#hope you enjoyed it!

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Thirty-One

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 31

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] Part Thirty-One [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You walk back to your ready chambers as quickly as you can without drawing notice, ducking to hide the smile on your face when you pass a couple of servants. You open the doors to your dressing room and almost jump when you recall the number of those waiting anxiously for your return. Steward Bilmont is still there too, collapsed in a chair looking quietly morose while the maids hover in an anxious group near the fireplace. All turn to stare at you when you return. 

You try to pull your expression back to something resembling neutrality as you stride over to your seat in front of your vanity. “All is well,” you say. “There will be no further confusion regarding the wedding.”

“Truly?” Bilmont asks, hope and disbelief in his voice. The maids seem similarly skeptical, but get back to work without a word. Luckily, it looks as though they had been making progress while you were gone—two additional trunks were packed. 

“Yes,” you reply, “there was a misunderstanding.” Which was certainly an understatement, but the most honest explanation you could provide with others present. “It has been straightened out. The wedding is going forward as planned.”

Bilmont threw his hands up. “Thank the light! I didn’t know what—” He cut himself off before he said anything further, merely shaking his head in unarticulated dismay.

You allow him the moment to gather himself, occupying yourself with the lace Miss Adir is laying out for you. However, he continues to linger and so after a look from Mrs Dearden, you turn back to the steward. “I’m sure you have other duties to return to, Steward Bilmont.”

Bilmont meets your eyes, blinking as if suddenly realizing where he is. Hastily he gets to his feet. “Yes, my lady, of course.”

You shake your head in amusement as he hurries out the door before turning back to the mirror and letting your maids finish dressing you. It’s mostly flourishes now, lace cuffs and collar mantle, the jewelry your mother provided. The veil re-purposed from Dale’s mother’s is still carefully arranged on a form, you’ll put that on last.

You still feel somewhat in shock, happy shock, but shock nevertheless. Dale didn’t know you knew what he was, but he does now. He wants to marry you. He’d said you were one of the reasons he stayed here, as Dale. He called you ‘exemplary’. And to think only an hour ago you’d been convinced everything had fallen to pieces. Instead you’re finally, finally, on the same page.

With that reassurance, more of your nerves have melted away, leaving you feeling eager anticipation for the beginning this wedding truly is.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Miss Adir asks tentatively as she helps to make sure the lace insert is sitting correctly over your collarbones. No doubt she must have questions about what happened and what sort of confrontation there might have been, even if she is too professional to ask.

“Hm?” You blink yourself back to the present moment. “Oh yes.” You feel a smile grow on your face, unable to be contained. You can find little reason to try to contain it. “I’m very well indeed.”

-/-

Some of those nerves return as you wait in the small ready room to make your entrance into the main hall of the monsacrin, where the spiritual ceremony will take place prior to the legal one. You’re dreading this one more as it involves the most pageantry and the most people. Certainly all guests will be at the wedding luncheon, but you will not be on display in the same manner. 

Even the buoyancy of your conversation with Dale had lent you is diminishing as you imagine all the ways in which you might make a fool of yourself. Your fears for Dale too are not insubstantial. You had been pushing those concerns to the side because there wasn’t much you could do to help—the wedding had to take place here, but how would the sacred affect him? He’d been fine during the rehearsal and the few common ceremonies you’d attended over the last few weeks, but…

You’d seen a sanctif nearly reveal him, not to mention Grandfather’s holy water attempt. He is certainly capable of being hurt by it. But to what degree? Both Sanctif Ellon and Dr. Louisa proved detection methods could be used successfully upon him, although not perfectly. Especially if he was forewarned and able to prepare as you’d seen with the sanctif. Hopefully, with the ceremony so straightforwardly laid out over the past few days, Dale will have prepared himself. Right?

Of course, he’d called off the wedding. He’d spent at least part of today thinking it wasn’t happening. How long had he been planning that? He’d been acting a bit strangely over the past few days, but ultimately the decision had seemed impulsive to you. He’d seemed as if leaving Northridge was his next move and yet, he’d clearly not been packed beyond for your wedding trip. The box he’d been filling with books and other items in his study had obviously been items he wanted with him, but would have been sent ahead to your next destination and so we’re prepared.

The swell of music, woodwinds and strings, interrupted your thoughts to let you know Dale had likely entered the monsacrin. He’d come from the right to walk to the middle. You’ve heard some merchant and peasant families had those who were to be wed enter at the same time given family status didn’t have the hold it had on the nobility. However, since you were joining the Northridge family, you’d enter second to stand with him instead of the reverse. 

Miss Adir hands you your bouquet as the melody changes. The door in front of you opens, letting in the brilliant morning sunlight. Your practice of the ceremony was all that prevented you from squinting in the face of all that light. Light was the most important aspect of Solennity and monsacrins had as much glass as they could and stay standing. It was traditional for weddings to take place in morning light, to signify new beginnings, and were held in the eastern hall accordingly. Sunlight streamed in, half blinding you as you walked down the left aisle, which cut at a diagonal through the seated guests to the dias against that eastern wall of glass. 

Once your eyes adjust, you keep them focused on the center altar, with its backing of colorful stained glass since its easier to look at, and where Dale waits for you. Gone is the more casual red waistcoat he had on in the study. Instead, the luxurious dark blue velvet that he’d selected nearly a month ago has been turned into a lovely suit. His overcoat is rich and plush, embroidered with detailed gold designs that are similar to those on his waistcoat. His trousers are the same color and disappear into polished black boots. The white of his shirt contrasts well and helps lighten the outfit. Even his hair ribbon is white, holding back his dark hair, except those styled in the front. He looks beautiful.

You try not to think about all the guests staring at you and focus only on Dale, only on being careful not to step on the hem of your dress or drop your flowers. The music swells appropriately until you’re stepping up the single step to where you’ll start the ceremony, next to Dale. 

Now that you’re closer and not so dazzled by the light, you can make out more of his expression. He looks down at you with a sort of proud awe that you admire given he’s already seen your dress and even your hair more than half done only an hour or so ago. Perhaps you haven’t been giving him enough credit for his ability to act. He is right in that no one else, beyond a few servants, knows over his nature. You smile up at him, more in relief and out of nerves than much else, but there’s also some awe, that you’re really here, that he’s really here—that it's all happening.

As the final notes play out, you carefully lean forward to place your bouquet in the vase to your side, the flowers a gift to the monsacrin and so your hands can be free for the rest of the ceremony. 

The sanctif walks up, giving the opening prayer for a wedding. He stands between you on the next step up and his apprentice joins him, her movements as smooth as in rehearsal earlier in the week. She hands the sanctif the ribbon chosen—blue and gold braided together—and he starts the prayer of unity.

“Today we join together these two humble petitioners who seek to unify their lives in marriage,” he proclaims. That is your cue, and Dale’s, and you both remove a glove—your right and his left. The apprentice sanctif takes your gloves while the sanctif continues, “As such endeavors are not to be taken lightly given their grave importance and profound influence on the times ahead, we so bind them.” 

You both reach out and carefully entwine your fingers together in a tight handclasp. The sanctif continues to speak as he winds the braided ribbon around your hands, but you barely hear his words. Instead your focus is on the steadiness of Dale’s hand, the moderate temperature of his skin, the way your arms overlap in order to keep your hands securely together. Your sleeves are short, but his are not. The sensation of the luscious velvet brushing against your skin is lovely. You can’t help but look up to see his eyes—only two at the moment, thank the stars—to find them already fixed upon you.

His gaze seems cautious until yours meets it, at which point his eyes crinkle in their corners to reflect the smile that blooms so naturally. Without thought, you mirror the gesture.

The music swells as the sanctif proclaims and you focus yourself back onto the ceremony itself, so you do not embarrass yourself by being caught unawares. You accept the candle holder from the attendant easily, the gold quickly warming in your hands. It’s simple white taper is unlit. Dale accepts an identical one as the sanctif recalls the story of humanity’s ascent from unintelligent darkness to enlightenment.

He paces the half-circle step, speaking to you and the audience, before he climbs to his place behind the elevated altar. He holds his hands up, supplicating, and begins to recite the marital prompts. “Do you approach this altar of light deliberately and of sound mind, willing and able, to join in sacred commitment to one another?”

“I do,” you chorus with Dale. He’d said with you for balance, he’d not need his cane, and yet the first step up makes you nervous that you’ll both fall, as if you’ve never climbed a set of stairs before.

“You may approach,” the sanctif replies.

You and Dale advance, you careful given your skirts and Dale careful given his balance. You reach the step with little difficulty, feeling almost foolish over how nervous you are, but the reminder of the low level of actual challenge doesn’t help.

“Do you approach this altar of light with honesty, loyalty, and fidelity in your hearts?”

“I do.” Perhaps that vow was what had started Dale on his doubts. The first rehearsal had been the day you returned to Northridge and you’d each gotten pamphlets explaining the ceremony, for all your responses were minimal and repetitive. 

“Do you approach this altar of light for the purpose of commitment, of unity, of harmony?”

“I do.” this is the vow you’re unsure if you would have meant with the original Dale. It would have been hard to reach any sort of harmony with him. You don’t have any such fears with Dale.

“Do you approach this altar of light with full faith in the enduring union you seek to forge, with no intention of end or fragility, with confidence and perseverance?”

“I do.” With your conversation this morning, you have no reservations or worries with your reply here either. Still, the sound of Dale’s deep voice in concert with you helps reassure you of his words, as does the feeling of his now-warm hand in yours, his body next to you. He’s not going anywhere.

You’ve both reached the altar and the sanctif smiles at you reassuringly, before he looks past you to those gathered behind you. His voice goes out to them, imploring, “Do any here know what might prevent this union? Do any here have any reason to disbelieve the proclamations made by those who seek to join together?”

There is a pause after his voice fades out in which you find it immensely hard to breathe, before the collective response comes, “We do not.”

“As your humble delegate, I implore the light to bless these two with the union they seek.” The sanctif turns from the altar to the fire behind him, which every monsacrin has lit at all times. Carefully, he lit the oak rod in his hand from its flames and with that, lit the large candle on the altar. 

The sanctif speaks on the virtues of marriage while he prepares the sacred cup, announcing the virtue of each herb he adds to the holy water held in its vessel above the candle. Truly, the fire was not enough to heat the drink by much, but it was symbolic of using light and heat to purify. You hope that Dale can drink it with ease. You’d taken note of the herbs at the last rehearsal and found most to be either without cause for worry or with little information to rely on. What flexibility there was with the recipe you took advantage of, except for juniper, which had to be included—and the book had specifically recommended that for purification.

“Drink from this holy vessel,” the sanctif says, carefully lifting the overlarge cup, truly more of a bowl, for you. “As is internal, so may be external. Light within, light without.” 

You’d practiced this too. Dale drinks first, as the higher partner so to speak. As he leans down, he’s careful not to drop his candle nor your hand.

Your eyes are intent on his face in what you hope is common attention for your fiance, but he seems no worse for wear. His mild grimace easily attributed to what you know to be the bitter flavor of the drink. Once he straightens, you mirror him, leaning down to take a drink yourself. At least the ceremonial cup closer to you height—the sanctif can only lean so far over the altar with it. Bitter, tart, and herbal, the flavors coat your mouth and the water flows quickly down your throat. You’re grateful to have tasted it before so you don’t cough.

Gentle windwood instruments play at odds with the powerful taste in your mouth. They swell around you as everyone sings a verse of gratitude. The sanctif uses his sprinklers, dunking them in the ceremonial cup now that you had each taken a drink. He hands the bigger one to his apprentice for the group below. With another prayer, he sprinkles holy water over yourself and Dale. Your eyes dart to Dale and notice the way his head is bowed in imitation of piety keeps his face at an angle that lessens the chance of holy water hitting it. He already drank it, but on impulse you turn over your hands, arms only slightly more awkwardly placed, so that your clasped hand is up and his is below.

Dale gives your hand a grateful squeeze as you see a few drops land on the back of your hand. Luckily, the sanctif’s blessing over you does not last long and he carefully puts the vessel away while his apprentice continues with the crowd.

“Blessed and enlightened in our souls, I bid you now to light the symbol of your devotion,” he intones. Dutifully you and Dale light your candles from the larger one simultaneously. 

