voice echoed through the hall with his demanding question. The old woman looked up, first laying her eyes on the servant holding the door open, then moving them to find the young prince. Her once-brown eyes were clouded over as if she were going blind.

“I need shelter from the cold,” she croaked out. Her voice barely made it to Prince Fergus’ ears, but he heard enough.

“Why would I allow you, a haggard old thing, stay in my castle??” He crossed his arms, the fireplace poker still in hand almost like a threat.

“I will give you, in return, this rose,” she held up a single beautifully red flower. It shook along with her hand as she revealed it to him.

All he did was laugh at her.

“Are you joking, you absolute hag?? I am the royal prince of these lands! What use have I for a single rose?!”

“Do not be deceived by my appearance, young one. Beauty is found within,” she flashed him a grin, revealing that she had no teeth. Prince Fergus gagged dramatically at the sight. He stepped rapidly down the stairs and rushed up to the door. He shoved away the servant tending the door with a disgusted sound and grasped the door handle with his free hand, his light brown eyes staring fiercely at the woman.

“You possess no beauty, and you have nothing to offer me. My castle will have no hags within its walls tonight!!” And with those words, he slammed the heavy wooden door shut in the old woman’s face. “The utter audacity… how dare she?!” He grumbled to himself as he turned around.

“I am no hag, boy!” A voice echoed through the room and his eyes darted around in fear. He flattened his back to the closed door.

“Leave me be, witch! I will not have you here!” His eyes still searched frantically, searching for the once-quiet old woman. Her voice seemed to be right next to his ear and coming from outside and coming from the entryway and coming from everywhere at once.

“Beauty is found within. There is no love in your heart; you only desire the things in your life that appear beautiful. You have no care or compassion for the ones that need you despite their appearances.” Her voice seemed to grow less shaky and more youthful as she spoke. All at once, a blazing light appeared before him that then faded away to reveal the form of the old hag.

“Please, witch, leave me be, please!” His voice was no longer demanding, but pleading. Before his eyes, her saggy muddy skin seemed to tighten and the deep chocolate tone returned. Her gray hair slowly flushed a deep brown. The curve of her back slowly straightened up. Her once-cloudy eyes slowly brightened and turned to black. When she opened her mouth to speak, she had teeth. She was beautiful now.

“You will learn to see the beauty within.” She stated.

“Please, I am sorry! You may shelter from the cold in my castle! I am certain my father will not mind! Please!” He shouted his fearful apology to her. His brown eyes began to water, lip trembling.

“You will learn to see the beauty within.” She repeated, outstretching her right hand. The glow encased the room once again and then a shrill whistle filled his ears.

The whistle was her voice, heightened and repeating her phrase and his designated punishment.

His punishment was to be turned into a hideous beast. His skin ripped and shredded and his bones bent and writhed as his body changed from that of a young 16 year old man to that of a demon.

Through the entire transformation, Prince Fergus screamed. All he could hear was the voice of the witch and his own skin ripping apart. All he could see was the brilliant glow of her powers enveloping him. All he could taste was his own blood as his teeth elongated and sharpened, cutting his gums and his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

His face felt like it was on fire.

“You must learn to love someone other than yourself, and you must earn their love in return, before the last petal falls from this rose. Else, you will forever remain a reflection of your inner self. Prince Fergus, good luck.” Her voice echoed in his mind loudly, only to fade out and be replaced by horrified screams mixed with his own pained sobs.

His mother, Queen Rowena, had been fetched and brought down by the doorman who had realized something was wrong. She had frozen in place on the stairs when her eyes fell upon her disfigured son. Her screams rattled the prince into opening his eyes, which were now glowing red.

“Mother! Mother please, help me!” He cried out to her, but she could merely stare in horror.

“Noooo… my dear little Fergus…” she groaned out before fainting. The doorman caught her before she could collapse down the stairs.

Fergus forced himself to stand despite the pain in his legs. The sound of hooves on wood surprised him and he looked down at his feet, only to discover two black cloven hooves where his feet used to be. His legs seemed to be covered with thick, light brown hair all the way down to those hooves.

“M-mother?!” His voice sounded deeper, almost raspy despite his youth. He lifted his shaking hands up from his sides to stare at them - what were once delicate and thin white fingers were now grayed sunken skin ending in long hooked claws. The grayed skin continued up his arms to his shoulders where it faded back to white but began to appear riddled with thick, raised, red scars. His head and his back felt heavy where a pair of thick leathery wings and a great many horns had sprouted through his skin. He stumbled a bit in place before he looked up at the doorman holding his mother. “Wh… what am I??” he asked. The doorman just jerked his head while his jaw hung agape, fearful of the once-princely creature before him.

His parents did all they could to heal him. They called in a doctor, a healer, a man who claimed to be a miracle worker, and as a last resort a witch. None could remove his disfigurements. His skull adorned now with horns, his face now appeared as though it were burned, his chest scarred, his arms aged, his fingers tipped with claws, his back bearing wings, his legs now those of a goat or deer.

He was well and truly stuck as a monster.

That night, they had found the rose laying delicately in the center of the foyer. His mother had preserved it in a vase, hoping to extend its life and ensure her son wouldn’t die. The rose never seemed to wilt, a faint red glow surrounding the dainty little flower and seemingly keeping it alive.

After a year, the king and queen moved from the forest to their summer castle on the coast. They promised to visit, and they did at first. Over time, their visits went from once monthly, to once every third month, to once a year, to… none. Even their letters stopped. He lived alone in that castle for twenty years, only a small remaining and aging staff to care for him, until he finally got news: both his parents had finally passed and left behind the heir to their throne, a princess named Megan, eighteen years of age and ready to marry one Prince Azazel from another kingdom to unite the two and gain the throne.

The servants remaining tried to keep him happy, to get him adjusted to his life this way, but to no avail. One of the servants, the castle’s hunter, even created an intricate mask for him from the head of a large goat he had killed. The mask had two horns on it and holes for the horns in the princes head to slide through so that it would all look like a costume piece, and it hid his burned face from the world. All for nothing; despite that the prince wore it every day, he was ever grumpier. Prince Fergus grew angry and bitter and frustrated. One by one, he ended the employment of the servants until none were left but two: Guthrie, his butler and one so loyal that even though the prince had fired him several times and told him to leave under threat of death the man refused to leave, and Raul, who prepared every single meal. The prince likely would never have eaten if Raul had left.

Twenty years of quiet, of being virtually alone, of slowly watching the rose wilt petal by petal. He believed he held no chance of ever breaking the curse over his head.

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

#supernatural #spn #crowley #crowley x reader #crowleyxreader #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #story #slow burn #multichapter #work in progress #wip #chapter #chapter 1 #one #chapter one #BATBCrowley

[inkribbon796]

The Deal Ch. 3

Chapter 3: A Spade’s a Spade

Summary: Nate and some of the Light Sides go to retrieve Logan’s camera.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Nate and Logan made up the lion’s share of the conversation as they took Logan’s car. He did his best to answer the logical Side’s questions. Roman and Patton occasionally chimed in with questions of their own.

“It’s a soul splitter but it doesn’t work,” Nate had initially explained. “Probably because it’s Wil’s. I’ve never heard of a soul splitter not making demons but apparently, with Wil’s magic, bullshit is always possible.”

“None of us are demons,” Roman reminded. “If I was a demon, I would know.”

“Exactly, you would know,” Nate agreed. “Or you’d at least pass the aura test and Marvin conducted one on Virgil months ago. Either you’re all the weirdest demons I’ve ever seen, or you’re just perfectly weird humans.”

“We’re obviously humans,” Logan summarized. He was driving, so he had to keep his eyes on the road.

“Yeah, so as long as we keep it away from the other demons in the city, that apparently don’t live in the base already — I can’t believe King had a kid — it should be more than alright to keep it in the base.”

“Lunky’s so adorable,” Patton smiled.

“They eat glass,” Logan reminded.

“Least I know why Mare didn’t want to get near the base, that kid eats demon aura, they freak Mare out,” Nate commented.

“Really, that’s fascinating,” Logan commented. “Is it an issue of territory?”

“No, Lunky is to Mare, what Bim is to us,” Nate answered. “Spawnlings eat their weight in aura. Mare will probably be leery of being alone with Lunky for another two months.”

Silence crashed down in the car.

Logan didn’t quiet have the words to voice his thoughts. When he did he said, “That . . . is that what he’s doing?”

“Bim?” Nate asked. “Yeah, different demons collect aura differently. Bim just decided his way of collecting aura was by physically eating it.”

Then they reached Nathan’s neighborhood and even before Logan pulled off to a stop, they knew something was wrong.

The door was wide open.

“Shit!” Nate jumped out of the car the instant he could. “My dog.”

Logan was slower to respond and Roman pulled out his sword.

The heroes carefully stepped into the house. Nate was relieved to find his dog in his kennel.

“Did anyone hurt you?” Nate asked as he looked the dog over.

“Was it the hunters?” Patton asked.

“Probably,” Nate said and looked in a drawer to find a stack of magic books. “Maybe?”

Then he went to a separate drawer and found all of his supplies still there, “No. They haven’t been here yet.”

Logan looked around and saw all of Nate’s musical equipment and game consoles still in the house and unmoved. “Who breaks in and takes nothing of value?”

Nate thought for a second and went up to his office to find that something had been taken. On a small table was a broken protection circle. He called back down the stairs, “The camera’s gone!”

“What?” Logan demanded.

Nate checked through the top floor again, “It’s the only thing taken.”

“You were targeted,” Logan realized. “My outburst outside the bar may have contributed to that.”

“The Host must have known,” Nate guessed. “I wouldn’t have come back home for another couple hours if he hadn’t said something.”

“Is there any way to track it?” Logan asked.

