#A Haunt of Normalcy AU

[jenuinely-speaking]

A HAUNT OF NORMALCY MASTER POST

Warning

This series is under the genre Horror/Thriller/Suspense. There are 6 stories in total planned, four stories for Season 1 and two stories for Season 2, and each one contains different genre of horror. With each introduction/summary, there will be tw tags. This series is not for the faint of heart (trust me, I've learned this the hard way by presenting my wips to friends, who have graciously helped me with figuring out the tw). If you wish to proceed, please do so with caution.

If you're the type that loves/enjoys horror, especially the paranormal kind, have fun jumping into the screaming pools.

"How would the TMNTs react to an official, terrifying haunting?"

There is a lot of spiritual stuff that happens in their story, in any iteration. Comics. Movies. Series. Every single one has some type of spiritual element to it. Now, I'm still re-reading a lot of the comics (especially between the original Mirage and IDW), but I don't recall ever seeing the TMNTs being involved with a terrifying haunting. Like, The Haunting in Connecticut or Talk to Me type of haunting.

With that thought, I realized that all of those different hauntings happened within an everyday, normal life. When you very much least expect it. And 9/10 times, it barrels into something chaotic and near uncontrollable.

As one of my friends placed it, "It's like TMNT meshed with Mystery Incorporated." And honestly, I never forgot that apt description to this series. The only difference is that, here, the monsters are real.

As I continued writing and plotting, this fun series of TMNT horror adventures became thick with plot that combined every single story into one giant mass, larger than I initially planned.

Each story now holds a thematic frame of horror; a nod and homage to the genres, as it were, while also providing subplot that ties into each other until the very end.

Now, let me be honest with you on something: Horror is something I usually shy away from. I rarely read it, and I am uncomfortable by the movies (though I do watch some), because they are so intense on my nerves, my imagination makes it seem like it's real. Thats just how my brain works. But with this series? Having been continuously working on it and going at my own pace? I've discovered that I love writing horror and suspense.

Who'd have figured? Certainly not me, that's for sure lol

Again, TWs will be before the following summaries. Grammar mistakes are likely to be present (still in format stage). All stories have a HE (happy ending), unless stated otherwise in the TW-- it's just a real hike up a mountain to get to the happy endings, and sometimes it takes two stories tied into one to get to them.

Links will be provided as the stories are posted and updated on A03.

Universe: Amalgamation of own design (even have a full history backstory, might post later on) Setting: New York City, New York 2012 (boys start at 28-29 yrs) Season: Starts Early Spring - March

CRIMSON MARKS

TW/Tags: Poltergeist Horror, intense haunting, intense possession, child harm, parental fear, homelessness, helplessness, unnatural/metaphysical danger, pain-filled exorcism, if you're a parent please read with caution (my friends that are parents told me they had to hold their kids after reading/discussing this story)

TIME DURATION: 7 NIGHTS During a patrol late one night, Raph comes across a small family of mother and son in a park, Callista and Gabriel Meza. Both look too clean to be homeless, yet very tired and very scared. Going against their family's code, he shows himself to the pair and showcases he means no harm and only wishes to help. Through slow conversing, he finds the pair are being plagued by a terrible haunting that has turned physical and rendered them temporarily homeless. With his brothers' involvement, Raph is determined to help the Meza family reclaim their home and sense of safety. Time is not on their side when the seriousness and all-too-real danger of the situation is laid out in less than a blink; and with the prospects of the Hamato Clan being introduced to even more humans due to the weight of the situation, and his baby brother becoming a possible haunted target, Raph begins questioning himself whether or not he made the right decision on being led by his heart, instead of by his family's code.

ULTRAVIOLET SILLHOUETTES

TW/Tags: Paranormal Horror, build-up haunting, psychological horror, possession, forced isolation, internal battle, exorcism pt 1, ancestral haunting, intense ghost-hunting, tech haunting, exhaustion meter skyrockets, the calm before the storm (the storm is the next story), semi-cliff hanger ending

TIME DURATION: 2.5 MONTHS Following the events of Crimson Marks, Donnie had kept in contact with HONe, the investigative team that worked with them to eliminate the Meza haunting, and even became a valued member of their team by updating and building up their tech. After he finishes his latest haunt hunt tech, a scanner of his own design that picks up the particle wave energy being used by the specters, he and Mikey take it out on its first test run in a delipidated building. Good news: It works. Bad News: It works. The brothers are attacked by an intense haunting taking place in the building, and although they escaped uninjured, they agreed to never test in abandoned buildings again...at least alone. For their part, Leo and Raph agree, especially after watching the evidence video Donnie managed to capture. As Donatello works to complete his latest masterpiece, and one that could make HONe the best paranormal investigators in New York State, the brothers go on test runs together--only to find out too little, too late that they may have brought something home with them.

AZURE CLARITY

TW/Tags: Paranormal Horror, psychological horror, historical thriller, historical prejudice, intense possession, control possession, identity crises, exorcism pt 2, major character near-deaths, blood and injury, somber ending

TIME DURATION: 3 MONTHS Directly after Ultraviolet Silhouette, Leo is adamant the family gets to the bottom of their family history upon learning their discoveries in the haunted apartments HONe called them in to help investigate. Even Master Splinter was both shocked and intrigued at finding their family history in America was older than originally expected. Finding the original settlement in up-state New York where Hamato Yoshi's older relatives had come from, the brothers and their sensei travel to the long-forgotten ghost town and find it to be thoroughly, terrifyingly haunted; both by an avenging spirit and a terrible event that quite literally shut the town down. This time, it's far more personal; not only are their very lives in danger by something that is near-impossible to fight, but their own family honor and self-identities lay in jeopardy.