Now comes the more difficult part: carrying the lit candles back down and turning with your hands still bound. You don’t care if you’re not as elegant as some you’ve seen in the past at the very few weddings you’ve attended. You keep your gaze firmly on your feet and Dale as the sanctif at last bids you to turn to away from the altar. “Do you depart this altar of light with determination to face life's hardships together?”

Your hold on Dale’s hand tightens as you turn your head, nerves and fear lancing through you unbidden by the crowd and the height. Dale takes the extra strain easily, skillfully stepping down and to the side with enough deliberate slowness you are able to follow him and remember your official response. “We do.”

Your voice is shaky, but Dale’s is clear and the sanctif does not ask you to repeat yourself. You’ve heard tell of sanctifs who demanded repetitions or even those who required a sentence response, re-framing the question. You are so very thankful you’re able to follow the simpler pattern.

“Do you depart this altar of light with persistence in the face of afflictions of the body?”

“We do.” You take another step down, allowing the floor of the step above to keep your hemline free of your shoes. At the very first wedding you attended, this was the vow you were convinced no one would be able to pledge to you.

“Do you depart this altar of light with compassion for the tumultuous emotions of the heart?”

Another oath that you would not have believed coming from the original Dale. His compassion was lacking and his tolerance for others emotions was minimal to say the least. This Dale surprises you still with his attention to your comfort and happiness. “We do.”

“Do you depart this altar of light with steadfastness against the complications of the mind?”

You chance a glance straight ahead this time, as you are meant to be doing the entire descent, and regret it. So many people staring at you as you walk down steep steps while holding fire. Whoever designed this wedding ceremony had best ascended far far away. You hastily look back down. “We do.”

“Do you depart this altar of light to serve your community and your kin with the attention duty and obligation require?”

“We do.” You are now back on the proper floor of the hall, lower than where you started on the first step. You’ve never been so grateful to the ground before. Why had it been so much worse than rehearsals?

“Do you, the gathered community, accept these vows made here in the light?”

Perhaps it was the audience, who again need an additional second to respond that makes your knuckles lighten as your grip tightens with anticipation. “We do.”

The stringed instruments join the lighter and quieter wood-winds, a masterful solo that allows you to regain your breath, for all you’d not been exerting yourself physically. You catch Callalily’s eyes in the second row and she smiles encouragingly.

When the music dies down again, the sanctif speaks, “Reward this faith in you with the gift of your abundance and illumination.”

You cross the stone floor to the first line of benches with perfect synchronicity, Dale shortening his long strides to match your own.

You light Grandmother and Grandfather’s candles with Dale. Grandmother’s eyes are misty as she smiles at you with joy. Grandfather’s smile is more tinged with relief when he looks at you both. Soon they turn to light the candles of the ones around them, who will turn to do the same. Once all the candles in the first row of benches are light, you and Dale blow out each other’s candles. 

The music speeds up as the light spreads to everyone’s far smaller candles and soon reaches the cue for everyone who’s candle is lit to kneel. The wave of people kneeling continues until all are knelt, anyone too young to hold a candle pulled down by attentive parents. 

You turn back to the sanctif, who’s descended to be only a step above the main floor. Dale guides your turn and approach until it is your turn to kneel as well, your concentration on how you do so in your more elaborate than usual skirt given your lack of free hands.

The sanctif’s speech on marriage is well-enough, he’d given you an overview earlier in the week, but you can’t focus much on his words. You can’t even ruminate on the marriage you are about to begin, the future that is starting now. You can only focus on Dale. You���d think with him pressed so close you’d grow used to the feeling of his arm, his body, against yours, but you don’t. You only crave to have his arms wrapped firmly around you like they had those two precious times before. To feel his lips against yours for a more satisfying kiss. You hope the light and heat can be blamed for any heat in your cheeks as you try to keep your mind on the present and the ceremony.

Soon enough, the sanctif prompts you to present your candles, the holders careful designed to catch and flow the cooling wax. The sanctif dips his finger into the cooling wax of your candle and Dale’s simultaneously. Then he presses a dot of wax to the back of each of your hands, still bound together. “I now pronounce you wed. You may seal the union with a kiss.”

You turn back to Dale, his eyes lit by more than the many candles and the sunlight streaming through the windows. Luckily, you don’t think anyone else will even notice as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

Don’t go, you can’t help but lament in your mind as you try with your will to keep him close to you. Dale remembers your audience at least. As he straightens, pulling away from you, he lifts your joined hands in to signify the sealed union. It feels more like a victory salute to you. Victory to have gotten here, to have this ceremony complete, to have Dale joined to you. To be together.

After a final blessing with holy water sprinkled over your heads, you carefully get back to your feet. While the rest of the attendees join the instruments in song, they keep their candles lit so that the center aisle you depart down is lit from all sides. 

It’s considered back luck to undo the ribbon until out of the hall. You and Dale depart down the center aisle, hands still bound together.

[Part Thirty-Two]

#my writing #story: nothing's wrong with dale #dale #story part #monster romance #nothing's wrong with dale #terato #exphilia #monster bf #male monster #reader #slow burn #osha compliant #i'm never inventing my own wedding ceremony again #hope you enjoyed it! #dont think about how much of a fire hazard this would b lmao #wedding time #anyone else getting thirsty? #;)

[the-wintershade]

midnight blossoms

pairing: jack russell x reader summary: it’s been a hundred years since you’d last seen Jack, and the power of the memories won’t leave you. but returning to the place where it all started has a way of bringing him right back to you where he’s always belonged. wc: 3.6k+ (mhmm, there’s plot to this one) genre: ANGSTY, comfort, soft!Jack because he is a teddy bear, immortality angst, sweet reunion bliss a/n: thank you so much for the request anon! this was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoy it, and it fits what you were looking for!

The forest looked different from all those years ago. 

Moonlight filtered through the tree branches same as before, but there was something missing in its glow. Maybe it was the spacing of the branches, twisted and maimed by time. Maybe it was the lack of magic in the air when you’d been here around three hundred years ago. 

You could feel the sleepiness in the earth now. There used to be a greater buzz, more energy to draw from when you’d create little balls of fire for your campfires. The groups of supernaturals back then could be from fifty to one hundred. 

Now, it was hard to find anyone that lived nearby that’d seen as many forests flattened to marshes and flimsy wooden buildings charred to nothing. There were many places that claimed to be a part of the “moon folk,” but their potions were cheap and murky and ambiguous words taken from fortune cookies.

You knew as much as the next supernatural that you didn’t need herbs and glowing juices to do what you did. All you needed was the energy of the earth, cultivated by the loving and respectful actions of others. Emotional content lived on in the soil. When soil turned into particles of air, the air then carried the emotions too.

That was the most powerful stuff, and that was why it was dying out. People don’t care like they used to.

The wind picked up, snapping through your hair and stinging against the collar of your jacket. You huddled into your outerwear further, squinting through frost-induced tears. 

As you leaned forward in your steps, it was as if you could almost see that fire burning again, the gathering place of old friends, some new to time’s gentle embrace and some frozen to its growing incessant staleness. Their laughs pierced through the gale, the glints of their teeth twinkling like stars.

The memory dissolved as you approached the spot of your nightly meetings, a turquoise orb of moon-generated light emanating from your palm suffused the trees around you. The only thing left of this meeting place was the cream-colored flower of the moonflower.

About one hundred years ago, once the meetings had become more regular, a couple of members thought it’d be funny to make a garden, an arrangement of fauna that didn’t sprout until the group gathered with life. Some laughed, but others, you, and a special werewolf named Jack decided it would be fitting.

A garden of midnight life. 

And so it came to be.

A new flower was planted each time a member joined and flowers were removed for those who the group had lost. Jack made sure to add one when Ned joined much later in the group’s history. 

There were ten flowers then.

There was only one flower now; the only one cared for by you.

Crouching down, you brushed your fingers along its soft, silky petals, a caress of greeting. You felt the blossom hum against your finger in response. A sweet smile curved the side of your lips.

It was too cold for the flowers now, so you had to take some liberties with its environment. You made sure to come back to cast artificial warmth around the gentle plant. To the moonflower, it was always exactly sixty-five degrees.

Your smile lingered as you watered and nurtured the soil around it, pulling from the caring energy that strengthened each time you returned. But you weren’t just smiling from the emotions left behind, there was a special story about this plant.

You and Jack had planted this together. You wanted to place yours near the back, symbolizing your protection over the group. It was true after all. You did always light the fires, waiting for people to gather and creating a cocoon of warmth around everyone. Their joy only strengthened the atmospheric dome.

But Jack stopped you with a worried and soft look. “Oh no, you can’t leave that there. You must be in the middle.”

Your answering laugh was light and confused. You and Jack were friends, but since when would he care where you placed your blossom? “Jack, please. It’s where I want it to be.”

He huffed, teasingly rolling his eyes. “Come,” he bent down to pull you off the ground, gently firm hands holding the back of your elbow. “Let us place your blossom where it truly deserves.”

Your heart soften then, and once again when he kept you close to his body, ushering you along. It felt like you were being put on display as members smiled and smirked at each other as the two of you passed. You’d noticed their subtly knowing eyes for days but rarely did it think it had anything to do with you.

Their words drifted over, ghosts of more meaningful conversations. 

“Making a move, huh?”

“About time.”

“I knew it! All it took was a flower and…”

An excited rumbling drifted over. You knew it was Ted. Of course, he would have something to say. He loved teasing the two of you about the way you always paired off to go get things together. It wasn’t your fault that the two of you enjoyed each other's company.

In your procession to the front, among stares of warm, familial eyes, you glanced back at Jack once. His eyes were the brightest you’ve seen them. While you shied away, he was glowing, smiling and nodding at everyone as you passed.

Then his eyes drifted to yours. Something in you melted at his softhearted gaze. His bright orbs relaxed into something warmer, that reminded you of the sugary coffee he loved so much. 

He stopped you before you had the chance to look away, looking down at the ground in front of you. He’d led you to the front as he’d promised. He looked up at you with an adoring smile. “Here. Perfect.”

You forgot to breathe, trying to think of what to answer. His light laughs tickled the side of your stomach that pressed into his torso. He softly pulled you down to the ground with him as he placed his flower away to help you with yours.

His hands skimmed over yours as he helped you plant it. You tried to ignore it for the sake of your sanity, but then the bumps and affectionate grazes happened, again and again, fingers tangled together and backs of hands tickled and rubbed.

When you were done, both of your cheeks were a rosy, blushing collage. It was perfect. Claps from those around you, seeing what you had missed the last half a century, filled the air, but you were too lost in Jack to notice.

It was then that everything started. The dates, the warm belly laughs, the private moonlight meetings by a pond nearby. You lived together, loved together, and spent all that time with one another. And the two of you, happily insusceptible to time’s wear and tear on the body, took your time to enjoy what you had with one another.

And then, only a decade into bliss, the town’s people finally found your group’s meeting spot. Laughter morphed into screams, pacts of nonviolence shredded to pieces, and soon there were too many flowers that would need to be ripped up to reflect all the people you’d lost.

You, Jack, and Ted formed a circle, each person fanning out to try to minimize the damage as much as possible. Fires, both from you and Ted and the townsfolk, flickered through the trees, singeing bark and people. Jack’s growls were fierce and furious. Ted incinerated people without so much as a blink. You hurled fire and electricity at people’s heads.

You were all scared and overwhelmed, and eventually, the townspeople overwhelmed you all. Jack cried out. A bullet tore through his chest. You raced to give cover, and Ted followed, but by the shakiness in your arms and the growing wave of people coming, there could be no hope of all three of you getting out alive together. 

You’d need to split up. You and Ted had already talked about Jack’s safety before, but since Ted was stronger and you were weak and drained, he would be the one to stay with him. You’d find another way out. You could move faster on your own.

But the procedure didn’t chase away the feeling that you might never see them again, and how little time you had to prepare for that. But you did have enough time to say your goodbyes.

So, you looked at Ted and nodded in silent farewell. His frown matched your own as a glistening tear lit by the orange fires trailed down your cheek. “I’ll miss you, Ted. Take care of yourself.”