“I need time to get enough residual energy to pick up a trail, hopefully there’s enough of that left,” Nate said.

“Maybe that snake took it,” Roman suggested.

“Now kiddo, we shouldn’t just go around accusing people,” Patton replied.

“But we should rule him out,” Logan realized, recalling that Janus had threatened to steal and destroy it several times.

Patton sighed in disappointment, and they finished locking up and Nate fed his dog before they left. Nate gathered the materials to perform the spell as they drove over to the Sides’ home and Logan rushed into the house. He found Janus and Remus packing up their stuff into boxes.

“Ahhh, Logan,” Janus greeted. “Just in time for the good news. We found a nice place out on the outskirts of town. Tell Virgil I am taking my Chicago record player back. No, he can not debate me on this.”

Remus poked his head out from a large box with a smile on his face, “I’m going to get to go skinny dipping with the gators.”

Janus rolled his eyes, packing up the box with Remus inside of it, but not taping it shut. “Yes, yes, just make sure you do it at night.”

“That is amazing and we advocate you finding your own place,” Logan started. “But have you seen the camera?”

“Which camera?” Janus asked, his tone guarded.

“Thomas’s,” Logan qualified.

There was a disgusted groan that came from Janus, he already turned away to start packing something else, “Logan, I have not seen that wretched thing since you brought it to your base. And if I ever see it again, it will be too soon.”

“Swear to me that you have not seen it,” Logan demanded quietly.

Janus made a scoff but when he saw Logan’s face he paused and put down what he was working on to take off his right glove off of his more human hand and raise it up, looking Logan dead in the eye, “Logan, I swear on Thomas’s good name that I have not seen it. I did not take it.”

“Alright,” Logan nodded.

“Alright!” Remus burst out of the box, extending out his arms.

“If I help you find the blasted thing will you let the matter rest?” Janus offered.

“I was not expecting your assistance but that would be appreciated,” Logan said.

“Good, now let me finish up here and make sure Remus doesn’t eat any packing peanuts and I’ll help you look.” Janus dismissed.

“Too late, snack mamba,” Remus winked and immediately coughed up a packing peanut.

Janus rolled his eyes, “Go, I’ll be along shortly.”

Logan thanked him again and left with his group to start the search, on the lookout for any hunters.

By the time Janus got out of the house, he almost debated not going to even look for it. Hoping that Logan had already found it.

He was poking around and asking some of his contacts, using the cover that Remus wanted a new rare trinket to destroy. So far he wasn’t having any luck.

Then he got a text from Logan: “Meet me by Helyx Bridge. Urgent.”

Janus quickly left the dive bar and headed for the location. Thankfully it wasn’t that far away.

Close to the bridge was Logan, facing off against a couple hunters. One of them was already knocked out while two of them were encroaching on the logical Side.

“Logic!” Janus called out, running over to him, when he was close enough he whipped out his shepherd’s staff and struck one of the hunters in the head. The hunter dropped to the ground and Logan dispatched the third.

“How fortuitous,” Logan commented, taking a second or two to catch his breath. “Were you following me?”

“No, I was merely in the area,” Janus confessed, watching Logan turn around and pick something up.

It was the camera.

“You found it,” Janus studied the camera for a bit. It seemed to be in the same condition as the last time Janus saw it.

“Yes, you must have come to a deal with Dark because he simply gave it to me,” Logan told him.

“Oh?” Janus managed. Something about that statement seemed off, he didn’t know what it was, but there was something . . . false about that statement.

“Yes,” Logan started walking towards the hero’s base and Janus followed him. “We can finally be done with this mess. This never should have been left at the base but if we must keep it there at least it will be safe with the Host.”

The two decided to leave before more hunters showed up

Janus kept Logan talking, being put more at ease the longer he did so. This was Logan, so what if he wasn’t completely truthful with the manner he procured the camera? That was none of Janus’ business.

They stopped right outside the Sides’ home. Janus happy to be leaving the place if Logan was bringing the camera back in.

Logan reached into his pocket, and Janus noticed the new wrist communicator on the logical Side’s wrist. The screen was thin and in the shape of a black spade symbol.

“New tech?” Janus could help but ask.

“Oh yes,” Logan answered, a slight smile on his face.

. . . Lies . . .

“I see,” Janus could help but respond, “your design?”

“No, Bing’s,” Logan’s smile widened as he started to draw on the camera.

Lies.

“My old suit was having some problems so I decided to try something else,” Logan continued to explain.

L I E S

With that lie, Janus finally saw little holes in what he was fairly certain was in illusion. Or at least the illusion was dangerously strong or aided by something else because Janus couldn’t see through it.

Then Janus actually saw what Logan was doing with the camera, what he was drawing on it, and it was the final nail in the coffin.

Those were magical spells, he was laying a spell on that camera. Right where Janus could plainly see and with no attempt to keep him from seeing it.

Even if Logan knew what sigils to place and how to use them, they wouldn’t do anything without magic.

This wasn’t Logan! It wasn’t him! Logan couldn’t do magic, he was the only Side who couldn’t.

“Why don’t you let me hold it,” Janus offered, trying to sound as calm as possible. “We can head back to the others together.”

The imposter let out Logan’s throaty chuckle as he calmly capped the pen and looked at the deceitful Side. “You know Janus, everytime I leave you be, you never cease to amaze me. So, here’s how this is going to go—”

Logan was frustrated as they kept walking around. He was flanked on either side by Nate and Patton. Roman at the rear of the group to keep an eye out for hunters.

“We’ll find it,” Patton tried to offer confidently.

“It has been three hours,” Logan reminded morosely.

“I’ll have Mare keep an ear to the ground if someone tries to pawn it off,” Nate decided.

“That’s not the part that worries me,” Logan grumbled. “Nothing else was taken, whoever stole it wanted that camera for what it was, not what it was worth.”

Then Logan’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out to see it was a message from Janus: “I found the camera. Meet me outside of your base.”

“It’s Deceit, he found it,” Logan announced.

“Really?” Patton let out a sigh of relief. “That’s so good.”

“Let’s get to the base before he breaks it,” Logan insisted, taking off in a sprint. “If he hasn’t already.”

When they got to the base, Janus was leaning against the closest street lamp to the base. In his hands was the camera. He spared them a quick glance. “I don’t know what’s worse: the sheer incompetence of how this thing disappeared or you leaving it in the storage room to begin with.”

Then he held it out and Logan accepted it quietly. He, mostly by luck rather than fate, noticed that the Side was wearing a wrist-communicator with a large blade spade-shaped screen.

“Now if my good deed for the day is done, I’ll be off,” Janus walked away, heading down the street and eventually turning out of view.

Logan waited an extra second, before holding it out to Nate, “Is this the same camera?”

Nate took it for a couple seconds, before passing it back, “Feels like it. I didn’t draw these symbols though.”

“What do they do?” Logan studied them.

“It’s a really high level containment spell, if anything was awake in there, it’s asleep now. The only thing that could probably wake it up is if we cracked the camera open.”

“I don’t understand,” Patton interjected. “Is there something wrong?”

“Something’s always wrong with him,” Roman added.

“I didn’t tell Deceit how exactly I had lost the camera. Only that it was taken by Nate in the base. Did you, Ro, or Virge tell him?”

“No,” Patton frowned. “At least, I didn’t.”

“I would never tell that jerk anything,” Roman defended. “And Virgil would never.”

“We should get this inside,” Nate interrupted.

Logan stopped, taking a deep calming breath, “You’re right, let’s go.”

The heroes rushed into the base to place the camera in lock up. Nate had one key, and Logan had the other so they could both access the camera anytime they needed or wanted to. Then the Light Sides, Virgil tagging along this time, rushed back to their home.

Only to find Janus, Remus, and all of the two Sides’ things gone from the apartment. Only a little bit of a mess, a couple flat boxes, and spare packing peanuts left in their wake.

And Logan failed to locate them for the rest of the day afterwards, realizing too late they didn’t even have the Dark Sides’ new address to track them down.

On the swampy outskirts of Gainesville stood a run down house that had been almost completely abandoned because it was said to be haunted.

Which was exactly why Deceit and the Duke had managed buy the property in the first place.

Deceit, or at least someone that looked like him, walked down the overgrown driveway with Janus’s shepherd’s crook in one hand and Remus’s octopus belt buckle in the other. He was humming a tune to himself. The instant he was through the front door and closed it, his wrist watch vibrated and instantly Deceit’s image blinked out of existence and there stood a figure in a full black suit, covered head to toe. A silvery-brass emblem of a spade on his chest.

The Spade walked past all the boxes of Janus and Remus’s belongings before he headed to a closet that led to a small elevator and took it down to a room a floor down. A workshop had been hastily assembled in the space and Spade placed the staff and the buckle in a magically warded case. The instant the case door was closed a force banged on the glass, as if trying to get out.

“Don’t worry, Janus, I won’t leave you in there forever, after all,” Spade smiled, his voice heavily distorted by a voice box, “we have work to do.”

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Thomas Sanders #Natewantstobattle #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Janus Sanders #Remus Sanders #LAMP #Demus #slight angst #Demus fluff #magic #♠️ #The Spade

[danganronpastories]

A day with his boyfriends

( I made this for @kathuichithouda, go to their blog, appreciate them. I hope you enjoy it) The sun was setting over the bright sky, the air cool and waving Fuyuhikos black tie around in the gentle wind. He sighed, walking on the sidewalks, his shoes clomp clomping on the pavement. He looked down at his phone and smiled. His background was a photo he took with his boyfriends. Kazuichi was the one holding the camera, grinning with his shark teeth in full view. Fuyuhiko was in the middle, making a small smile for the picture. Gundham was at the far side, Kazuichi having pulled him in so his face was more surprised then the other two.  Fuyuhiko was finally off from work for the weekend and he was excited to see his boyfriends at home. He walked up to his door, their house was moderately sized. Fuyuhiko wanted to get a bigger house for his boyfriends but both of them disagreed. Gundham and Kazuichi had both been brought up in poorer neighborhoods, they had agreed that they wouldn’t be comfortable in a richer house so they got a nice decent house big enough for the three of them, along with all their jobs.  As soon as he got in he smelled the faint scent of pumpkin spice candles. Definitely Gundhams work. Fuyuhiko took off his shoes, placing them inside the shiny metal shoe rack. He walked in and looked around, the house was spotless. The dishes were washed and put away, the counters were scrubbed, the oven was shiny, the table was cleaned and decorated with Halloween decorations, the floors were spotless and the couches cushions were on the couch in a decorative fashion. “Jeez Gundham, have you been working all day” Fuyuhiko sighed, a bit worried, Gundham along with everyone in this relationship did tend to overwork himself. Gundham was the one who had lived on his own the longest. With his mom dying at 11 and his family booting him out only a month later. Gundham had to rent a home and make his own living since then, which was his breeding and animal conservationist job. Because of that Gundham was the one who knew the most about cleaning and cooking and keeping a house. “Ahh, Luna come back, you need a bath!” Fuyuhiko perked up at the voice, it was deep and silky, one of his two most favorite voices in the world. A black Labrador puppy came barreling at him, all legs and puppy smiles. Fuyuhiko laughed, picking up the little pup as she licked at his face. Gundham turned the corner, “ah, Fuyuhiko you’re home!” Gundham said joyfully, running up to him. Gundham was in a black band t-shirt, black sweatpants, his bandages, and some bracelets. “It’s nice to see you my dear over lord of ice” Fuyuhiko chuckled, “i’ve noticed the house is very very clean, is that your doing?”. Gundham chuckled, pulling on the ends of his purple scarf. “Yes, our darling inventor of machines has been holed up in his garage all day. I’ve been bringing him meals and cleaning our lair, along with tending to my demon beasts.” Gundham explained, putting Luna down from Fuyuhikos arms. Fuyuhiko shook his head, “Damn babe, I always think you’re fucking exaggerating when you say you’re a busybody. Then at moments like this I’m reminded that you can run around for hours.” Fuyuhiko lectured, starting to reach his hand up to the side of Gundhams head. Fuyuhiko paused, before Gundham nodded. Fuyuhiko started to run his hand through Gundhams hair, his black and white hair was down so it is easier to pet and play with. Gundham eyelids drooped, leaning into Fuyuhikos hand, swaying a bit on his feet. Fuyuhiko smirked and looped his other arm around Gundhams back, lowering him down slightly.  Gundhams head slowly fell down to Fuyuhikos shoulders, closing his eyes and nuzzling into the crook of Fuyuhikos neck. Fuyuhiko chuckled, a breathy laugh with tones of pure affection. “You go upstairs, i’ll be back with Kazuichi. I think we all deserve a break” Fuyuhiko softly murmured into Gundhams ear, “You must be tired, just take a break angel, we can all watch movies and be together”. Gundham nodded and got up lazily, stretching, eyes fluttering a bit. “Yes my handsome ball of fire, I think it’s time for a break. I’ll meet you and our darling inventor of machines up in our main chambers.” Gundham spoke in his extravagant tone, sauntering up the stairs with a smile wave. Fuyuhiko huffed, smiling and shaking his head. Fuyuhiko walked casually into the garage attached to the building, it was full of metal contraptions and junk. Fuyuhiko jumped over some metal junk lying on the floor, making a note to remind Kaz to clean up tomorrow. Fuyuhiko walked up behind his boyfriend, who was hunched over the desk, hammering nails into something. “Hey, Kaz. You’ve been working on this fucking contraption all day?” Fuyuhiko asked, finally addressing the pink haired man in the room. “KAHHHHHHHHH!!” Kazuichi screamed, whirling back, launching the hammer, away it flew gracefully..........before smashing a window. Fuyuhiko, who thanked whatever higher power was up there, threw himself to the concrete floor to dodge the hammer time attack. “Holy Fuck! Kaz baby, honey it’s just me, you’re ok.” Fuyuhiko stammered out, mildly shaken up while getting up. Kazuichi was shaking, slowly lowering his hand that had thrown the hammer at mach speeds. “F-fuyuhiko, i’m sorry, I didn’t see you there” Kazuichi stuttered. Fuyuhiko shook his head, “It was my fault, anyway, I’m here to take you away from your work. me, you and Gundham are all gonna take a break and watch some movies.” Fuyuhiko explained, moving a bit closer to take Kazuichis hand. “aww do I have to, I’ve got so much work.” Kaz complained, stamping his foot a bit. Fuyuhiko stood up on his toes, wrapping his arms gently around Kazuichis neck, Kazuichi leaned down. “Yes my love, we’re all gonna take a break, we deserve it” Fuyuhiko huffed, “Now come down here and kiss me, you bubblegum fuck. Kazuichi kissed Fuyuhiko, with dry lips wetted with his tongue. Fuyuhiko ran his hand through Kazuichis cotten candy hair, loving the feeling of the braids between his hands, though it was grossly greasy. Fuyuhiko pulled away, going off his tip toes, “Damn babe, take a shower before you come to bed” Fuyuhiko laughed. Kaz pouted, “But...”, Fuyuhiko frowned, crossing his arms and staring a hole through the oily man. Kazuichi pouted, his shoulders deflating, “fine....” he relented, going to walk upstairs. They both made it to their room and Fuyuhiko sat with Gundham on their king sized mattress with its warm comforter. Fuyuhiko changed into a brown tank top and black shorts. Gundham looked up to Fuyuhiko from the hardcover book he was reading. Gundham lightly blushed, pink dusting his cheeks. Fuyuhiko laughed, stretching for him, “You liking the view, overlord of ice” Fuyuhiko said, smirking, he was so enjoying this. Gundham blushed, but because he didn’t have his scarf on he just looked away. Fuyuhiko moved closer, smirking. “You don’t look so bad yourself Gundham” Fuyuhiko said, flirting. Gundham was in a black tank top with a star right under the left strap, and pajama pants, with a red and white plaid design. Gundham blushed, a small smile gracing his face. Gundham took a breath, leaning in closer. Fuyuhiko smiled and kissed Gundham. Gundham closed his eyes, leaning in and relaxing. Fuyuhiko pulled away, breathing in. “I love you” Fuyuhiko murmured, “I love you too.” Gundham whispered. They both went back to their original sitting position, turning on a movie. Kazuichi stepped out of the bedrooms private bathroom in a pink t-shirt and green shorts. “Kaz, my darling, you look like a neon marker” Gundham said playfully. “Hey!!” Kazuichi shouted, walking over and sitting on Gundhams right side. “I was only joking inventor of machines” Gundham told him, kissing Kazuichis cheek. Kazuichi laughed, leaning into Gundhams side. The three watched movies for about 2 hours but soon enough they got tired. Gundham lied down first, almost having fallen asleep sitting up at this point. Kazuichi laughed, lying down cuddled up to his side. Gundham put an arm around the man, pulling him closer. Fuyuhiko smiled, turning the tv off. “alright, it’s bedtime.” Fuyuhiko whispered. He kissed them both on the foreheads, both of them already half asleep. “Goodnight my loves, I’ll see you in the morning” Fuyuhiko uttered to them, lying down curled up in Gundham left arm. The three of them slumbered together in peace.

#fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #gundham tanaka #kazuichi souda #danganronpa 2 #after despair #kuzusoudam #kissing #flirting #luna the dog #I hope you like it

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

The Switching Hour

A/N: it’s been just over a week since halloween but i finally got this piece done and i’m quite happy with it! :D i hope you guys enjoy and feedback is always welcome and cherished!! ilyyyy

masterlist | ask 

word count: 8.4k 

content: dramatic perfectionist demon!h, fluff, and a lil bit of smutty sexual tension

preview:

Her voice chimes up, prickly with annoyance and just the slightest bit of awe. “Are you always this picky when it comes to your Halloween costume?” 

Harry rubs the material of a Jack Skellington pantsuit between his thumbs and forefingers, humming in absentminded disapproval at the flimsiness of the fabric. “Always.”

“Why?” 

He drops the article of clothing, watching it sway back and forth on its hanger for a second before glancing up to meet her irritated expression, answering with a prideful undertone. “Because Halloween is the best holiday of the year and I’ve built quite the reputation for myself amongst my group. I always outshine and I tend to keep it that way, darling.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “Right, I forgot how competitive you are.” 

“Actually, I like the praise,” Harry gives her a slow, sultry once-over, lips buckling with a sly smirk, “but you already knew that.”  

Her arms tighten instinctively across her body. 

Harry goes back to filtering through hangers, scrunching his nose in distaste at yet another Dracula ensemble. Drac never even wore a cape, he preferred tapered vests. He was the one who taught Harry how to style flared pants centuries before they came into fashion. With the way humans stained his cherished outfit designs, he’d be rolling around in his grave right now if he had one. He wasn’t even a vampire— just a crossroads demon with a very peculiar taste in beverages.

Y/N toys with the visor of an astronaut helmet, staring at her warbled reflection in the grey plastic and sighing with defeated boredom. “Why don’t we just get the Purge masks and go?”

Harry gives her a look of incredulous disdain. “And cover up one of my most prized assets? I’d rather let a hellhound disembowel me again.”

///

Harry was aiming to be an angel. 

Well, not literally. Hell forbid it, in his opinion. Most of them are wound so tight, they wouldn’t be able to fly if they tried. 

Plus, he actually quite enjoys being a demon. Immortality, flexible work hours, free range of the human world, and not to mention a pretty sick gig with the sorcery. It’s a sweet deal, once you get past the decades of excruciating torture and training, of course.