His groan sounded more like an anguished and desperate cry. You felt a similar rush of pain well up in your throat.

Ted started to work on fending off the townspeople as best as he could. Their screams disguised your movements as you ran over to Jack. His face, a dense outline of hair in his werewolf state, contorted as he writhed. He folded his body around his abdomen and fresh wound. 

Jack was good at healing. You’d found that out after he’d accidentally cut his thumb and he’d healed within about five minutes, but a bullet hole was much worse than a simple cut. It would take too long for him to stay here and try to rest up.

“Jack, baby,” you reached out and smoothed some of the hair out of his face. He flinched, evading your touch, but calmed once he recognized your scent. You’d worked together over the years, practicing when he was in his werewolf state so he’d be able to remember who you were in his shifts. It paid off now. “Ted’s going to take you away from here, alright?”

His eyes, locked on your face, twisted in confusion. He pressed further against your hand as if sensing that you were going to leave him. “You have to go, darling.” You tried smiling through the lump in your throat, but the cracks in your voice gave away how much this was hurting you. “I love you.”

He stilled at your words, frowning. Tears welled up in his eyes. Whatever you were saying must have been getting through to him. He reached up to you, careful not to press his claws against your face as he pressed his large, strong shaking hand to your cheek. 

He tapped your cheek three times. It was a way the two of you could communicate when he couldn’t quite use words. 

I love you.

Ted’s thunderous footsteps came nearer, but the two of you stayed there, trying to memorize each other’s faces so that time wouldn’t dissolve your features in both of your memories. And then Ted, with one last whining, sad grunt in your direction, picked up Jack and bounded away.

The townspeople were closing too fast to watch them run away, but you could hear Jack’s cry far after you’d hidden further into the woods.

And now, here you were, minus the moon folk, minus your friends, and minus Jack. You were the last known member of a family lost to time. 

You always came here, every anniversary of the time the meetings started almost 225 years ago, to honor those that were and those that might still be. Because the stories of the moon folk became so popular nearby, it was safer to dig all of the flowers up, to keep people unaware of who might still be alive to hunt. 

But you couldn’t forget the fact that you truly didn’t know how many survived. The only person you knew for sure of to this day was yourself. So you kept the moonflower planted, exactly where it was. 

The plant was hurt in the ambush, half bent and weakly tied to its stem. In the five days you waited to return after, it somehow still lived on. You’d acquired some new scars too, a limp that wouldn’t go away until a few weeks later, and a gash up your forearm from a sword from the 18th century that would leave a scar for ten years. 

After you’d dug up all of the other moonflowers and tossed them away to protect your family’s anonymity, you nurtured your blossom back to life with the little power you had left and vowed to return. 

And here you were. It’d been a hundred years and some change since the ambush and massacre.

The wind drew your attention back to the row of trees you hadn’t realized you were staring at. It was the same row of trees that you’d had the feeling Ted and Jack ran to escape. You never knew if they’d made it, but you couldn’t find their bodies while you searched for people in the weeks following. 

It was the last thing you had of Jack. The last image that played through your mind. Your memories, still very susceptible to time, forgot his face. But you had this moonflower in front of you to see all the time, and the affection in his smile was still familiar.

You’d looked for him through the years, but with it being so dangerous, name changes happening so frequently, and your method of moving to survive, it was hard to find anything. Ted would definitely stand out and so you looked at various reports of Big Foot sitings, the closest way mortals would describe him, but nothing matched his features.

Ted and Jack were lost from you. 

But maybe one day, on an anniversary, he’d meet you here and you’d be happy again. 

You just didn’t realize that day was today.

You collected the wood to start a fire as you’d done before, a ritual to celebrate the times you’d had here. The wind was blowing hard enough to blow out the flame before it caught on the wood, but once you created a cocoon of sixty-five degrees of still wind, the fire had no problem catching. 

Your cocoon wasn’t as strong as it was before, the emotions tied to this place fading by the year, but it was enough to keep you protected.

You’d just sat down to do your annual fire-staring contest with yourself before you heard the trees rustling around you. It wasn’t uncommon for different animals to come by to inspect the flames, but these weren’t the steps of an animal. 

These were human movements. And human movements spelled danger. 

You didn’t bother putting the fire out, but you stood and cloaked yourself, watching for movement around the edges of the trees around you. After fanning through a couple of rows, a head peeked out, a bit older, but with a timid gait you recognized.

You needed more information to be sure. There were many times all over the world you’d thought you’d seen him. 

When the orange glow spilled over his suit, his face with his ancestral markings, and the warm, soft look in his eye un-morphed by time, you knew it was Jack. “Hello? Anybody there?” The sound of his voice, familiar and comforting was followed by a surprised cry. It took you a minute to realize it was yours.

“Hello?” Jack called, desperate. Apprehension pulled his shoulders into stiff peaks, ready to spring at the first sign of danger.

You forgot you were still cloaked and dissolved the spell. “Jack.” You breathed.

He stilled at the sound of your voice, just like he’d done all those years ago. “Amor?”

Cutting across the short distance between the two of you, you barreled into him, arms locked around his torso, drawing you as close as possible to him. He pressed you tightly against him, a sigh of happiness and heartbreak blowing against your ear.

He cupped the back of your head, stroking your hair. “You’re alive.” His whisper splintered as if broken by his disbelief.

You uttered his name against his chest, repeating it over and over again as if it were the first time you’d ever learned it. Maybe this was your way of relearning, trying to commit the way you said his name memory after letting it rest dormant. A name without a person to respond to it. It hurt. 

But it was different now. Now he was right in front of you, holding you, whispering your name against your skin too. Your names weren’t figments of your imaginations anymore. They meant something tangible now.

Then came the tears. Both of your chests heaved in realization that you’d been alive and not together all those years. You’d spent time apart you could have spent together, lost time that didn’t have to be.

“Ted?” You’d garbled between hiccups. 

Jack nodded his head, moving back from your embrace to cup your cheeks. “He’s alright.” His words warbled, but Jack was smiling. “We’ve been moving around together. I actually had to go save him a few nights ago.”

“Good.” You buried back into his chest giving your brain a chance to register that Jack was real and alive and holding you. “I’ve been coming here for years. I never saw anyone. I thought everyone was dead.”

Jack pulled you closer, pressing a warm, tender kiss against the crown of your head. “I thought so too. I couldn’t come back after…I thought it was too dangerous. Ted and I kept moving; it was safer.”

“That was smart.” You sniffed. “Worked just like we talked about.” 

Some time passed in silence before you leaned back again, staring at his worried face. You needed breaks from his hold to see him, to piece back together all the features you were missing, just in case he disappeared again.

In the breaks of holding each other, Jack never broke eye contact, eyes shifting over your face too. It was like he was doing the same thing you were, creating new memories of your face where old ones faded. “I looked for you,” he mumbled. “I searched all over.”

“I’ve been looking for you for a century,” you whispered, reaching up to run your thumb against his still soft cheek. He looked the same as he did before, just a little older now, five years matured where he was supposed to be a hundred. “I never stopped.”

Jack nodded, eyes closing over fresh tears. “I can’t believe it’s been so long.”

“I know,” you sighed, reaching up to wipe away his tears. “But we’re here now. The moonflower is even still around.

Jack chuckled, his slowly opening eyes spilling over with tenderness. Then he sobered, his smile fading from his face. You frowned. “Jack?”

He sighed and reached for your hands, weaving them together. This felt like the beginning of bad news. You felt your stomach drop. “(name)?” he begins. 

Jack hardly called you by your first name. One hundred years and he forgot that? Not likely, but maybe something else is going on. Does he not want to see you after everything that’s happened? Is there someone else in the picture? 

Scenarios of Jack happy with someone else appeared before your eyes before you have a chance to stop them. Your eyes fell, and you forced yourself to stare at his hands to keep from being able to read what’s on your mind.

“It’s been a hundred years, and I thought I’d never see you again.” Jack’s voice carried an undercurrent of separation, warning you to prepare your heart early for his next words. “I know we’ve probably become different people in that time. I’ve changed, and you changed.”

Your heart began to tear. It sounded like he was going to say goodbye again, just after you found each other. This couldn’t be happening, but nevertheless, your chest tightened.

Jack huffed in frustration. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” You mumbled, refusing to look at him. “It’s alright. It’s not like we knew we were alive, right?”

Jack paused for a longer time than you thought he would, and his silence concerned you enough to look up. His eyes looked so broken it crushed you. “No. No, never, amor. You are everything.”

His hands rushed to cup your cheeks, drawing you closer so your noses were touching, breaths fanning out against each other’s skin. “I just…you’re so…it wouldn’t surprise me.” You reasoned, closing your eyes at the feel of his skin underneath yours. It drugged you, pulling you into his further, but even that wouldn’t be enough. 

You needed time. You needed him beside you each morning from the rest of your lives forward. You needed the grounding feeling of his hand in yours. You needed so much more than just this one moment. 

“What I was trying to say,” he breathed laboriously as if fighting the same stupefying spell you were. “Was that, if you were available, I want to spend all my time with you.” His half-lidded eyes, open in loving despair, locked on to you. “That is if there’s no one else.”

You chuckled. “Like they ever had a chance.” His answering smile echoed your grin as you pressed closer, confessing everything against his lips. “No one compares. They never have and they never will. I adore you. I’ve never stopped. Not for a day or an hour or a minute. You are everything to me.”

Your lips pressed together with a fervor of a kiss sanctified by time and made powerful through devotion. Everything you could never say, all the love you could never express, all joined as the stars watched.

The moonflower still grows; now there lay two more.

#Jack Russell #jack russell fic #jack russell x reader #jack russell fluff #jack russell drabble #werewolf by night #wwbn fic #wwbn #werewolf by night fic #werewolf by night fanfic #had to let this one marinate a little bit #hope you enjoyed it! #thanks for requesting! #this was sooo much fun!

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

Still on the Wesker train!! And after your Hellboy ask, could I have some head canons for an Umbrella operative lover/interest with Wesker?

I can do that!

Any orders you receive come straight from Wesker. You use to be part of the clean up crew. The teams that went into quarantine areas after an outbreak and take out any remaining B.O.Ws and retrieve survivors.

But now, you're essentially a 1 person team with a 1 man army leading the way into any mission you were assigned too.

When you are assigned with other teams, its like you're holding the button to an explosion. They're terrified of you. Knowing that Wesker could swoop down on them in a moments notice because you sighed differently over the comms.

And comms are a must with Wesker. But you wouldn't be surprised if he also had a bunch of trackers on your equipment. And if you're silent for too long, or not at the rendezvous point in the allotted time, all hell breaks loose.

Wesker is a professional. Nothing will advert his attention from the mission or the end goal. But it doesn't stop you from trying.

"Zombeanies coming up from the south side." "B.O.Ws...." "The new friends are approaching fast. Please stand by." "These comms are recorded, (y/n)." "What are they going to do? Fire me?"

You're still not a high class operative like Wesker, but your power over a lot of employees in Umbrella scares you sometimes. And you know it is only because you and Wesker are so close. No one wants to upset you when the most dangerous man alive is in your pocket.

And outside the professional business, in the time that you and Wesker were alone, he didn't seem dangerous. He spoke warmly and you found yourself wearing his coat more than he did.

You felt safe with him. Like not even the worse Umbrella monstrosity could touch you with him here.

On the field, you worked well together. You were professionals and did everything in your power to complete what you came to do.

Back home, where you were safe, the two of you fell into a weird domestic life inside the Umbrella cooperation.

After ever mission, Wesker would look over any wounds and clean them for you. Having you rest your "feeble human body" while his "much superior body" was already healed.

He worked while you slept. Not that he didn't love to indulge in some warm comfort of the bed and your body. But letting you rest gave him time to work on the Umbrella directives that were beyond your pay.

And when you woke, coffee or a warm beverage was waiting for you. A hot breakfast already plated up.

There were times when Wesker had to leave on missions or business meetings that you weren't able to attend. He called you every morning and every night. Just listening to your voice as you rambled on about your day.

#hope you enjoyed it! #head canons wesker #albert wesker x reader #wesker x reader #albert wesker #wesker #wesker ask #resident evil character #head canons

[thriceloved]

Can we always be this close?

Will I ever believe how deeply I’ve fallen into this wonderful obssession with Sebastian? Here I am, back with something else, after I saw those wonderful videos of which dance for which Hogwarts boy, and I must say this little one shot just wrote itself. Fluff and more fluff (and a little bit of spice in the end) <3 Hope you enjoy it!

Sebastian Sallow & MC - A ball in Feldcroft, when they’re older. She hasn’t seen him in a decade, after he’s gone to travel the world and try to move on. But her friends have been conspiring to set up a meeting between them, at long last. Dancing, confession, and maybe something more happens?

She was looking at the couples, on the dancefloor, lightly waltzing across the room, looking so happy it made her heart tighten.

She knew it had been a bad idea to agree to come, but Ominis had hoped to change her mind, and Anne had been delighted to know she was coming. Despite everything in their past, the women were friends, and they cared very much for each other.

But it had been a mistake.

She tightened her velvet cloak around her, hugging herself to keep warm. She’d been stupid, too, to take such a dress for a ball in Feldcroft. Silky, long and flowing, a deep emerald green that suited her skin tone, and complimented her dark hair, but regretfully had no sleeves. Snow was carpeting the fields all around the great tent they’d set up for the dance, and the air, despite the magic around them, was still slightly chilly. It would have been perfect had she been dancing, but she had no partner.

It was strange, to be back here, in the hamlet where she had spent so much time in her younger years. With him. As such was the charm of these places, it hadn’t changed at all. The people had grown, children were born, and some had moved, but for the most part, it had stayed the same.

In much the same way, she felt she hadn’t changed at all, either. Stuck in a loop where she still had her best friends by her side. Both of them. Before he’d gone away, travelling the world to atone. Asking to be left alone. Despite Anne’s curse lifted, and their secret buried deeply on this very ground, he couldn’t remain with her.

It hurt too much, he’d told her, in a rare moment of bravery and emotional honesty.

It hurt to even think of his name.

Sebastian.

How she missed him.

Apart from a few letters, each year, he kept away. Far, far away from her, from London, where she was quickly rising in the ranks of Aurors, and people were betting on when she would succeed the head of department.

A successful life, all in all.

She should have been happy, in the coming of the new year, and in many ways, she was, and grateful for what life had given her. For her magic, for her friends, for finding a place where she belonged.

But part of her was still yearning, when she saw those young couples make doe eyes at each other, some barely 15, pink-cheeked and fair-haired. When she saw the older ones secure in their love and mutual affection, gently swaying to the music that the enchanted orchestra was playing.

Anne and Ominis, too, were lost in their very own world, and theirs was a sweet bliss, leaving her heart warmer. It had taken very few years for Anne to boldly declare her love for the youngest Gaunt, and she had countered each of his protests, to his endless delight.

She looked away, drawing her eyes to the dark skies, and the stars. Countless times, back then, she had soared through the air, to try and touch those very stars, on her trusted broom. Felt her heart leap with joy and freedom, Gryffindor courage encouraging every dumb thing she’d tried on that broom, not least beating Slytherin Imelda Reyes, still playing for the Holyhead Harpies, only just past her prime years, in a bones-breaking chase around the cliff south of there.

When she was here, she was sent back to those times. Wherever she looked, their history blinked at her. To the west, the catacombs she refused to think about. To the north, the castle she’d gone with him to try and uncover more things about her strange brand of magic. To the east, the hill where they had nearly died when goblins had attacked. And of course, the cottage that was still home to Anne, and now Ominis’ too, just across the pasture.

And when it was snowing, such as that day, it only brought it back in sharper relief.

She closed her eyes, trying to stop the flow of memories that always came back, right after the painful ones. It was in this very place, after they’d got their NEWT results, and he’d said he’d travel the world, that they had said their goodbyes.

There, was where she had seen him for the last time.

Perhaps that was why she had agreed to the invitation, too.

To pretend, if only for a moment, that she was back there, and he was only a few meters behind her. Gone to bring back some drinks for them.

It was so pathetic. A grown woman, still pining after her childhood crush, like she was fifteen again, and not double that.

She sighed, knowing what would come.

“Hey… Don’t cry, darling.”

She had done it. She had started to cry, and gone so far into her head she was imagining his voice, now.

“He’s not there,” she reminded herself out loud. “It’s just a delusion.”

“Am I, really?”

It felt so real, though. And… His voice had changed a bit. Had her imagination gotten so good she could hear the way he’d sound, fifteen years older? She could definitely see it, the way his eyes would twinkle with mischief, and his mouth smirking a little.

“Come now, sweetheart. Open your eyes.”

She did, and her heart hammered so violently in her chest she thought she would faint. In an instant, he was close, holding her arms to keep her from falling.

He was there, looking at her with worry.

“Did I frighten you?”

She couldn’t speak, could only look at him, at the way his eyes shone in the light of the tent, his cheeks flushed with the cold around them. He’d grown, a lot taller than she was, now, and filled his dress robes very handsomely. His freckles were still there, perhaps even more visible from how tan he was, despite the winter chill around them.

He looked at her, too, avidly, as if he was only permitted a few minutes of her time until she was gone, and he wanted to savor it as much as possible.

But perhaps they would only have a few minutes, after all.

She managed to find her voice, and ask the most burning question.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ominis asked if I could come. Wrote he wanted to see me. See me?”

He shook his head with feigned annoyance.

“You’ve been gone a long time.” She insisted. Tell me the truth.

It was strange, standing next to him, after so long apart. She didn’t know how to fill the missing pieces between them anymore. How to fit with him. How to laugh with him. Her heart kept doing flips inside her body, stomach joining in apprehension.

“I’ve missed you,” he said simply, sighing, drawing a strand of her hair back into place, the gesture more tender than she remembered him ever doing.

It struck her, then, how they’d both grown. And she didn’t know how to reconcile her childhood best friend to the handsome man in front of her.

“It feels strange,” she added, turning a bit under the weight of his stare. “To be back here, with you.”

“Indeed, it does. I haven’t been back since Hogwarts.”

He turned, looking at the fields around them and the mountains in the distance.

The silence grew between them, tension as thick as the air was cold. There had been so much left unsaid, back then. She had so much she wanted to tell him, so much she wanted to know about his travels, but the words couldn’t escape her throat.

Thirty years old, and he still made her feel like a school girl, unable to evoke the emotional subjects with him. The light and heavy, they’d talked plenty, and she remembered with fondness everything they had shared.

“What are you reading these days?” she asked him suddenly.

Books were a safe topic. One of their favorites, actually. In fact, she had reluctantly avoided packing one in her bag for this very trip, knowing that if she had it on hand, she’d spend the evening in a chair and reading until it was time to go. It wasn’t as if her friends would have cared much, knowing her, and taken as they were with each other’s dancing.

She’d struck gold.

He turned towards her again, and began talking with animation about the latest manuscript he’d found on ancient spells, an Egyptian one he’d found in a tomb while breaking the curses around it.

So that was why he was so tan, if he’d spent months in the valley of Kings, by the Nile.

She listened avidly, drunk in his voice, his words, and soon it was like they were fifteen again, back in the library and discussing forbidden books, all excitation and mischief.

He asked her about hers, and she detailed her own finds, about adventures and magical fights.

He laughed.

“An Auror through and through. I’m sure you miss our duels, don’t try to deny it.”

“I do. Of course I do.”

That had been the second thing they’d bonded about. Dueling. As partners, and as opponents. Thanks to him, she had found one subject she excelled in above all others, and he had helped her hone her talents, until she was regularly handing his ass to him, beating the best duelist in Hogwarts dozens and dozens of times over.

It was familiar, now, the silence around them. Comfortable, and his smile was nothing if not playful.

“Well.” He said, finally. “I’m getting cold, and I’m sure Anne and Ominis will want us to at least have a dance before the night ends. Will you come with me?”

“Dance? With you?”

“Yes, I believe that was what I was asking,” he said, holding his hand to her, eyes sparkling.

How she had missed his flirting.

“I’d love to.”

She took his hand, and he led her to the dancefloor. By this time of night, most people were sitting to soothe their aching feet, or drinking to satiate their thirst after so much exercise, and there was plenty of room.

He gently put his hand on her waist, softly pulling her near.

“Is this okay?” he breathed, their faces so close she could feel his warmth radiating over to her, and keeping the chill at bay very efficiently.

She nodded, unable to talk again, and when the music started again, he launched them effortlessly in a waltz, one of the few dances she knew the steps of.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, dancing with Sebastian, but perhaps not quite this. It was so much better than even in her most fantastical dreams. He followed the beat perfectly, at ease with dancing as much as fighting, and she felt glorious, so elegant as he twirled her around, her dress fanning out around her as they moved, and each note brought them closer, and the melody seemed to burrow its way into her heart, until she felt as much a part of the music as the instrument, her body and dancing the only outlet they had for their feelings.

She didn’t notice the people looking at them, nor Anne and Ominis smiling at them when they noticed they were there.

In her world, there was only music, dancing, and Sebastian, his arms around her, leading her step after step, and she could follow his lead everywhere, to hell and beyond, to the end of time and space, if he asked it of her. She’d done it before, and she’d do it again without a thought. His scent in her nose, in her lungs, so familiar her stomach was aching with it, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

The music stopped, but only to start again just as quickly, and they danced, and they turned, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so free. So genuinely, blissfully happy.

At last, the music slowed, and he tugged her even closer, both hands on her lower back, and she leaned her head into the crook of his neck, arms locked behind his head, softly threading his tousled hair. She felt perfectly at peace, and she sighed her joy in the fabric of his robes.

If she could stop the world and stay there forever, lost in his scent, in his arms, in the slow swaying of their dance, she would.

“Are you happy?” he murmured into her skin.

“Yes. Now that you’re here with me,” she admitted.

“I’m sorry,” he confessed. “I should have come back sooner, but…”

“Hush…”  She looked up to him. “Don’t ruin this moment.”

He smiled, a bit tight, something bright in his brown eyes, and nodded.

“Later then.”

And he hugged her closer, as the music led them slowly around the floor.

At long last, they heard the last notes of the violin linger in the air, and silence come back to their little corner.

He drew back, and she stood straighter, as if awakened from a dream.

“Thank you for the dance, miss Asteria.” He bowed deeply, ever the charming boy that had captured her heart, even then, and she couldn’t help the smile, as she curtsied, too.

“It was my pleasure, Mister Sallow.”

Again, there was the smile she loved more than anything, that made his eyes twinkle, as he pulled her by the hand to the open air, under the dark sky.

It would still be dark for a few hours, but to the east, they could see the first hints of dawn, the darkness not as pronounced as before.

“It’ll soon be dawn,” he said. “You must be tired.”

“I’m fine. I’m used to not sleeping much at night. Auror, you see.”

He chuckled at her remark, squeezing her hand.

He had kept the entire night touching her, as if he couldn’t let her go, and it thrilled her. She refused to release him, as well, fearful that if she did, he’d disappear again, like a dream lost to the depth of night.

“So,” she began, knowing time had come. “Will you leave with the morning light?”

It was the real question, wasn’t it? They’d had fun, a good time, revisited old memories, but they had their careers, and their separate lives. A single night, that would turn into day, and bring back their obligations. Bring back into light why they hadn’t seen each other in years. Why he’d left, in the first place.

He seemed to consider his words, eyes lost in the countryside in front of them.

“I should have come back long ago,” he finally admitted. “But… I was afraid. I thought…”

“Yes?”

“I thought you had moved on. And that coming back, and seeing you with someone else… I’d go mad. I thought if I stayed away, you could move on, and I wouldn’t be holding you back, you could be happy, and I didn’t need to know the rest, just that you were safe, and happy.”

Her heart was beating faster. Part of her had always known he stayed gone for the same selfish reasons she hadn’t gone to look for him herself. If he was happy, but with another, it would have killed her inside, and just knowing it would have sufficed.

“I couldn’t move on,” she whispered. “I tried, but…”

She turned to look at him fully, and there it was again, the look of longing and passion she’d seen a glimpse of in her dreams.

“I wanted you, Sebastian. I loved you.”