So no, he’s not aiming to be a literal celestial being. Rather, he’s planning to be one for Halloween on behalf of Y/N’s approach to switch identities as a couple’s costume. 

The idea had stemmed from when they had been walking around Party City a few days prior, trying to gain inspiration for the annual costume party a friend of Harry’s is hosting. 

Y/N hadn’t really been keen on going, despite the invitation being extended to her through Harry. She felt like she never really fit right with her boyfriend’s inner circle and it was for an obvious factor: they were all demons. 

She’d only ever gotten along with one demon before (granted, she’d only ever put effort into befriending this single one) and she was perfectly fine with that number. It isn’t that Harry’s friends treat her coldly in any way (they were pretty welcoming, much to her surprise), but she could practically drown in the awkward tension that milled whenever they had to interact. She stuck out of place in a painfully obvious manner and she refuses to force herself into bonding with them; it would just make the situation a whole lot worse. 

The connection remained as a polite acquaintanceship, and from what Y/N could tell, both parties are more than happy for it remain as so. 

Either way, Harry had managed to sway her into accompanying him. She wanted to give out candy to the children from the complex and he wanted her to be his plus-one, so a compromise was settled. They would hand out candy from six in the evening until eight, then get ready and leave for the party at nine.   

After agreeing upon the terms, they’d spent well over forty minutes in pursuit for their costumes at the store. 

The choices they had weren’t very compelling, according to Harry.

He outright refused to be a vampire, warlock, or werewolf— the overuse of the genres made them tacky. He’d rather be caught dead (a second time) than have to wear a cowboy hat, so that was a bust on Y/N’s part. No aliens, no zombies, no Frankenstein (which he filed under zombie and it was an entire five minute bicker session between them before Y/N finally let it go with an exasperated sigh). 

No superheroes. He’d cycled through all of them already, including Black Widow. He looked great in a bodysuit, if he does say so himself.

Historic figures were a bore considering there isn’t anything truly scary about King Tut, other than his crippled foot and untimely demise. Animal costumes are for children, as well as ghosts and ghouls. Mummies were too messy. 

Due to his selectiveness, they ended up circling the store five times, coming up empty-handed. Y/N had stopped giving him suggestions after he’d used a release spell to make her drop the Elvis wig she’d been inspecting.

Her voice chimes up, prickly with annoyance and just the slightest bit of awe. “Are you always this picky when it comes to your Halloween costume?” 

Harry rubs the material of a Jack Skellington pantsuit between his thumbs and forefingers, humming in absentminded disapproval at the flimsiness of the fabric. “Always.”

“Why?” 

He drops the article of clothing, watching it sway back and forth on its hanger for a second before glancing up to meet her irritated expression, answering with a prideful undertone. “Because Halloween is the best holiday of the year and I’ve built quite the reputation for myself amongst my group. I always outshine and I tend to keep it that way, darling.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “Right, I forgot how competitive you are.” 

“Actually, I like the praise,” Harry gives her a slow, sultry once-over, lips buckling with a sly smirk, “but you already knew that.”  

Her arms tighten instinctively across her body. 

Harry goes back to filtering through hangers, scrunching his nose in distaste at yet another Dracula ensemble. Drac never even wore a cape, he preferred tapered vests. He was the one who taught Harry how to style flared pants centuries before they came into fashion. With the way humans stained his cherished outfit designs, he’d be rolling around in his grave right now if he had one. He wasn’t even a vampire— just a crossroads demon with a very peculiar taste in beverages.

Y/N toys with the visor of an astronaut helmet, staring at her warbled reflection in the grey plastic and sighing with defeated boredom. “Why don’t we just get the Purge masks and go?”

Harry gives her a look of incredulous disdain. “And cover up one of my most prized assets? I’d rather let a hellhound disembowel me again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He pulls a pirate costume out from the metal rack, eyeing it judgingly. “You don’t get crowned best costume every year without being dramatic.” 

The outfit holds a decent aesthetic with the passable material and colorful gems. The embroidery on the cosmetically tattered vest holds up and there’s no stingy parrot accessory in sight, though the cheap plastic sword is a bust. He’ll have to rummage through his storage and find a real one (probably the one he used during the American Revolution). If he’s lucky, maybe it’ll still have some dried blood on it.

With a bit of smudged black eyeliner and a pair of silver hoop earrings, he just might strike gold at the party. 

Best of all, the costume gives him an excuse to show off his broad chest (not that he needs one, but the fact that it adds to the genuinity of the look is a win). 

“Harry, look.” 

The giddy hilarity in Y/N’s voice draws his attention upwards from examining the purple buttons on the potential candidate. 

She’d clad herself in a bright red glittering cape that goes down to her knees, the button of the collar a large pentagram and perched atop her head is a pair of bedazzled devil horns about five inches in height each. In her hand she holds the rest of the costume— an attachable pointed tail and a three foot tall blood red pitchfork. 

“What do you think? Kinda reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite place my finger on it.” She looks up in faux thoughtfulness, tapping her chin for effect. 

Harry’s cheeks twitch with a grin of endeared amusement, dimples blinking. “I think you look absolutely adorable. Although...”

He trails off as he drift towards her, tugging lightly at hem of the cape, looking past his girlfriend towards the array of other devil costumes. He reaches for another, pulling it out and holding it up for consideration, shrugging his brows suggestively. “I think I’d rather see you in this skimpy little red dress and fishnet stockings.”

Y/N’s eyelids droop into a stern scowl. “And I’d rather not have my ass hanging out in front of all your friends.” 

“That’s the whole point, minx.” Harry holds the hanger up in front of her, humming admirably as an image swipes over the front of his eyes of her prancing around in a pair of glossy red-bottom heels, a pentagram choker, and some bold cherry-colored lipstick. “Just wanna show off my girl.” 

Y/N shoves the garment back towards him, tone cocky and pointed. “If you like it so much, why don’t you wear it, then?”

He lowers his arm, slinking his head slightly to the side and tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, the edges of his mouth twitching cheekily. “I don’t think all my bits and pieces would fit inside these stockings properly.” 

She unclasps the pin that holds the cape closed, pushing it off her shoulders as she sing-songs her words teasingly. “Won’t know until you try it.” 

Harry puts the articles of clothing back into their designated spot. “You’re no fun.” 

His focus dances to a few hangers down, a random twinkling nabbing his curiosity. He moves the surrounding pieces away with the back of his hands to get a better look, a smile creeping across his face at the fit. 

“Hey, babe. What d’you think of this one?” 

Y/N glimpses up from fiddling with the bendy devil tail, scoffing in entertained delight at the sight before her. 

Harry stands with his elbow propped on the top of the metal clothing rack, his legs crossed at the ankles with the tip of his worn tan boot tapping at the sleek black floor beneath it. He’s decked himself out in full angel attire, a light-up, wire-supported halo flashing brightly above his head, alternating patterns between quick bursts of yellow light and longer, drawn-out fading. The wings across his back span about four feet in total, strewn with white and gold holographic feathers, some covered in glitter. 

“I think you look dashing.” 

Harry pushes off the metal rail, the whole set-up quaking a bit under his strength. He ambles over until he’s right in front of his girlfriend, holding his arms out to his sides grandly. “I think I look dashing, too.”

He then turns his torso to the side, propping his chin on his shoulder and batting his lashes, going for a faux effect of adorable pureness. “Personally, I feel like I’d blend right in.”

His eyes suddenly ink black, dark veins protruding under his waterline and snaking their way down his cheekbones. “I’m as innocent as they come.” 

Y/N glances up at the ceiling with pretend mild annoyance, irises focusing back on Harry with the left corner of her lips curved, her sentence deadpan. “I beg to differ.” 

Harry drops the act, a look of insulted shock painting over his features as he carefully removes the halo headband from his quiffed curls. “You don’t think I’d play off being a good angel?!”

Y/N reaches over his shoulder and gives the tip of one of the fluffy wings a signifying tug. “Frankly, I don’t think you’d get past the gates. You’d get smited on sight.”

He gently grabs the hand that was playing with a gold polyester feathers, sifting his fingers between her’s and thumbing over the back of her knuckles temptingly. He cocks his head sideways a tad, stepping forward until his chest is ghosting over Y/N’s, the air of his sultry words just barely caressing her lips. “Maybe you could sneak me in, then?”

Y/N squeezes his digits playfully, snorting softly. “And why would I do that? So you can wreak havoc in the dining hall?” 

Harry releases a boyish giggle, the edges of his eyes crinkling as his nose scrunches. The childish grin slowly melts into a brazen smirk, teeth gnawing at the inside of his lower lip as some very explicit scenes bounce around the inside of his skull. He shakes his head lightly, making a low mm-mm sound to hint that he has other plans in mind. 

“Want you to sneak me in so you can take me up to your room. Show me around a bit— beginning of the universe memorabilia sounds interesting.” 

“Yet something tells me prehistoric rocks aren’t why you’d want me to sneak you up to my room.” She gives him a knowing stare, the pad of her thumb toying with the glossy black surface of his painted index nail. 

“Well aren’t you a clever little thing?” Harry leans in closer, his lip piercing grazing the skin along her jaw, settling nice and snug right against her earlobe. Her blood feels like it’s boiling. 

His whisper send tendrils of electricity revving across her temples and down her neck. 

“You’re right, though. Honestly, I just wanna fuck you on your bed instead of mine, for once. Make you whine and whimper for me to let you cum, all right under your dad’s nose. Make you stain your sheets and leave a few nail notches on your headboard.” 

“Harry, we’re in public...” Y/N’s urgent murmur is warm against his neck, causing him to whine deeply in the back of his throat as the heat washes down his jugular, leaving his ears tingling. 

His voice is thick and full of gravel as he answers. “I know, makes it so much hotter.”

He pauses his breathing for a heartbeat and Y/N gets the sensation that he’s analyzing her. She then feels him press a conceited grin across the back of her jaw, his two front teeth nipping at her earlobe tauntingly. His tone is heavy with arrogant certainty. “You’re wet.”

She digs her nails into his knuckles, looking down at her feet out of embarrassed instinct. “Shut up.” 

He ignores her request. “I’d have to muffle those pretty sounds you make— we both know how loud you are. Would cover your mouth with the palm of my hand while I spread your thighs with my hips and fill you up with my cock until you feel it at the pit of your tummy. I’d run my lips across your stinging nose and hot cheeks, hushing you and mumbling dirty things against your skin. Telling you what a good girl you are for me and how tight and warm you feel. How good you’re taking me and how cute you look all sweaty and needy, trying to keep quiet so no one finds out you snuck a demon back home, all because you wanted to get your brains fucked out with everyone right outside the door.”

A sudden prickling slithers up the back of Y/N’s neck, her muscles tightening in heightened anticipation. “Someone’s watching us.” 

Harry’s arm wraps around her waist, the hand holding the halo sliding over Y/N’s hip and maneuvering her out of sight of the prying eyes he can feel burning into his broad back, piercing right through the material of his leather jacket. He glimpses over his shoulder, catching a snapshot of the culprit peeping into their exchange: an elderly woman, partially hidden behind the black and orange tensile decorations, staring at them with disgust. 

Harry mumbles a quick basic spell under his breath. “Dis.”

Push.

The aged woman spontaneously jars forward, stumbling out of sight down the aisle she’d been loitering. 

Harry cranes his neck back towards his girlfriend, a happily satisfied smile staining his lips. “Took care of it.”

Y/N’s wide, astonished gaze leaves the empty space where the target had been, zoning in on her boyfriend with alarmed outrage. “You just shoved an old lady!”

His giddy grin immediately drops into a confused frown. “And?”

Harry didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to go wider, but she puts rest to his doubt. 

“And?! She could be hurt!” She immediately slaps his hand off her hip, releasing their conjoined fingers and smacking her palm across his chest as a repercussion for his actions (though he barely feels it). 

He rolls his eyes at her theatrics. “She’s fine! It was a light graze.”

“It was a satanic spell!” 

“She was intruding!”

“Oh, and that warrants you pushing her down the aisle?”

There’s a halt in the argument, followed by Harry’s eyes darting across different points of Y/N’s face— her tinted lips, her creased brows, her slightly flaring nose, and her faintly glowing eyes. The look in them is intense and begrudging. 

He hadn’t even realized his lips were parted in aroused surprise at her vehement outburst— she always looks so hot when she’s mad. He licks over them lightly, willing them closed and exhaling loudly through his nose. His eyebrows jolt upwards with salacious intent, the corners of his pursed mouth following suit. “Are y’gonna spank me for it, then?”  

“You’re insufferable.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Harry pecks the tip of Y/N’s nose and steps sideways, purposefully leaving just enough space for Y/N to squeeze between his chest and the clothing rack. 

A swift peek at the designated aisle confirms that the woman is indeed fine (just a little bewildered) and Y/N is finally able to move past it, though still grumbling condemnation. 

She pulls at the thick clear straps of Harry’s fake wings thoughtfully. “We still haven’t found any costumes.” 

“Speak for yourself. I think I’m gonna go as Captain Jack Sparrow over there.” He hooks his thumb towards where he’d hung the pirate costume while he tried on the angel props. 

Y/N squeezes the cushioned bedazzled devil horns, an idea dawning. “What if we go as each other?” 

Harry raises a single brow, intrigued. “Well, that’s an idea.”

“It’d be a cute couple’s costume!” 

He removes the wings from his back. “I dunno. I quite like my pirate costume. I look great in black liner.”

Y/N pouts, though he doesn’t think she notices, which makes it all the cuter. “Pleaseee?”

He lightly tugs at the collar of Y/N’s striped t-shirt. “I could be persuaded...”  

She huffs. “Why are you such a handful?” 

He taps the pad of his index finger against the faint hollow at the center of her throat. “I’m more than a handful and you’re well aware of that.”

She forces herself to keep a tab on the electricity threatening to brim into her irises. “Please?” 

“Say it again. Love the way your voice sounds when you’re begging.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, irked (and slightly aroused, though she’d never admit it) at the way he’s being so crude. “Pretty please?”

The sensual touches at her neck halt, the atmosphere suspended for an elongated second. “Pretty please...?”

His tone suggests he’s waiting for her to utter something more, eyes waltzing with pompous appeal at the way she’s stroking his ego.  

Y/N grinds her teeth, jaw muscle visibly ticking. When she speaks, her voice is low and timid. “Pretty please, Daddy?”

The amusement swimming in the amber specks around his pupils translate across the ends of his mouth. “Sounds like a plan. Cliché, but I’ll bite.”

She clears her throat to break the puncturing sexual tension. “We just have to figure out the outfits to wear with the accessories. It can’t be that hard, right?” 

Harry smiles confidently, dozens of combinations of clothing already buzzing around his mind. “You leave that to me, sweetheart.” 

He doesn’t disappoint. He brings the rest of their costumes home the next day after three grueling hours at the shopping mall, carrying two frosted plastic covers over his shoulders (as well as an exhausted yet triumphant expression) when he saunters into the living room. 

Y/N falls in love with her fit before it’s even fully out of the bag. 

It’s a two-part velvet design and it’s absolutely dazzling. The main statement piece of the garment is the actual pantsuit: flared cuffs that cut perfectly just below her ankles, the soft fabric a pigment mix between a bright red and deep maroon. As the eyes draw upward, the suit ombrés into a murky black; by the time one’s sight gets to the bando-style top, the color is solid. The accompanying second half of the outfit is a blazer, tinted the same shade of maroon and covered with carefully embroidered crystal clear gems, resulting in material that both absorbs and reflects any light that hits the jacket, giving it bewitching juxtaposition. The cuffs and grand folded collar are lined with elegant glittered lace— a small detail that makes a world of a difference. 

The beauty of it draws attention, clutching it effortlessly and Harry knew it would match her ideally the moment he laid eyes on it at the store. 

He even managed to work an aspect of his little skimpy dress fantasy into the mix: the red-bottom heels. They compliment the look down to the detail with the chic, dark glossy surface on top and the flashy red lining along the underside. The model of the pumps is sleek and tapered, made to give an air of sensual confidence to anyone who dons them. 

He doesn’t regret a single cent of the thousands he’d spent— the way his girlfriend’s eyes are twinkling with enamored awe makes it more than worth it.

Y/N had been rendered speechless as she passes the pads of her fingers gingerly over the plush velvet, almost as if she’s scared it will disintegrate if it wrinkles. Her voice is a stunned murmur. “Jesus, Harry...”

“You like it?” He sets his own protective carrier down along the arm of the couch, the blurred plastic keeping its contents hidden. 

She holds the top portion of the pantsuit up to her chest, trying to imagine how it’ll look with her hair and makeup done. “Like’ doesn’t even come close.”

Harry smiles shyly as he takes the spot beside her, chest fluttering at the notion of making her so happy, fingers rising up to mess with the hoop piercing hooked along his eyebrow— a bashful mannerism. “Good. Always love making your eyes glow like that. Metaphorically speaking.”

Y/N laughs lightly at his joke, face shimmering with a certain loving warmth that makes his insides stir. 

Harry drops his hands into his lap, leaning a bit to bump her shoulder jestingly with his. “Where’s my thank you?”

Y/N returns his gesture, hugging his gift to her stomach gratefully. “Thank you. You spoil me rotten, honestly.” 

He ducks his head down to press a lingering kiss to her temple, inhaling her scent of lavender and cherry blossoms and baby powder and another odor he can’t quite place but it reminds him of a time in his life long ago when he was happy and fulfilled and loved. “I’d do anything for you.”

“You better stop before my eyes start glowing non-metaphorically.”  

Harry’s full-hearted chuckle chimes the air like a thousand bells. It dies down slowly, his forehead pressing against her cheekbone, the tip of his nose brushing across her skin in a caring manner. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and raw. “Can I have a kiss?” 

Y/N bobs her head, craning her face towards him, their noses bumping. She flushes her forehead to his, gazing deeply into his irises as they twinkle with delicate admiration. 

Contrary to the usual, there’s no lascivious teasing or suggestiveness in Harry’s behavior; just simple, subtle affection. And the fact that he’d asked permission makes it sweeter. It’s intimate moments like these that make her cherish giving love a chance.

She buttons her lips to Harry’s tenderly, feeling him sigh dreamily through his nose. It’s not a messy kiss, there’s no desperate sexual drive behind it. It’s homey and mellow, like a hug from someone long lost.     

It lasts a solid ten seconds before Y/N draws back, dwindling the singular kiss into a dozen tiny pecks across Harry’s cheeks, nose, and eyelids until his face is puckering up at the feathery sensation, lashes fluttering open sleepily. 

Y/N sponges her lips between her boyfriend’s brows with finality. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She attentively eases the cover back over her expensive present, zipping it closed and making sure the metal bit doesn’t catch on the cloth. She lays is out across her lap, already glancing over Harry’s shoulder investigatively, trying to make out what he had bought for himself.

“So what’s yours look like?” Her hand stretches out towards the costume with the intent of undoing the zipper. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Harry’s fingers come town over the top of her own, smacking them away humorously. 

Y/N’s head reels back quizzically, insulted. 

He shrugs his brows ominously, one of his large, ring-clad hands streaming across the bag protectively. “It’s a surprise.” 

“That’s not fair!” She exclaims adamantly, though the giggles escaping her are doing a horrible job at backing her claim. “You got to pick mine and I can’t even take a peek at yours?”

Harry defends his secret with another playful slap at her insistent hand as it attempts to reach below his arm. “You know how much I love edging.”