He gasped softly, his hands trembling in hers.

“I still do.” She blinked tears away. “I always have, and always will.”

“Say it,” he urged her, both hands taking hers as he begged her.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

He didn’t need her pulling him to kiss her lips, bringing her hands with his around her face, holding her close as the kiss grew more intense. The gentle flame of hope that she’d kept around for years, deep in her heart, had morphed into a blaze, burning everything that wasn’t him or her, his lips, his touch, his warmth.

“I love you, my darling. Always have, always will,” he repeated against her lips, with a fervency that struck deep forgotten cords within her soul.

She kissed him harder, enough to leave bruises, and he giggled against her lips.

Breathless, she drew back, asking a silent question in her eyes, and he answered in kind, passion clouding his face.

“I’ll follow you, dearest.”

Holding him tighter to her, she apparated back to her flat, taking him along the hall to her bedroom.

She needed him. Merlin, how she wanted him. Touch him and feel him and kiss him, making up for those long, lonely years.

He followed her lead, when she pushed him on the bed, making their clothes disappear with a flick of her wand, which she then set haphazardly on the bedside table, returning to kiss him.

He left her lips to kiss her jaw, leaving a current of fire wherever he touched her. She closed her eyes, lost in a haze, her hands tightening on his back.

He turned her so that she laid on her back, him towering over her. He stilled, just looking at her beneath him, drinking in the sight of her, bare before him. She held his gaze, love and lust mingled in her eyes. He flushed as he kissed his way down her body, and she grasped his hair, gently running her fingers through it.

She felt so warm, the blaze within just as hot as the fire inside his eyes when he began licking her, right there where she needed him.

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back into the pillow, as she savored the way he made her squirm beneath his very skilled fingers and tongue.

“You’re so ready, darling. Does it feel good?” he murmured against her skin, and she could only moan her pleasure, tugging a little harder on his hair.

He chuckled with wicked delight, continuing his wonderful assault on her senses, drawing her mad with need, his breath cool against her fuzzy skin.

She could feel her consciousness slipping away, pleasure growing until it reached a high she had never felt before, and for a moment, she was lost, riding that deep, sweet wave into blissful oblivion. She came to, to see him watching her, lips close to her own, and she tugged him closer, kissing him to thank him for what he’d given her.

“I wish I could sear the way you look into my eyelids,” he whispered. “Lost to pleasure like this, you’re exquisite.”

She couldn’t help blushing, under his praise, and kissed him again, tasting her own scent on his tongue.

“Ready for your turn, my love?” she breathed into his neck, flipping him on his back, and going to touch that lovely, desperate part of him that had been so unjustly neglected.

She would never forget the way he looked then, almost pleading, begging. It twitched when she touched it, silky smooth and responding to her softest touch, and she bent to kiss it.

His answering moan told her everything she needed to know about whether she was doing well. Slowly, unbearably slowly, she touched and kissed him there, feeling him try to stay still, but he was breathing hard, and fast, and it was a perfect melody to her, left here, in her gentle, teasing hands, until he could bear no more and tugged her back to him, kissing her again.

“You’ve been learning a few tricks, darling.” He smirked against her lips.

“So have you,” she said, fingers entwining in his hair. “Books are invaluable, don’t you think?”

“Mmm” he buried his nose in her neck, gently turning her again. “Just books?”

“Yes. There was never anyone else.”

He looked up to her, and again, she could read everything in his eyes. It unmade her, the vulnerable, soft part of him that he so rarely let out.

“You’re my first, too,” he admitted.

“Come here. I’m ready,” she whispered, finding his hands and holding onto them, fingers linking.

So he did. Gently, slowly, he buried himself inside her, eyes locked on each other. He was trembling in her arms, and stilled, letting her time to adjust to the way he felt inside of her.

If her heart grew any bigger, it would burst out of her chest, from how complete she felt, joined with him, at long last.

He let out a long, shaking breath, and when she urged him, began to move.

Even in her more lust-filled dreams, it was never even this good. Her imagination had never been able to capture precisely the way he would moan in her ears, the shade of brown his eyes would take when lost in his pleasure. The way her body accommodated him as if they were made to fit like puzzle pieces.

And it was more than pleasure, obviously. The weight of him over her, even if he tried to keep from crushing her. The way her soul and his seemed to blend, like they were always meant to be.

He was there, right here, and still she was yearning for him, for more, aching with the intensity of it.

Long strokes, as if they had all the time in the world, only focused on each other.

“I love you,” she repeated against his lips. “Only you.”

“I love you too. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

“Yes.”

Slowly, pleasure built again, and the burning grew, until it was unbearable and she went over the edge, drawing him with her.

What was time, when she felt like this? Where nothing but her skin against his seemed real? His breath against her face, his heart beating in rhythm with hers, his scent the only thing she could smell?

They remained there, unmoving, basking in the glow of their love.

When her brain started to work again, beyond her tiny corner where their bodies and souls were entwined, she tightened her hold on him, willing him closer, pressing her deeper against the mattress.

He rested his head on her chest, entirely spent, sweaty and eyes still hazy with love. Gently, he turned on his side, and burrowed his face against her soft skin, hugging her tight.

Exhausted by both dancing and love making, sleep claimed them at last, as golden light was beginning to filter through the windows of her flat.

A new dawn, indeed.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #fanfiction #Hope you enjoyed it! #Loved writing it!

[lunacrescentmoon]

Ok I'm starting early- inspiration hits like a freight train at 1am! ;w; I need to sleep but I am writing instead with a headache-

One Small Dream belongs to the amazing @calcium-cat so go read the original and support the creator

Dream and Noot belong to Jokublog

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OneSmallDreamcember Prompt 1 - Dejavu

"Nighty?" Dreams voice was small. More quiet than normal.

"Yes Dream?" Nightmare replied, not looking at him but working on some paperwork...

".. why are you working again?.. I wanted to show you something!"

"Because, work is important. Now, what did you want to show me?.."

"I drew this for you!"

"Oh?.. heh... I see you included the entire gang this time... and... who's that?.." Nightmare gestured to a different figure with 2 triangles on its head along with... what he assumed was a tail of some kind.

"Oh, a girl I've seen in my dreams before!"

"Come again?"

"Yeah! She sometimes appears for just split seconds... I never get to speak with her...."

".. you're probably imagining things....."

"No, I'm not!"

The world began to fade around them. Dream jolted, being the only one to notice. Had the world always looked so... wispy?..

He felt himself falling, but... infinitely... like it wouldn't stop...

"Dream! Wake up! We got breakfast!" Cross' voice echoed through the hall.

Dream opened his eyes and blinked a few times, giving a small squeak of shock until he realised where he was... his bed.... the castle..... he wasn't falling in a white space....

Letting out a sigh of relief, he jumped out of the bed, running toward the door and opening it excitedly just as Cross reached it... Cross then proceeded to skid into the room and hit the plushie pile in the corner....

"Ow!" He yelped, sitting up a little and rubbing his head.

Where had Dream seen this exact thing?

"Crossy! Are you alright?!" Dream raced over, trying to help him up the best he could.

"I-I'm fine...... just........ a bit shaken......." Cross rubbed his head from pain, but otherwise looked ok.

"Well... you said we have breakfast... how long was I asleep?.."

"Longer than usual squirt..." Killer walked in, smirking at Cross and the now messy pile of plushies. "I see someone decided to play bowling ball...."

"No, shut your mouth..." Cross growled.

Dream walked out to the kitchen, about to get in the usual chair, but he froze... he had heard Killer and Cross say those exact words before.... while he was looking this direction thinking about breakfast.... but when?..

Breaking himself of the cycle, he raced to Nightmare's room. Immediately he went to Nightmare's chair, saying something so fast Nightmare didn't have a chance to process it.

"Dream! Slow down..... I'm here... what's going on?.." Night was hoping to get a better grasp on the situation...

"Well... I heard Kiki and Crossy discussing something... the exact thing I've heard before........ and..... it.... was when I was doing the exact same thing I had done before...." Dream explained as best as he could. Even he didn't understand this!

Nightmare blinked a few times..... what had his brother meant?

Then he got it.

"Oh... Oh, I get it now.... Dream.... you were having a Dejavu moment..."

"A day-sa-what?"

"Dejavu.... it's when... you dream something.... and the next day or days later.... it happens in reality........" Nightmare had to think a few times on why it happened, and he himself never found a book on it to catch up on latest discoveries... so he never knew why Dejavu existed....

"So I can see the future?!" Dream smiled excitedly, bright eyes shimmering in the fire light.

"... yes, Dream, but not at will... you can only see it sometimes....."

A figure in the shadows wearing a cloak smiled, thinking to herself "you will meet me one day.... Dreamscape...."

-----☆☆☆☆☆☆----------

And that is day 1! ;w; hope you excuse the different idea to what everyone is probably doing, I just wanted some wholesome brother explanations and the classic Killer and Cross having a discussion- XD

#onesmalldreamcember #osdecember22 #this was so much fun to write #I started early and finished (I think) on time XD #i realise now everyone is probably doing Dream remembering Blue and Ink and Nightmare fighting with him helping the other side #but i didnt want to do that and took it a bit more literally #also dream had a thought in this that i had when i was younger and had dejavu a lot- #i kept thinking i could see the future XD #hope you enjoyed it!

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Moon Phases - Blue Moon

Summary: Moments in the life of the Moon Knight system.

I don't know how many chapters this will be. Not really connected so if you pick one up randomly you should be fine. Mostly feel good, maybe a little sad, maybe a little comfort. I wanted to explore little moments of them just being.

Warning: None. It’s silly. It’s fluffy. It’s comfort. 

Word Count:  2152

Part 9: Steven is having an off day. Lucky for him he has two capable people there to help him. Mostly capable. Everyone has an off day sometimes. 

-----

"Today I am sad." Steven sat back in his chair. 

It was addressed to no one in particular. Especially considering that his flat was empty. 

It was an old habit that Steven had picked up from somewhere. 

Looking back on it, it seemed like something a therapist might encourage a child to do when they struggled with expressing themselves or knowing what emotion they were feeling. 

It was probably something someone had once tried to teach to Marc and while Marc had obviously decided that he would rather just keep it all inside, Steven had latched onto this notion. 

After all, emotions were complicated. 

But there was more to it. He had to give a reason otherwise it was just a complaint. 

"Today I am sad because I cannot focus." He stared up at the ceiling as he leaned back in his chair. 

He had been so excited to start his new book on famous archaeologists. Yet when he opened it up, he had lost all will to read. 

He tried to re-read any of his other books but found the joy to be missing. Listening to music was out as every song was wrong and he turned them off after just a few notes. 

"I cannot focus because I am sad." He sighed. It made no sense. He had no reason to be sad. His reason for sadness was that he could not enjoy any of his usual things. But he could not enjoy them because he was sad. 

It frustrated him. He hated this state. He could just give up and go back to bed, but he had a feeling that he'd end up just laying there and doing what he was doing now: Staring at the ceiling. 

Maybe he was hungry? 

There was nothing he wanted in the kitchen. So that would mean he'd have to pick something up or order something. The thought of going anywhere was upsetting and he really should be saving his money more. Eating out was so bad for him too. Plus he had to worry about whether it was really vegan or not. 

Or maybe a nice cup of tea would cheer him up. 

He got up and went to fill the kettle with water. 

He was about to pull a cup down from the cupboard when he realized he didn't care. 

He would have to steep it and then wait for it to cool then actually drink it and the idea of doing any of that made him feel exhausted. 

He switched off the stove and moved the kettle to the back. 

He walked over to his bed and crawled on top of it, flopping down face first into the pillow. 

"Marc?" He mumbled around the fluff. "Marc. Marc!" 

"Steven? What?" Marc was supposed to have the day off. It was scheduled time when Steven was meant to be reading or researching in peace. 

"I'm sad." Steven tried again, his face still full of pillow. 

"What? Why are you sad? Steven rollover. You're suffocating us." 

Steven let out a pitiful moan as he rolled over and flopped back again, letting his arms thump back on the bed in protest. "I'm sad!" 

"Okay I heard you. Why are you sad? Was it something you read?" Marc tried to imagine anything Steven would read that might make him sad. 