Y/N slumps her shoulders dramatically, the weight of the mystery already itching the back of her brain. She doesn’t know how she’ll be able to put up with it for the next couple of days. “Can I at least see the shoes?”

Harry shakes his head, an evilly delighted simper coiling onto his face. “Nope.”

“Unbelievable.” She snips, crossing her arms over her stomach. 

“‘Good things come to those who wait’ and all that.” 

He’s having way too much fun with this.

Y/N narrows her eyes at him challengingly. “I’ll have my way when you’re asleep.”

He belts out a laugh. “Over my undead body.”

With that, Harry springs up from the couch, jetting towards the stairs that head up to the top floor of the condo, the forbidden costume in tow. 

“Hey!” Y/N vaults up to chase him, well aware of all the possible hiding places scattered upstairs. It’ll take her ages to find it; by the time she does, it would already be past the date.

Harry has a decent amount of time ahead of her, his lanky legs taking the steps two and even three at a time, easily leaving her in the dust. How he keeps from slipping on his jack o’lantern socks is beyond him.

Y/N scurries up the spiral staircase after him, both of their airy giggling bouncing off the intricate metal railings and dark hardwood panels.  

Harry stumbles into their room and slams the door shut behind him with a simple spell, the lock magically flicking shut. He’s laughing so hard his stomach aches, whipping around on his heels to keep alert as he backs into the room, picking his brain for a proper enchantment. He mumbles the invisibility incantation out of breath and half-snickering, but gets it out nonetheless. 

“Fallax flamma, ignis de potentia, et in abscondito, ego ignire te evanescit.”

Cloaking flame, fire of power and concealment, I ignite you to vanish.

A blinding red and blue flame engulfs the entirety of the plastic cover, extinguishing almost immediately, leaving behind no trace evidence of the object he had under his arm moments ago.

And without a second to spare, the door flies open, Y/N rushing in with a victory elating her features. “Gotcha—!”  

Her head swivels from side to side, confusion furrowing her brows as she takes in the image of her boyfriend’s empty arms, alongside his smug, self-satisfied expression. “Where’d it go?!”

Harry creases his brows to mimic her own baffled appearance, mocking. “Where’d what go?”

She ignores the dig. “You can’t possibly have hid it that fast! Not unless you used…”

Realization floods her face. “Cheater!”

“It’s not cheating, it’s called using my resources.”

“Cheater!” Y/N reiterates, lunging forward and koalaing her arms and legs around Harry, sending him stilting back and crashing into the mattress, the duvet rising up in a puff of fluffy black cloth.

His back bounces three times against the bed yet she manages to stay latched on, her knees digging into his hips as her hands fumble to pin down his wrists. 

He fights back, wriggling from side to side to try and shake her loose, kicking up his legs wildly in hopes of teetering her off. “This is wrongful punishment, I didn’t even get a fair trial!”

Y/N ducks down, running her soft lips over the spot where his neck meets his jaw, knowing full well it’s one of his most ticklish places. She whispers her words warningly. “Let me see it.”

Harry can’t help the high-pitched, half-suppressed laugh that escape him, jitters coursing through his bones, stemming from the area where her mouth rubs along his heated skin. He wills the bubbly shrieks to die down, teething at the ring that adorns his bottom lip, eyes alight with pure ecstatic energy. “No.”

Y/N shrugs off his refusal, her supernatural strength proving valuable as she manages to keep her boyfriend stretched to the sheets. “Fine, then. Guess I’ll just have to torture it out of you.” 

Harry sticks his tongue out at her mockingly, the ruby gem piercing glinting in the faint, grey evening light streaming in freely through the large glass wall that overlooks the city skyline. “Guess you will.” 

Her method backfires almost immediately. 

Harry’s sneaky ways and matching inhuman strength accomplish to outmaneuver her. After a fair share of complaining grunts, palms slamming against cheeks, carefully coordinated pinches to side, and a somewhat harsh tug to her hair, she ends up splayed over the mattress beneath him, heaving shallowly as he traps her forearms against his chest, nimble fingers wrapped around her wrists. 

Harry kinks his brows up boastingly. “How’s that, then? Taste of your own medicine.”

Y/N squirms excessively, but slipping free seems unlikely. “I could totally kick you in a really sensitive place right now, but I won’t.” 

He calls her bluff, words sticky and warm against her chin. “It’s in your best interest not to considering you’ve taken a liking to bouncing on it.”  

She yanks at her arms almost savagely, snapping her head sideways to avoid him taking a piss at her as her irises flare up a pale neon blue. 

Harry ends up getting his way. The costume remains unseen until the night of the Halloween party, hidden in some tear in the universe where he knows she won’t be able to find it.  

It remains in its magical alcove until Harry summons it out after his shower, hanging it on an unused towel hook on the marble wall.

He gives it a calculating once-over, chin propped on his loose fist, elbow supported by the wrist of the arm he has swung across his torso. He sways ever so slightly, the towel clinging to his hips dangling dangerously low on his structured pelvis. His wet curls caress the back of his neck, mopping over his small ears and itching his brows, resulting in Harry combing them out of his face with his fingers and sighing lightly.

He taps absentmindedly at the center of his plump lips, running the pad of his index digit along the ridges of his bottom one, feeling the smallest bit off since his piercing is lacking in its rightful spot. The things he does for the authenticity of the look. 

The hand across his stomach clenches and unclenches thoughtfully as he chalks up the details of the full costume in his head, cracking each of his knuckles one at a time with his thumb as he dwells on his ideas. He can never seem to stay still when he’s plotting. 

He glances down at his nails, smiling fondly at the white lacquer Y/N had painted on them to go with his theme. He knows the suspense has been killing her and it amuses him to no end.

Harry rummages through the bathroom cabinets, retrieving his hair drier along with his favorite mousse. Y/N’s makeup bag also makes it onto the counter, as well as his Dove Fresh Cucumber deodorant, cologne, and a pair of dangley pearl earrings he’d acquired as a gift centuries ago from a French noblewoman more than willing to give him what he wanted (in more than one sense).

He knows exactly what his costume is going to look like now and he doesn’t waste a second in beginning preparations. 

On the opposite side of the door, Y/N thinks quite the contrary— he’s taking forever to get ready, the minutes wasting away just like her patience. 

The plan had gone as intended, to an extent. They’d handed out candy to all the children that had come and she’d even weaned Harry into buying a cute jack o’ lantern bowl to set the mood. She enjoyed seeing all of the creative costumes the kids had conjured up; she thinks her favorite was probably the ten year old girl dressed like Thanos from the Avengers movies. Y/N’s favorite part had been the gauntlet, which had carried different colored Jolly Ranchers in place of the Infinity Stones. Quite clever, if you asked her. 

There was an incident with a twelve year old who gave them attitude for their choice in the candy they gave out, but Harry handled it before Y/N could even react. He’d crouched down to her level, mumbled something unintelligible, and then from what Y/N could see in the split second that it occurred, flashed her his demon face. The preteen fled without a single word. 

He had pushed himself back up with his palms to his knees, brushing past Y/N into the apartment, grumbling under his breath. “Entitled miscreants.” 

No more kids ventured towards their door after that. 

She had been the first to get ready, well aware of how long Harry tended to take when preparing himself to go out. 

He casually suggested that it would go by faster if they showered together, not to mention it’d “help the environment and what not,” though she knew his intentions would likely set them on a detour. He was playfully insistent, however, and she ended up having to shove him out of the bathroom with his underwear already half off. 

After she had cleaned up and blow dried her hair accordingly, she left the bathroom to him, deciding to finish getting ready in the bedroom to avoid being late (and also because she knew he wasn’t going to let her see him putting on the costume). 

“I know we have an eternity to live but try not to fill it all up with your showertime.” She’d quipped as she drifted past him on her way out of the foggy, humid washroom.

A sudden tug at her towel had sent her hands fumbling, just barely managing to keep her chest covered. Harry’s snickering had bounced off the shell of her ears. “I make no promises.”

Now Y/N sat on the large bed, distractedly rocking her heels back and forth against the thick-carpeted ground, running her fingers over the silky velvet fabric of her flared pantsuit as it bunches around her thighs. 

She isn’t one to brag or boast because she had been wired to be humble, but she doesn’t think she’s ever looked better. The suit fit her perfectly, all of the seams and cinches falling exactly where they should. The jacket was loose enough to be comfortable but snug enough that it hugged her shoulders properly, not to mention the inside was made of velvet, as well. The wide-legged portion of the fit stopped just below her ankles, giving away to the shiny, midnight-tinted glassy shoes. She’d practiced her walk for about ten minutes. 

Her hair is parted to the side, the front section pinned back from her face to showcase the makeup she’d applied. She’d tightlined her eyes with black kohl eyeliner and a red lip pencil she’d had to make due with (which she’d ducked into the bathroom to get, disappointed when she didn’t see the familiar plastic covering hanging anywhere along the walls) and applied the bright red lipstain Harry had gotten for her. 

Around her neck lays a delicate gold chain, Harry’s large ruby ring glittering at its center. He always loved seeing something of his on her and he always joked about how this specific act was a vintage antic that dated back to the nineteen twenties; girlfriends would wear their boyfriend’s rings around their necks as a symbol of love. The first time he’d mentioned it, she had fallen head over wings for the idea— fallen for its simple yet deep meaning. And it just confirmed to her that under the layers of the hard exterior he donned, Harry was a hopeless romantic at heart (despite the fact that his no longer beat).

Y/N thumbs over the big stone encapsulated in the aged gold band, sighing restlessly through her nose as the pattering of the water echoes through the walls of the bedroom. He’s probably taking this long on purpose and she has half a mind to stalk in there and drag him out by his wet curls, but she refrains. His surprise better be worth it.