"Because I can't focus." Steven sighed. "I tried reading or music or the tellie... I even tried tea but I don't even want tea, Marc. TEA." 

"That sounds...terrible." Marc was not a fan of tea, but he did understand that maybe it was important to Steven. "Why can't you focus?" 

"Because I'm SAD!" Steven grabbed the pillow and pulled it on top of himself. It felt comforting in a way. Like he was upside down in the bed. The pillow could be on him, weighted down and soft against his face, but he could still be on his back. 

"Whoa whoa whoa." Marc frowned. "Hey, buddy. It's okay! You don't have to have a reason to be sad. I'm sad all the time!" 

"Marc that's really not a good thing and I'm a bit worried about that, actually." Steven muttered from under the pillow. 

"I'm trying to be helpful here, Steven." Marc grumbled. 

"Why are you sad?" Steven sighed. 

"I don't know." Marc shrugged. "I'm not always sad." 

"Are you sad right now?" Steven lifted the pillow up at arms length and let it fall back down onto his face with a fwump. 

"Right now?" Marc watched Steven lift the pillow and let it drop again. "No. I don't know. Maybe? I think I'm a little frustrated I guess." 

"Why are you frustrated?" He let the pillow drop again. It made a nice sound when it landed. 

"Well my best friend is sad for starters." Marc sighed. "And I'm trying to help him but he's just laying there under a pillow." 

"Cheers." Steven lifted the pillow again then let it drop. It was more satisfying than punching it. Less effort too. Lift and drop. Lift and drop. 

"Do you want me to take over?" Marc frowned. "Give you a break. Let you recoup and then you can be less sad when you come back." 

FWUMP. FWUMP. FWUMP. "No." FWUMP. FWUMP. FWUMP. 

"So you just want to sit here and be sad?" 

"No." FWUMP. FWUMP. FWUMP. 

Marc was quiet for a moment. "Jake? Jake I know you're there! You're always there! Stop pretending and get out here!" 

"Oye." Jake grumbled. "What is it? What do you want? Why is he under the pillow?" 

"He's sad." Marc sighed. 

"Sad?" Jake sounded confused. 

FWUMP. FWUMP. FWUMP. "Sad." Steven confirmed. "You didn't have to bring him into this, Marc." 

"Why is he sad?" Jake glanced around as if the answer might present itself. 

"Because he can't focus." Marc watched the pillow fall over and over. "You brought me into this. Why can't I bring him into this?" 

"Focus on what?" Jake sounded irritated. "Why can't he focus? Are you bothering him?" 

"No!" Marc huffed. "I was minding my own business and he pulled me into this! He said he was sad because he couldn't focus!" 

"Why can't he focus?" Jake's irritation grew. 

"Because. I'm. SAD." Steven yelled into the pillow then hugged it to his chest. 

"You don't sound sad." Jake raised an eyebrow. "You sound upset." 

Steven lay there for a moment. Emotions were complicated. 

He tried again. "Today I am upset. I am upset because I am sad." 

Well now that just didn't make any sense at all. Why was he upset now? Was it possible to be upset and sad? 

"Bollocks." Steven sat up. Maybe he was actually sad that he was upset? 

"Hermano... It is okay to be upset for no reason." Jake shrugged. 

"Yeah. Jake's always upset and he's doing fine." Marc chimed in. It was hard for Steven to tell if Marc was being serious or not. 

"Jefe, I swear..." Jake gave a warning. 

"You see? He's upset right now." Marc gestures as if to prove it. 

Steven gave a small smile. "That's not very nice." 

"You can sit here and be sad or upset all you want." Jake waved his hand. "At least you acknowledge that you are feeling something." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marc bristled. 

"What are you feeling right now, Jefe?" Jake crossed his arms. 

Marc glared, tight lipped. "Stuff. I don't know. How am I supposed to know? I'm just here talking to Steven. I don't have a feeling for that!" 

Steven could feel the look Jake was giving Marc and it made his smile widen. 

"What are you feeling, Jake?" Steven tossed the pillow back on the bed. 

Jake hesitated. 

"Not so easy, is it, tough guy?" Marc muttered. 

"I have concern for the sad man and annoyance for the other sad man in denial of his sadness." Jake shrugged. 

"Those are feelings for others. What about your own feelings? What are you feeling for yourself?" Steven ran a hand through his messy hair in an effort to push it out of his face. He knew it bothered Jake to feel hair over his eyes.  

Jake was quiet a moment as he thought it over. He took a breath and let it out slowly as he mulled it over. 

"Announce it." Steven suggested. "Just give it voice without thinking and say what you feel." 

Jake sighed. "Today, I am anxious." 

Steven looked over at a mirror and found Jake there, looking as calm and collected as always. "Anxious? Why?" 

Jake shrugged. "There is a lot to be anxious about. I think I always feel anxious. Sometimes it bothers me and sometimes it doesn't." 

Steven nodded slowly. "Like your sadness, Marc." 

In another mirror to the side Marc frowned and looked grumpy. He might have protested, but he knew Steven was right. 

"Alright. So. What do we do now?" Marc sat back. "Just a bunch of sad and anxious guys."  

“You want me to make you something to eat?” Jake asked. “I’m not sad. I can cook.” 

“I can cook too.” Marc huffed. “I’m not too sad to cook.” 

“No. You put cheese in everything. I’ll get something later.” Steven flopped back on the bed. 

“I can make you some tea.” Jake tried again. 

“Do you even know what tea is?” Steven looked over at the mirror with Jake. 

“Of course I do! You put the little bag in the hot water and drink it!” Jake crossed his arms. 

“Eh…” Steven made a face. 

“That’s not how Steven likes it. He’s English.” Marc scoffed. “You gotta boil some milk then put some leaves in it.” 

Steven made even more of a distressed face. “Marc… Never make me tea. Jake… Just stick with your coffee.” 

“I don’t put cheese in everything.” 

“What were you going to make me?” Steven challenged. 

Jake glared. 

Steven raised an eyebrow. 

“Grilled cheese.” Jake looked away. 

Marc started to laugh. It started as a smirk he couldn’t hide then bubbled out of him in a snort. 

Jake gave Marc a look that tried to be stern then melted into a smile. He couldn’t be angry at Marc when it was so rare to see him lower his walls. 

Steven couldn’t help but grin. “I appreciate the thought! I mean you make lovely food otherwise, I’m sure!” 

Jake just shook his head as Marc continued to laugh. “Listen, Steven, if you want to just stay here in bed, that is fine. We don’t have to do anything. If you don’t want to get up for food later, I will take care of the body for us.” 

Steven smiled and hugged the pillow back to his chest. “I kinda like this.” 

“What’s this?” Marc finally stopped laughing but the smile was still there. “Laying in bed?” 

Steven shook his head. “You guys. Just being here with you guys.” 

“Lucky for you that you’re stuck with us.” Marc relaxed back, content to let Steven continue to be so long as he was happy. 

“Oye, Hermanos.” Jake settled in, staying near the surface this time. “We should all go for a drive later.” 

A simple request that seemed innocent enough. Yet Steven saw it for what it was. Jake never asked for permission to do anything or announced his plans. And when it came to doing anything in his car, he never used the inclusive ‘we’. It was an invite. 

“Can I choose the radio station?” Steven perked up a little. 

“Si. Anything you want.” 

 “Can I drive?” Marc sat up. 

Jake eyed him then let out a long and drawn out sigh. “Si… You can drive us home.” 

“Can I drive?” Steven looked over at the mirrors. 

“No.” Marc and Jake both answered in unison. 

“Someday you will teach me to drive.” Steven smirked and looked up at the ceiling. “Seems kind of nice. Open road, fresh air, good company…” 

“Good company is very important.” Jake nodded. 

They were silent for a moment as Steven stared at the ceiling. Emotions were complicated. He still didn’t feel like getting up and doing anything just yet, and the idea of having to do anything still made him want to curl up under the pillow…

Yet… 

“Today I feel…” He tried to search for what it was he was feeling. 

“Today is such a big word.” Jake spoke up. “Today can be so many things. How about you just focus on now?” 

“Now.” Steven tried out. It was simpler. Later could change. He wasn’t stuck with one emotion. Maybe a little later he might feel something else. “Right now I feel content.” Steven liked how that sounded. 

“Hm.” Marc processed for a moment .”Right now I feel peaceful.” 

Jake nodded. “Right now I feel relaxed.” 

Steven smiled. It was nice to just be. He closed his eyes and let the three of them just exist in the same space.

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight Fic #Steven Grant #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Fluffy comfort #Sometimes you just want to lay down and yell what you're feeling #This might be the last chapter to this series #Hope you enjoyed it! #Who knows what will come next

[l1qu1dsm00th]

KARS INFODUMP / RANT / RAMBLE

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

"Behold! The Ultimate life form!"

Kars is the leader of the Pillar Men, and also the creator of the Stone Masks.

The Stone Masks are Masks which if put on with blood splattered on it will turn people into fricking vampires.

His so to say "evil" plan is to evolve from his natural form to become immune to the sun's rays, and for this he needs to find the Red Stone of Aja to make his masks more powerful, to do this he tries to beat a lot of people and one of them is Joseph Joestar(obiviously the jojo of that time).

He is absolutely the smartest and strongest of all the Pillar Men. He created all the Stone Masks aaaand because of that, "artificial" vampires too so Kars is one of the more important characters in all the anime and manga!

Basically his invention, in the long run, caused all of the shit that happens in jjba lmao. It will affect the Brando, Joestar and Zeppeli families.

And to think a lot of people skip this season. Respectfully, go watch the fucking thing, this shit's important

He has *a lot* of abilities both in his Original form and his Ultimate form!

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Original form

Near-Immortality. My boi Kars is immune to age and disease and has lived for approximately 102,000 years

Enhanced Senses Kars can see people thanks to the heat their body produces

Teleportation Kars was shown to be able to teleport during his meeting with Lisa Lisa and Joseph.

Body Manipulation Kars has the same body manipulation capabilities shared by his friends I guess? Their either that or smth along hose lines. When he became the Ultimate Being, Kars' shapeshifting abilities were enhanced and he had access to all the genetic codes of Earth's known life forms along with reactive evolution.

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

Ultimate Life form

Biology Manipulation As the Ultimate Life Form, Kars' body contains the DNA of everything to ever live on the Earth. He can manipulate his entire body to replicate the traits of any life-form

The ability to fly I guess? Cause when his arms transformed into a weird kind of bird wings, Kars can fly at approximately 240 km/h!! (I searched it up and that's acutally so fast what)

Reactive Evolution Kars can also alter his body to withstand extreme conditions... and turn his hands into squirrels I guess.

Superhuman Intelligence Kars is an extremely intelligent and cunning individual, even by the high standards of his species. He was the one who created the Stone Mask, studying the Pillar Men's brains to unlock untapped power. After he transformed into the Ultimate Life Form, his IQ is estimated to be 400. Much higher than that of even the most intelligent person

Superhuman Senses He is able to hear anything from whale calls to bat screams. His vision is akin to an astronomical telescope (can you imagine that? That's so cool tbh)

Superhuman Strength Kars possesses incredible strength, estimated to be almost 900 kg/cm2 (mmm I'm having feelings about this idk what that meant but yes)

Regeneration Kars can heal any wound in a very short time I'M FAST AS FUCK BOIIII

Immortality Kars is immortal, invincible and nearly indestructible it seems. He doesn't age and he can survive only having himself as a source for everything (he's even ecologic would you look at that/hj)

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

Personal rambling and praising of the subject

I LOVE HIM. No no no no no. Love is too weak of a word. I ADORE his character. He's just so perfect, every time i see him on screen I flap my hands so much because of how excited I am, I know he's a mass murderer, I know he doesn't care for humanity, I know he's a dick but he's also my comfort character.

Every time I see something about him I freak out. I feel so connected to him for some reason. He's such a self assorbed bustard but I love it tbh. If I could draw anatomy well i'd draw myself with him a lot more but I could draw him decently like once or twice so yea... wryyy...

There are no words able to describe his character as beautiful as I see him fr.