The water spout creaks to a stop, the only sound resonating in the bathroom being Harry’s faint humming to Thriller as the door to the shower cracks open loudly. Fucking finally. 

Y/N scampers onto her feet, nearly breaking an ankle as she forgets her choice in shoes. She heads towards the washroom door with an attentive stride, rapping her knuckles on the wooden door lightly, voice tinged with irritation. “Are you done?”

Harry chimes back, tone full of airy, cocky humor. “Not quite. Still balls-naked, but I suppose I could go like that, if you want me to. Don’t mind it.” 

“Just get dressed already, would you? You’re taking forever.” 

“Haven’t you ever heard of being ‘fashionably late?’”

Y/N growls in exasperation, crossing her arms and pacing back and forth in front of their bed, trying to reign in her nerves. Going to a party where she barely knows anyone is bad enough, but Harry isn’t easing her woes any by being a little shit. 

On the other side of the wooden door, Harry is finger-combing mousse through his hair as he harmonizes to Monster Mash, twirling strands here and there around his index finger to accentuate the ringlets just the way he likes. He flips his head over, mussing up the roots to ensure the soft volume and fullness he’s so known for. He always takes his hair seriously— a residual mannerism from when he had it shoulder-length for almost a decade. 

Blow drying doesn’t take long and he’s buttoning up his top before he knows it, leaving the last three buttons undone to expose his swallow tattoos and upside down cross necklace, the antennas of his butterfly inking peeking out from the edge of the open shirt, along with the curved tips of its wings. 

He fishes out a couple of products from Y/N’s cosmetics pouch as he wiggles his toes into his new shoes, zipping them up with finality and leaning in closer to the mirror for the makeup application. 

Once he’s finished and everything has been returned to its rightful spot, he spritzes a few pumps of his Tom Ford cologne across his flexing necking and down his jaw, capping it and giving himself a thoughtful once-over in the mirror. He’s proud of what he’d achieved. 

He murmurs a spell, retrieving the halo and wings from the magical storage facility he’d placed them in, fitting them onto his costume and humming in approval. 

The door to the bathroom swings open, startling Y/N enough to trip up her angry loitering.

Harry steps through the frame of the door, completely decked out in his attire for her to witness in its fully glory. “Let the switching hour begin.”

Y/N can’t stop her jaw from dropping in astonishment. 

Harry looks incredible— breath-takingly ethereal, to say the least. She scans the look from bottom to top, taking in every detail slowly, feeling almost as if time had slowed down around her. 

It starts with the footwear. They’re a pair of glossy, bright white heeled boots, silver metal tips adorning the front of the shoes. She’s never seen anything like it and knowing how dramatic Harry can be, she wouldn’t be surprised if they’re custom. 

The boots disappear under the flared cuffs of the off-white, wide-legged pants he is sporting, the fabric ironed and crisp, complimenting his height. They’re high-waisted, ending just above Harry’s navel, the front embellished with two parallel rows of gold buttons, each engraved with a capital, Roman-font letter G that glints under the soft, buttery low light of a single lamp. 

His top is probably the statement piece of the layout. It’s a baby blue long-sleeved button-up blouse with a frilled collar and cuffs, the buttons decently-sized opal crystals that shimmer holographically with every movement. The fabric of the cloth presents a similar effect, the material frosty and see-through with reflective, multi-colored sparkling fibers sewn in. The shirt is tucked into the high waist of Harry’s pants, fitting loose and flouncy around his torso, the twinkling faintness of the thread juxtaposing the darkness of his tattoos in an unexpected yet flattering manner. It hugs his shoulders and back tightly, muscles rippling the cloth in a way similar to how a stone wrinkles the surface of a still lake. 

The layers of the collar ornament Harry’s sharp jaw and grace the intricate pearl earring dangling from his right ear. She takes notice of the inversed cross necklace resting at the center of the valley that is his chest, glinting with a type of poetic irony. His fingers are garnished with his usual plethora of rings, his two blocky initials hugging his second middle finger and pinky amidst an array of gems and carvings. 

Though the dazzling clothes and expensive jewelry are eye-catching, Y/N can confidently say Harry’s makeup is the real caviar of the entire look. 

White liner runs across his waterline and over the crevices of his top lashes, opening up his eyes and making the olive tone of his irises pop more than usual. Glitter has been strewn across the curve of his cheekbones and faded up onto his temples, the holographic flecks of pastel blue, baby pink, and snow white glued down securely and glimmering under the flickering light-up halo. The lustery specks have also been combed into his fluffy, soft curls with a dash of gel, twinkling like a billion little stars. Evenly-spaced rhinestones decorate along the curve of Harry’s thick eyebrows— a final touch of grandeur that pairs adequately with the rest of the accessories.

Harry lifts the palms of his hands upward expectantly, giving a slow twirl and showing off the glitzy wings (which mold into the look effortlessly). “So, what d’you think?”

Y/N puts all of the pieces of the costume together in her brain, attempting to process it all at once and being rendered utterly speechless. The broadness of his body— the thickness of his chest, how his biceps and back muscles strain the dainty material of the top, his towering height with the heels, his sharp, defined features— contrast the delicateness of the fit, but it somehow it works. It somehow makes heat pool at the pit of her stomach and makes her ears crackle with spurts of electricity. 

All she manages to croak out is a quiet, tender, “You look pretty.” 

This sends Harry into a round of light-hearted giggling, his smile more blinding than any of the flashy props he carries. He glances down, zoning in on the metal tips of his boots to avoid her noticing the blush invading his cheeks. He pushes it down, scolding himself for being so mushy. 

He clears his throat lightly, giving a quick glimpse over her own costume. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Y/N instinctively looks down at her outfit, grabbing the excess fabric around her thighs and curtsying jokingly. “Thanks, my boyfriend picked it out.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, his two front teeth digging into his bottom lip, eyebrows jolting knowingly. “He has great taste.” 

Y/N steps closer to her boyfriend, draping her arms over his strong shoulders, the corners of her lips twitching. “Yeah, but he takes centuries to get ready. That’s kindof a trade-off.”

Harry’s hands coast onto his girlfriend’s hips, squeezing jestingly as he draws her body flushed against his, the golden buttons of his pants cold against the ombréd cloth of her pantsuit. “He sounds like an ass.”

She wobbles her head from side to side as if mulling over his comment, eventually nodding in agreement. “He is.” 

His jaw falls open into a shocked smirk, raising his eyebrows in silent objection. “Is that so? Why do you stay with him, then?”

Y/N’s palms glide down the taut muscles of Harry’s arms, the pads of her fingers pressing into his skin suggestively. “He’s got a few redeeming qualities.” 

Harry’s heavy lashes dust over the tops of his cheeks, catching a few stray particles of glitter that shimmer alluringly in the dim lighting. His forearms suddenly tighten harder around her waist, pulling her so close she can feel his groin pressing into her thigh. His tone is slathered with arrogant self-assurance, the ghosts of the words dancing across her stinging lips and her eyes nearly roll back as whiffs of his intoxicatingly delicious scent numbs her sinuses. 

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

Y/N has a hard time swallowing, feeling her voice lodge in her throat as he begins brushing his lips up and down her jaw. “I’ll keep that to myself.” 

Harry chuckles deeply and she can feel the vibrations down to her bones. “S’okay, I’ve got an idea of what you meant.” 

“You sound awfully confident.”

“I speak from experience.” 

Y/N moves her face back a tad, noticing that her fingers had somehow ended up tangled in the chain of his necklace, tugging at it so hard it's bruising Harry’s throat. He doesn’t mind it— he liked the burn. 

He ducks down further, wisping his mouth over her’s, groaning lowly in the back of his throat when he sees her lips are stained with the tempting red color he’d picked out. “Your mouth looks so pretty like that. Bet it’d look even better skimming down my chest and over my thighs.” 

His hold has her leaning back so far she’s now balancing on the tips of her toes, her chest heaving slightly against his. “Bet it would.” 

Harry reaches one hand up, cupping her jaw with his fingers, his thumb rubbing slowly over her bottom lip, watching the color transfer faintly. “Wouldn’t mind some of the glitter on my face ending up across your inner thighs, either.”

A small whine strains the back of Y/N’s throat at the image of Harry’s head ducking between her legs over and over, the white liner smudging under his eyes due to sweat while her damp skin rubs the glitter off his cheekbones, his ringed fingers clamping over her plush thighs as the light from the moon bounces off the glossy surface of the white nail polish. 

Harry presses a warm, sloppy kiss to the center of her jugular, her knees quaking as heat surges through her veins. “Some of it on your fingers, too, from pulling at my hair.”

He slowly dips his thumb past her lips, it’s weight heavy on her tongue. She acts on impulse, closing her mouth around it and sucking drunkenly. 

Harry’s teeth skim along the side of her neck, a breathy purr of, “That’s my good girl” simmering her nerves. 

Her words are muffled and weak, but she manages to get them out into the open. “We’re gonna be late.” 

It’s not that Y/N doesn’t want to because, fuck, she wants to, but she knows that Harry would leave her a disoriented mess for the rest of the night, and it’d be pretty obvious. The last thing she wants is his friends teasing her about it— the mortification would be eternal. 

He sighs grandly against her throat— which nearly sends her crumpling to the floor—  and reluctantly pulls away. 

Harry knocks his forehead against her’s, his sparkly lashes dusting her eyelids as they barely conceal the puncturing sexual hunger glinting in the amber flecks around his pupils. “You’re lucky the pantsuit is a one-piece or I’d have you riding my face right about now.” 

With that, he refixes her crooked demon horns atop her head, retrieving the cape, clip-on tail, and pitchfork from where she’d placed them on the bed. He tangles their fingers together and yanks a very hazy, unbalanced Y/N towards the door. 