His hair is perfect, I adore it, like bitch you been in there for 100,000 years and you're hair is majestic points to you for sure. He's elegant, petty and arrogant and A LOT of other things that just make him Kars and they are all so spot on. He's so well written I could feel him through the manga if I wanted to.

His powers are great, just great. I'd let him experiment with them on me fr. Example... super strength? Crush please and thank you.

I love his eyes, they're so cool, aswell with his makeup ofc.

I'd let him treat me like a fricking puppy. Imma be real with y'all, if it's him I have no problem with that, where do I sign up. Tell me.

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Photo & GIF dump!!

#jojos bizzare adventure #jjba #kars jjba #jjba kars #kars jojo #kars #info dump #rambles #various facts #character rant #jjba battle tendency #jjba part 3 #my ramblings #adrian rants #ultimate life form #HE'S SO FJDJGJSJFJJSNGNDJWJDJFJ #yeah that #i'm so proud of this post for some reason :) #idk why just yes #hope you enjoyed it!

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

(NO BETA) EXCERPT FROM MY SHIGADABI FANTASY AU, UP ON THE CLIFF:

“... Kurogiri told me earlier that you slept through most of the passage to the cliff. Should I trust you found it a peaceful ride?”

Still encased in nighttime dimness, Touya tried to decipher the tone floating down at him from the head of the table. He couldn't see its owner past the glow of the candles, the darkness that rained down on them from the vaults in the high ceiling. To compensate his lack of visual confirmation, he sketched the man there with his mind, faithful to the memory of how his host, the Count up on the cliff, had looked under the morning sunlight.

Touya remembered it all too well, how they had sat there distracted with their food or the noises of their companions. The Count's hair would flow down and sparkle against the raw terrain of his skin, making it all the more hard to not stare at his eyes of red turmoils and secrecy. The Count was fresh snow on an open wound and Touya thought the color was more common the closer he was to the passage, but not by much. On his journey to the valley, he had met barely a few of human refugees with a similar red in his eyes. Yet the Count's matched his cape and its collar, lined in white fur —it matched his hair.

That thought would've made him frown if spoken aloud. After all, he cared nothing if the Count had had the coat over his shoulders made to match him, if his scars made his all the more raw, if his was the name he hasn't known yet. Curious but trivial things did not matter and they shouldn't. Touya was only interested in the sensation of his mind already wandering, getting uncoordinated. It was the same case as before, when any thought of the Count would lead him into slippery slopes and Touya, or anyone else on that matter, would soonly forget why they were thinking about him at all.

“...”

Once more, Touya looked up to face the Count's silence, allowing the company to chitchat as they pleased. The times they talked were enough to be counted with the fingers of a single hand and, rare as they were, they would startle Touya, raising his attention of the ones sitting or resting beside him. The Count had the soft-spoken cadence of a man home taught by the best tutors money could buy, but his words lacked any politeness or fondness and instead came enveloped in direct orders or demands, cryptical than most, that the habitants of the castle would follow to the letter. Touya did call him a petulant child in the past, if he recall the accident shortly after his arrival. It had been easier back then, to insult him, to blame the anger and frustration he felt on the man that demanded his sacrifice. Touya hadn't known him yet and he did not know him still, which left him with the only other option available: to know himself better, his place in that monster town, his role in that castle. He could only decipher his own heart to set apart any alien feeling, any influence, any invasion.

As for now, it was as if they were not there. Touya had disappear alongside the Count to the world.

He risked a glace at Toga and the gecko boy, each by his left, but they were busy reacting to some kind of joke Jin was telling. Mr. Atsuhiro, by his right side, was not even looking at the table or his dessert, too busy gesturing at their butler as if explaining his excitement about what they had had for dinner that night. No one reacted to the conversation he was having with the Count. No one even looked his way o tried to pressure him to answer, not even the butler confirmed what the Count had said. Could it be...

Could it be that the Count was reading his mind?

Touya made to grab his glass, emptying his mind so violently he felt a snap in the back of his head. However, as soon as he extended his left hand the room started spinning, the smiles of the pictures framed by the walls getting more loopsided by the minute, the food balancing left and right over the tablecloth, a waltz of dresses and coats and hats and spiders—

“Calm down.”

Touya tried to blink it away. There was a solid grip on his chest, tugging to get the nod on his lungs undone. He allowed the unknown pulse to had him as he concentrated on keeping his face clean of panic; not thinking, not allowing anyone else to know how altered he wasat the moment. It took him a lifetime, the type that is condensated in a minute, before the room settled and he was able to hear.

“ —ust like that. Good,” Touya blinked again and again towards the direction of the voice, one, two seats past Mr. Atsuhiro, noticing what he thought was a faint smile hovering on the air and a pair of watchful red eyes on him.

Touya heard it again, this time realizing the Count was not moving his lips, not even vacillating on his strange and curious expression:

“Did I spook you, Dabi?” when he only narrowed his eyes in response, he was allowed to appreciate how the Count huffed with amusement, looking down at his plate, “A-ah. Don't be angry. It's not my intention to read your mind, nor am I doing it at the moment.”

Confusion accumulated on his brow, driving him closer to the table as if he could figure out what the Count was talking about by sheer proximity. He was not talking, was he? Touya could see how he lifted a cup to drink of the wine, responding to whatever Spinner had asked him a second ago.

“I am projecting the words to your mind, that is. I asure you it's a one-way road. Unless...”

For the first time since his arrival, Touya saw the mouth of the Count tilt at the corners with what could only be mischief. It was hard to admit, even harder to explain, what the motion did to him and how it activated his competitive instinct. From his time training with his dad, Touya could recognize a challenge with eyes close, hands bind, deaf to any sound. It was in the air, in the gentle swept of the candlelight, the smooth inclination of the host shoulders until his elbows were resting fully on the table, hands intertwined ao he could rest his chin.

He reminded himself of the original question, the one that started this whole conversation. He had slept, sure, but it jad been due the strange magic that had surrounded him that evening. Memories of his family had seized him as their car climbed downhill, images of his childhood on the Himura state, of Sekoto Peak, of his siblings and cousins running in the distance as he chased butterflies in the hidden fields past the family greenhouse. He doesn't know when he transitioned from merely reminiscing to fully dreaming. The distant howls woke him near the butler's tavern, some hours past midnight, maybe.

When Touya glanced at the Count, he was almost bored, playing with the rim of his cup while gecko boy showed him something on his hand. It could have been a spider, but Touya didn't care. He had an hypothesis to prove, a host to impress, a dare to win.

He pictured himself opening his mouth, forming the syllables with his lips, tasted the sounds of every vowel and sent them crashing to his host pretty ears.

Touya thought, “unless I talk back?” and stared satisfied at the Count as his eyes left the gecko's hands to look at him, red so bright he thought the world had caught fire. The Count waited, moving his fingers against his cheeks as if telling Touya that now he had his attention. “I slept on the ride here influenced by your butler's dark magic, but you knew that. You asked him to use his magic and put me to slumber. Your question, it was not politeness nor politics.”

The Count lifted his cup, drinking the last of his wine as Touya organized his thoughts.

“You wanted me to talk to you this way.”

It was the longest conversation he had had with the man since he arrived at that wasteland. The fact dented Touya's pride. That he had allowed the Count to treat him like a prisoner for so long, that he had allowed the Count to ignore him, his existence, if not for his presence every morning during breakfast and more recently on dinners, where he would not address him at all and leave as soon as the meal was over. He did not ached for his company or validation. He didn't want him to treat him like the rest, with similar silence that always ended on a well though inquiry, maybe a few words of encouragement, disguised by his position as the count so they wouldn't sound very vulnerable. The Count had talked to him before, but always through others, or just a phrase, just a nod. He had sent him a trained dog to guide him through the town, so he wouldn't get lost. He had offered to took him back to his village, ordering a car to wait for him every evening by the gates of the castle. He had gave him the key of his room, accepted him as Dabi and only referred to him as that, despite knowing the truth. Had had Dabi's meals made specially for him as to not upset his stomach, gave him a room specially acclimated to accommodate his wronging sickness.

Everything he knew about the Count, he knew it for his actions and never his words. And it had been enough for him for an entire month now. He had found it comfortable enough to walk and talk and act among them without much fuss. Touya only demanded answers or respect when it was either about his mission to unlock the mystery behind the demon sickness that afflicted him or when it was about his freedom to roam around doing whatever the fuck he wanted. He didn't care about the games the Count wanted to play with the rest of them.

He almost missed the moment the Count stood up, the legs of his chair scratching so subtly the wood of the floor. It was their signal. The meal was officially over.

He thanked the gecko boy —Iguchi— for showing him the cards of a new game he was crafting and nodded once, a gesture meant to acknowledge everyone in the room in a brief goodbye, before he walked out the room and left behind only the trail of his coat disappearing around the corner.

Touya followed the rest, his dessert intact on the plate as they took the dishes to the kitchen to be magically cleaned by the staff. Jin invited them to play cards, an offer he denied without explanation and that Iguchi and Toga immediately latched to. Mr. Atsuhiro had only crossed his arms and let out a single sigh, deciding he could play piano to make them company or supervise the progression of the game, in case it got... Complicated.

Dabi sent them to the game room with a shake of shoulders. They could do as they wanted too.

He didn't want to know.

On the hallway up to his room, he stopped along the way once, in front of the window walls. The moon had partially came out, clouds rolling low over the forest and mixing with the fog. The air was chilling, cold kisses on his bandaged wounds. He extended his pointer finger to touch a pale ray of moonlight, admiring the absence of heat and the silver stiches that differentiate it so much from its daylight equivalent. Beneath it, the edges of his burns became a deep purple, his skin taking and unnatural blue glow. Back at home, they had told him several times that his eyes would get the more scary at night, when they would shine even brighter than the moon or any fireplace made by human hands. He would laugh and smile, big, big enough to show all his teeth, and the kids would run and call for help and their mothers would call him a monster, a zombie, a walking grave.

Then came that sensation to his chest and Touya squished it, set it aflame, reduced it to ashes. He stepped back and turned around, not stopping until the door of his room was locked and his body was resting on his bed, curtains close, his clothes changed and wounds freshly bandaged.

He had felt red eyes on him. That sensation. The tug, the weight, his finger touching the glass of the window. Touya didn't want to know. He didn't want to know if what he had said was right or if it was wrong, if the Count left becuase he left or if he left because of him. He didn't want to know if the others were having fun, sitting on the carpet, fingers touching one another as they laid their cards down.

The night had inflicted irreparable damage on him. He shouldn't had allowed the Count to talk to him like that, through his thoughts, direcly to his mind. Touya shouldn't had fallen so easily for the Count's twisted games, craving the excitement of a new discovery, a challenger to beat, a rival to show off to. Something had been taken and given in return that night. The full moon was whispering of trades and Touya sat by the fireplace, burning piece of paper after piece of paper, until his rage had subdued.

« you want me to talk to you like this. »

Touya threw an entire book to the fire.

He didn't want to know.

#for the ones that don't get it: Tomura is the count up on the cliff and Touya was asked to him in sacrifice in order to allow (1) #the clan todoroki to live as refugees in the valley after they flew the cities due the demon plague (2) #Touya's sick with the demon plague and when Kurogiri told him it was all a test and he could return to his village if he wanted (3) #Touya decided to march on reach the castle and found out everything he could about the plague so he could beat it (4) #the demon plague will either kill you or turn you into a monster if completed —most people on the Count's town is a monster btw #Toga Twice Spinner Kurogiri Mr. Compress... they were all victims of the plague that survived because they met Tomura #Tomura is a sort of witch here and he has the power to help them transition. the only problem is that most human villages would hunt them #Touya here is frustrated 'cause being among the Count and his people proved to be very distracting #aka they keep trying to make him feel at home #Tomura here is softer than in the bnha canon 'cause AFO was not as cruel (yet) but he's way more awkward since he's #you know #very old #he slept most of his years okay? mentally and physically he is like 21 years old but chronologically he's a couple hundred of years #anyway he wants Touya to want to talk to him and he got sad because he realized he was kinda forcing Touya to talk to him lol #hope you enjoyed it! #up on the cliff au #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #shigadabi #shigadabi au #dabishiga au #dabishiga #up on the hill au

[mizutoyama]

You've been tricked! 💜

I'm pulling the asker's choice and would like to request the prompt "Lantern", please!

A little glimpse into Alice's future...

Alice draped herself in her cloak as she grabbed her lantern. Under normal circumstances, she would have used Lumos to light her way, but these were not normal circumstances. She didn’t know what she might come across in the dark hallways of Malfoy Manor; she needed her wand to defend herself against whatever loomed in this house filled to the brim with dark magic.

Holding up her lantern, she started to walk slowly along the dark corridors, with only the moon providing some additional light through the windows. Thankfully, most of the portraits were sleeping, though she did have this gnawing feeling she was still being observed. She couldn’t help but shiver as she looked at the dark gardens below covered in snow that glimmered under the cold moonlight. The snow back home and at Hogwarts always looked beautiful and peaceful, but here, it only heightened the sombre atmosphere of the manor.

Alice finally arrived at the bottom of the stairs leading to the attic. She stepped on the first step, being very careful not to make it creak. She stepped on each of the other steps with the same level of care. The second to last step creaked under her weight; she shushed at it and waited to see if anyone had heard the noise and might come to check it. A minute passed where she remained motionless, but nothing. She climbed the remaining steps, staying prudent as she did so.

As she finally arrived at the top, she raised her lantern to look down another dark corridor, at the end of which was a door. Maybe that’s where the shadow she had caught a glimpse of earlier was hiding. She slowly made her way to the door, trying to not make any sudden noise that might alert whoever was in that room of her presence. Tightening her grip around her wand, she opened the door ever so gently.

She peeked inside, using her lantern to illuminate the room, but there was not a soul in that dilapidated room. Only old furnitures and some Dark Art artefacts. She was about to turn back when something caught her attention at the corner of her eye. She entered the room to have a better look. On one of the discarded tables stood a golden cup, shining in the moonlight. There was something familiar about this cup. Alice was sure she had seen it somewhere before. As she neared it, she noticed a badger engraved on the side. Her eyes widened, realizing what the cup was, but also wondering what it was doing at Malfoy Manor. As she extended her hand to touch it, a shadow loomed over her.

“Did no one ever tell you it’s impolite to snoop around someone else’s house?”

#thanks for the ask! #hope you enjoyed it! #hogwarts mystery #hphm #alice beaumont #hphm mc

[sylvies-chen]

Ooh since you like giving music recs, mind sharing 5 favorite albums? I love getting music recs and finding new artists to listen to!

OOOOOOH okay this is a really good question!! So narrowing it down is proving to be a bit of a challenge so I’m going to make two lists: the first will be what I think are the top 5 best albums ever and the other list being my personal favourite 5 albums at the moment. I think that way I can talk about music I like while also giving recommendations that aren’t purely mainstream stuff :)

Top 5 Best Albums Ever… According To Me

Rumours by Fleetwood Mac - If a group of people cheating on each other can make an album like this and include the most achingly cool and fantastic base lines (in The Chain) then maybe we as a society need to re-evaluate our stance on monogamy

Folklore by Taylor Swift - Genuinely convinced Taylor Swift hit the jackpot writing this because she really honed into an introspective, calmer theme for an album being released in a time where people were in lockdown and had no choice but to sit around and think (or overthink, if you’re like me). It’s honestly just the most consistently good albums ever.

Melodrama by Lorde - One of the best pop albums ever and I will NEVER shut up about it!!! It tells such a cohesive narrative throughout the whole album, keeps these very fitting late night electronic pop beats (with the exception of the low point of Liability in which it’s just a heartbreaking piano melody) and was released at a point where more synthesized music and late night pop and partying was at its peak. A great example of how you can follow trends without sacrificing your sense of lyrical genius.

Voulez-Vous by ABBA - I just love ABBA and I don’t even think I need to say anything else except for their music led to Mamma Mia so…. everyone should love them????

The Stranger by Billy Joel - BILLYYYYYYY. Honestly this album is so underrated but Vienna alone could bring this into any top 5 list. He has a way of not making constant piano melodies annoying, like I listened to the whole thing and did not get sick of the piano. Billy Joel has just such a nostalgic feel to him.

My Personal 5 Favourite Albums Right Now

five seconds flat by Lizzy McAlpine - I’ve had this album on repeat since july and I don’t think my obsession is dying out anytime soon because lizzy mcalpine has suchhhhh a smooth, clear voice and her lyrics rip my heart out!!! it’s amazing!!! I actually had such an urge to gatekeep her in 2020 when her last album “give me a minute” came out but she’s too good to gatekeep tbh. still, I’m convinced nobody will love her like I love her. no one.

Wet Leg by Wet Leg - I know Harry Styles did a cover of one of their songs once but honestly it didn’t compare to the original. this band came out of nowhere and just has such a unique, fun style and I dig it!! It’s just very cool and laidback and “girl who doesn’t give two shits” kind of stuff

Wasteland, Baby! by Hozier - THIS IS SELF-EXPLANATORY. I fucking love Hozier, his lyrics are truly so poetic and I cry from the beauty of it

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers - again, this album does a really good job of telling a cohesive story from start to finish. Is it a sad story? Absolutely. But it’s also really beautiful, and the classic hot girl depression music.

Coming Home by Leon Bridges - Mr. Leon Bridges truly doesn’t fuck around!! He’s a king when it comes to this genre and honestly River is such a gorgeous song

Also if anyone wants a song rec for a specific feeling or situation they can hop into my inbox because, if I do humbly say so myself, I’m fucking great at that

#this was so much fun for me thank you for the ask! #hope you enjoyed it! #music recs #abby.answers

[whiteshipnightjar]

Zoozve, my beloved

#i cannot tell you how much this made me smile just bc it's so full of love #moon #venus #zoozve #long post #sorry about that it's very long but it's very entertaining i hope you enjoy this lil zoozve gem haha #astronomy #astrophysics #space

[sylvies-kablooie]

i do unironically think the best artists of our generation are posting to get 20 notes and 3 reblogs btw. that fanfic with like 45 kudos is some of the best stuff ever written. those OCs you carry around have some of the richest backstories and worldbuilding someone has ever seen. please do not think that reaching only a few people when you post means your art isn't worth celebrating.

#i often wonder about how many things would be considered classic or high art had they only received the marketing #how many short films that were made for class could have been the most powerful thing you'd ever seen? if you'd seen them? #“you know the greatest films of all time were never made” etc etc #but like. these works of art ARE being made. it's just enjoyed by a smaller audience with equal impact though #i think about this one furry i used to follow on insta who had the coolest worldbuilding ever. it's been years. #thought prompted by that sketch of nimona from ten years ago that was just for a character design #posted to the creator's tumblr and now it's nominated for best animated feature film at the oscars #and by the genuine emotional reaction a fan comic made me feel. how much work had gone into it. how beautiful it was to me. #idk what to tag this but i hope whoever needs to hear it does #writing #writer #fandom #fandom culture #artist

[emberglowfox]

Keeper -- a short comic about an angel meeting a robotic lighthouse keeper that doesn't know the world has already ended. Made in about 18 hours for a 24-hour 24-page* black and white comic challenge (that I arrived late to, ha.)

*the actual submission does not include the cover, which was created after the fact for this post.

This was a really great learning experience as someone who's... never really made a completed comic. I ended up really attached to the story by the end of the project (possibly due to all-nighter deliriousness lol) and ultimately am very proud of what I made.There are some things I'd still like to change, particularly text placement, but in keeping with the spirit of the challenge I've elected to leave it as is.

#sparks art #comic #angel #robot #my art #my comics #keeper: the angel #keeper: the lighthouse keeper #my ocs #hoogh. this was a grind yall lmao. but i am pleased with it #i hope you enjoy :pray: also keep your fingers crossed for me that this wins the contest #like it. it wont. because i am up against actual SEQA kids that know what theyre doing. and i dont actually mind really #but it would be funny #long post #very long post #sorry #i hope the readmore works

[buggachat]

something so fucked up about Chat Noir’s whole deal is that he is in a lot of ways Adrien playing a character. Like Adrien picked up his miraculous and was told he’d be a superhero so he was like “ok, time to act like a superhero!” and he lets himself have fun w it and play up the role and let loose and kind of just allow himself to be silly and goofy and have fun and for once in his life not care about performing Perfection™.

But. But none of the other characters KNOW THAT. So everyone just sees Chat Noir and is like “look at this guy’s ego. He’s so full of himself. Surely it’d be fair to knock him down a few pegs” without being aware of how few pegs he actually HAS. He’s like the “insecure character who overcompensates in ego” trope except he’s really not doing it unironically, he’s just having a fun LARP pretending to have self worth in his off-hours but nobody else is on the same page about it being a game and he refuses to tell them. He just dramatically pouts about it and lets them laugh and pretends like he’s not internalizing it and it is almost 3 am and my brain forced me to write this instead of sleeping I’m gonna take a melatonin

#writing this my brain was like: what if he actually likes it? #what if he likes people openly criticizing him in ways nobody actually does to Adrien agreste? #because Adrien Agreste is perfect and can do no wrong. maybe he enjoys being insulted or something #and then I remembered chat noirs multiple breakdowns about feeling unworthy and yknow what yeah I don’t think he likes it LOL #do normal people actually fall asleep when they lie down #if you can’t tell I recently decided to make my random ml musings your guys’ business instead of keeping it to myself #hope you enjoy

[chibi-celesti]

I'm still working on the last few details for the Twst x Ar Tonelico AU Lore(for now), but I wanted to share a small sneak peek at how Song Magic would work in TW.

Needless to say, its on the angsty side of things:

Sneak Peek below!:

“The place they belong to is nowhere in this world… It does not exist”

Those words still ring in their ears. They couldn’t believe what the ominous mirror before them said.

Ar Tonelico doesn’t exist? T-that can’t be true!

Tuning out the Headmage’s ramble about their predicament, the ‘human’ stayed at the mirror, body shaking in denial about what was told to them. Ar Tonelico DOES exist! It has to be a big misunderstanding.

Perhaps, if they were to give the Dark Mirror some form of proof that their world is real, then maybe they’ll be able to go home. Maybe it could be a push in the right direction to leave… whatever this strange world is.

They turned to the bird(?)man before them and asked a question. “Excuse me, Mr… Crowley was it?”

“Hm.” Crowley turned to face the young ‘human’.

“I have something that could probably help the Mirror find my home. Is it alright if I offer it to the mirror?”

“Something you say?”

The ‘human’ nods.

“Well, since I loathe leaving a lost soul in need, I shall allow you to provide a clue to the mirror to help you return home. For I am gracious.”

They bowed before the Headmage. “Thank you, sir.”

Facing the strange mirror before them again, the ‘human’ clasped their hands, and did something that caught Crowley off guard. They started to sing:

Rrha ki ra tie yor ini en nha

Wee ki ra parge yor ar ciel

Sing in a language unfamiliar to the Headmage.

Was yea ra chs mea en fwal

Ma ki ra ks maya yor syec

Singing to the Dark Mirror, whose expression still remained unchanged.

Was yea ra…

Wee yea ra…

Chs hymme…

Chs frawe…

Chs yor…

En chs ar ciel ya!

Wee yea ra ene foul enrer

Wee yea ra ene hymme syec mea

Was yea ra hymme mea ks maya gyen yeal

Inna ar hopb syec mea ya YA!

Singing with such conviction, it somehow made the mirror respond in turn to the song.

To be continued…

#first sneak peek of the concept in fic form! #italicising the lyrics was a pain #especially since they already were in the Google doc ;;;;;;; #hope you enjoyed it! #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted tonelico #twst x ar tonelico au #ar tonelico #twisted wonderland x ar tonelico

[little-eye-guy]

"this is too raw of a line to come from—" shut up. beauty and meaning is everywhere

#eye guy speaks #i need that phrase to be removed from everyone's vocabulary Please #why are you so convinced that such things cannot be discovered by or found in the mundane #1/1/23 edit: hope you all have enjoyed yourselves bc im ready for some peace and quiet *turns off reblogs* #1/4/23 edit: please don't comment about wanting to reblog. the experience itself may be fleeting but you will have your memory of it #(aka i turned them off for my health and you will be ok. it's just a post)