She stumbles after him in her heels, gaining enough footing to avoid rolling as they descended down the stairs, the sounds from both of their shoes pounding hard inside her temples. Harry hands her the rest of her costume, grabbing his favorite navy blue trench coat from it’s hook next to the entryway and shrugging it on, carefully working his hands through the sleeves to keep the frill detailing from bunching up. He pats down his pockets to make sure he has his keys, fishing them out with his index finger as he unlocks the front door. 

He steps off to the side for Y/N to go through first, kissing her cheek chastely as she brushes past him with a tiny, soft, “Thank you.” 

“Of course, darling.” Harry follows her lead, turning back to lock the door to their apartment, checking the knob the same way he’s done his entire life. 

Y/N loops her arm around his as they walk towards his car, the chilly air rustling her velvet jacket and drying the light sheen of sweat that had accumulated across her hairline. The moon hangs calmly amongst the stars, illuminating the high points of Harry’s face in a very fitting heavenly manner, the soft sounds of chirping insects and hooting owls setting a comfortably spooky tone for the rest of the night. A few straggling trick-or-treaters are turning in for the night, exchanging happy halloween’s and heading towards their complexes. 

The beeping of the car rings across the still air along with the quick flash of the headlights. Harry opens the door for Y/N, just as he’s always done, helping her get settled into the passenger’s seat. He then leans down a tad through the frame of the door, fingers tapping at the hood of the car, eyes half-lidded in a sly simper.

“Just thought I’d tell you in advance, you might wanna get the situation between your thighs settled before we get to the party. I’d be able to smell how wet you are from a mile away.” 

#demon!harry #harry styles au #demon au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shots #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #smut #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfic #harry styles dirty fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles drabble #harry styles dirty #hs1 #hs2 #harry styles blurb #harry x reader #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction one shot

[super-famicom-star-inactive]

Throwback Tuesday

January 26, 2021

Hello friendos, and welcome back to another Throwback Tuesday!

For this episode, today is a special occasion of sorts as I was recently notified thanks to Twitter that today is the 34th anniversary of Dragon Quest II: Luminaries of the Legendary Line so today’s Throwback Tuesday will focus on that!

Happy anniversary Dragon Quest II!

May I present

Dragon Quest II: Luminaries of the Legendary Line (1987)

Original Release:  January 26, 1987 (Famicom/NES, WW)

Future Releases:   Super Famicom (December 18, 1993), Game Boy Color ( September 23, 1999 [JPN], September 27, 2000 [USA]), iOS and Android (June 26, 2014 [JPN],  October 9, 2014 [WW]), Nintendo Switch (September 27, 2019 [WW])

Developer: Chunsoft

Publisher: Enix

Director: Koichi Nakamura

Designer(s): Yuji Horii

Producer: Yukinobu Chida

Artist(s): Akira Toriyama

Programmer(s): Koichi Nakamura

Composer(s):  Koichi Sugiyama

Writer: Yuji Horii

Inspiration

Seeing how successful the first Dragon Quest game was when it was released just the year prior, production was quickly underway for the sequel. In fact, it was reported that a month before the release of Dragon Quest 1, planning for the second title was into play. Many of the staff members from the first game came back for the second title, including notable figures such as Yuji Horii, Akira Toriyama, and Koichi Sugiyama. There were many ideas for the sequel but most of them were scrapped due to system limitations, however some of those ideas would be used in later titles like Dragon Quest III: Seeds of Salvation. One of the ideas that stayed was a much better programmed battle system that was more simplified than its predecessor. 

Story

A century has past since the events of the first game and it seems Hargon is causing havoc by attacking Moonbrooke Castle and it is revealed that he wants to summon the demon Malroth to destroy the world and everything in it. One soldier survives just long enough to get to the castle of Midenhall and tells the king of the attack on Moonbrooke Castle before dying. The Prince of Midenhall (a descendent of Erdrick) is sent by his father to defeat Hargon once and for all. The Prince of Midenhall eventually does meet up with the Prince of Cannock and the Princess of Moonbrooke and together they travel to beat Hargon before it’s too late.

Gameplay

Dragon Quest II is a role-playing JRPG where you control multiple characters in a battle system and have to defeat monsters in order to obtain Gold and Experience. Besides the standard Attack function, you also have the ability to use Magic or Defend. The gameplay is said to be an upgrade of the previous title and that the inventory was also expanded to accommodate for the extra party members.  

Reception

To the surprise of no one, Dragon Quest II sold very well and was also received well by both critics and players alike. It was reported that the original Famicom version alone shipped out 2.4 million units. It was praised for the gameplay balance (which caused delays in production), music, battle system, larger world and better graphics, despite system limitations and 8-bit capabilities. 

Legacy

It has been regarded by players as one of, if not the most difficult games of the entire series due to its gameplay and despite its toning down of difficulty in later ports, it still held onto that reputation. Regardless, it was hailed as a worthy successor and sequel to the original title and it would go on to inspire future games of the series, including the JRPG classic Dragon Quest III. 

Thoughts From the Head 

Dragon Quest II is one of the lesser known games of the series and honestly I feel it deserves more attention. I actually played the Super Famicom version of it first before receiving the Famicom version last Christmas alongside Dragon Quest III. I have not completed it yet due to the lack of Japanese but I do have the game on my Switch so hopefully the script will be more accurate to the original Japanese. I wasn't aware the three party members were all cousins of each other so there's that. If you're a Dragon Quest fan and you want a decent challenge, I'd give a light recommendation. It's definitely worth a shot if you have a chance to play it.

Here's photos of my Famicom version!

#my voice! #throwback tuesday #retro gaming #gaming #irl #dragon quest #dragon quest ii

[schibi12]

Disney Spooktacular Halloween-a-thon & Review/Reaction for "The Trickening!"

"What is this a crossover episode?!?" Well yes my Halloween-a-thon and Review/Reaction have crossed so you get a special post yay!

Jokes aside i was very excited for this episode and it didn't disappoint i LOVED it and the references, the references, Fun fact about me dear Tumblr user i love horror movies, well im more of a suspense/psychological thriller kinda gal but i have seen a few slasher films since gore kinda disgust me. But yeah i think this is one of the few episodes that i got most of the references so Let's Do this!!

Spoilers! Read at your own Risk!

I loved all of the costume the kids wear from Webby being a Demon King that nobody gets but its a cute costume, Huey being Gizmoduck which he obvioulsy did himself, Dewey's half-baked costume of a pirate on vacation and then the laziest of lazy halloween costumes Louie as Huey its so in character of him, and i also like that kids sometime say or act as the thing that are dressed of is so adorable. And i of course loved Donald and Della being an angel and devil respectively matches their personality, oh and Scrooge being a skeleton simple but elevated by the glow in the dark effect and come on Scrooge don't you think you're a bit old for trick or treating just saying not judging.

Love the spooky version of the intro.

And of course Scrooge isn't giving candy he goes for the candy oh wow an empty bowl what a greedy jerk and oh my gosh he is doing the skeleton dance. Aw Donald just want to give candy what a sweetheart.

Oh my gosh this episode is a haunted house episode yes and ok Hazel House reminds the House on Neibolt Street from It, so im already getting creeped out.

If there is a fabled motherload of candy in that house from previous halloweens that candy is moldy and nasty plus its a creepy abandoned house you're just gonna pick it up from the disgusting floor Ew.

Oh and fun fact about me dear tumblr user i have a fear of dolls, yeah childhood trauma of watching Chucky as a child so you better believe that i got quite scared watching this and i think it's a Poltergeist reference but still kinda creepy and oh dear its the puppet from Saw

Then we got The Good, The Bad and The Himbo probably one of my favorite teams of this episode i love their interactions and how they each have a different form of celebrating halloween Della wanting to scare and traumatize, Donald just wants to give candy and well Launchpad and his silly and dramatic take on halloween is hilarious and creative.

But honestly we need to see more of these three cause they where hilarious and worked well off of each other.

And Launchpad telling his childhood trauma per say, that he believes that he spawned soul-eating demons that come every October 31st is so funny and little child Launchpad is adorable and i know Frank Angones said that his design was inspired on himself but he kind of reminded me of Dustin from Stranger Things, nice and funny detail that everytime LP crashes a fire starts

Also Della and Donald fighting as children was funny and reminded me a lot of me and my sister.

And sheesh Launchpad really beat up Scrooge no fear, no regrets Calm down LP.

And ok im on Huey's side what's wrong with some normal fun trick or treating not everything has to be a great adventure but true he shouldn't have lied to his family.

Oh look another Childhood trauma the creepy well girl from the Ring. Yay 7.7

i know a lot of people have been saying that Louie was being to mean to Huey with his teasing but honestly that's how sibling and i've teased like Louie and felt like Huey so honestly i don't see it that bad well from my perspective. But they do have a nice and wholesome resolution.

And the creatures being classicc monsters was a nice twist and oh god Launchpad is a perfect combination between Michael Myers and Jason Vorhees and he crazy, and all the Shining references from the Twins, the picture at the end, to the "Here's Johnny" good stuff

I like the conclusion, loved seeing Mrs. Beakley dressed as Darkwing Duck (im so excited for the special), Dewey got his 24 hour Candy Store and Donald got to give candies to the kids what a cinnamon roll and Poor LP all these years without celebrating Halloween.

Animation amazing as always and also the musical score really set the spooky tone.

Doug Jones, Selma Blair,James Marsters and Clancy Brown did an excellent job as the voices of the Wereduck, Witch Hazel, Nosferatu and Frankenstein respectively.

I love that this episode combines the old and modern horror creatures and cliches and the story was really creative, clever and funny. So i give this episode 5 out of 5 ducks.

🐤🐤🐤🐤🐤

#disney #ducktales #dt17 #ducktales 2017 #dts3 #dtspoilers #halloween #hallowen-a-thon #review #reaction