TANGERINE SUNSETS

TW/Tags: Psychological horror, blood and Injury, major injuries, fighting (not the fun kind), intense stalking, psychological abuse, kidnapping, minor character deaths, sacrificial summoning, struggles in relationships, internal struggle on limitations, mental self-harm, self-isolation patterns, Michelangelo tries so hard to remain a sunshine--but even the sun has to accept overcast and stormy days

TIME DURATION: 6 MONTHS A few weeks after the final ceremonies to ease the past that render the future livable, Mikey was the one that had been the most shaken by discovering the grueling past of his family history. He tries not to show the others how negatively it had affected him, but some days--some nights are harder than most. Especially with his growing spiritual talents. As he's trying to find his new normal once more, Mikey stumbles upon a woman, Alise Beau, or rather she stumbled upon him. She's a cryptozoologist photographer--something Michelangelo had never even thought existed--and found an instant friend in her; his spirit feeling calm and centered for the first time in a long while. He managed to successfully talk his way into joining her current job, photographing the same area surrounding his ancestral ghost-town, if only to escort her when she's alone as most of her shots were commissioned to be done at night. During their growing friendship and adventures, Mikey is reminded that the real-world dangers aren't mysterious monsters, or even the hunting of the unknown. But, in fact, other humans with mysterious and unknown intentions.

PATINA SOULS

TW/Tags: Body horror, psychological horror, full body possession, intense exorcism, minor character deaths, major character death (temporary), eco-destruction, A Whole New World of Trauma(TM), the slowest of burns (literally and figuratively), kinda-sorta zombie warning? eh it's eldritch horror bs

TIME DURATION: 1 YEAR [Description in the works - dealing with an accidently woken nature-encrusted Eldritch Horror hell-bent on finishing a long-forgotten mission that could bring about something far worse than the end of times.]

KERATIN HEARTS

TW/Tags: Past abuse, past manipulative abuse, predatory stalking, self-harm, fighting (not the fun kind), intense masking, intense breaking of masking, struggle in relationships, double-sided healing, identity crises, kidnapping (x2), living with hauntings, the spirit that haunts and taunts

TIME DURATION: 1 YEAR [Description in the works - dealing with a person that's inadvertently been in the turtles' lives for the past 1.5 year who brings in a whole new slew of adventures which forces healing abound]

[eetherealgoddess]

can you one with mikey where he is deeply in love with reader but she is oblivious and one night his dark impulses take control of him and he fucks he in her sleep??? love your content btww

thank you!! hope this turned out the way you wanted!! <3

ꨄTemptationꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Mikey Au

❦You didn’t know how tempting you were to those dark eyes❦

Sano Manjiro x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR & AO3 UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Temptation

The moonlight gleams through the cracked curtains, shining over the bed as a figure lies underneath the white comforter. You slumber, snug and warm as you lie on your stomach, one leg lifted as well as both of your arms though with bent elbows. Your other leg is planted straight down as your cheek meets the pillow. Light snoring echoed throughout the room as well as steady breathy. You were oblivious to the eyes gazing over your limp frame. He’s kneeled on the floor as his head lies on top of the arms that are crossed on the mattress in front of your face. His blonde strands hovering over his face, disheveled from his lack of care considering his sleepless nights.

Ever since he found a way to break into your room despite you still living at home, he hasn’t been able to keep himself away. He likes to visit you at night. It helps with easing the dark thoughts he succumbs to when he tries to fall asleep. His past haunts him, entrapping his mind with nothing but dark whispers of various impulses. The intrusive thoughts sneak up on him as a snake would before snapping the venom in their prey, trailed by the shadows of darkness looming over his back and reminding him that all he is meant to experience is suffering.

Ironically, sneaking into your room at night gives him a sense of normality. He can’t help but to live in the moment once you’re in the picture. A sane person wouldn’t think twice of you, having accidentally bumped into one another which resulted in you apologizing before running off. It didn’t make sense why he decided to follow you the rest of the day or command one of his gang members to search for more information about you. It doesn’t make sense why there isn’t a day he goes without thinking of you.

Maybe it was the sense of normalcy or distraction from his inner world. Maybe it was the qualities you had as a person that he found interesting after looking into you. The fact is that he is mesmerized by you. It’s been months since you first met, the accidental shove forever leaving a ghostly tingling sensation on his arm. He sits up for a moment, resting his elbows against the bed as both of his hands tangle through his hair, holding up his head as he eyes you with a half lidded gaze.

After a moment he stood up before slowly pulling the cover back, deciding to see more of you to get his fill. He gazed at your body that only consisted of a t-shirt and shorts. He loved to see the fabric of your bottoms wrapped tightly around your curves which is why his favorite nights are when you have them on.

He figured out that your sleeping habits vary. Sometimes he’d get there and you were in the middle of changing, scrolling through your phone, or… sometimes even catching you in the middle of a session with your sex toy. The tree next to your window and the space in your walk-in closet as well as the placement of your bed from across made those specific nights a lot easier to observe.

He uses a hand to caress your back gently before slightly lifting your shirt to reveal the skin on your lower back. His palm rubbed along the crease in which your derrière and back meet, squeezing your side before continuing his strokes, staring at your face cautiously. He bit his lip as he squeezed you once more, firmly as he watched your nose scrunch. He released your skin as he felt a tightness form in his pants.

It wasn’t his first time gaining an erection simply from gazing or touching you. In fact, there have been times he had rubbed his tense cock in your closet as you were watching porn, both of you orgasming together as he edged himself until you were ready for release. He’s used your clothes as towels and stole them. He’s also jerked off sitting right in front of you as you sleep on the bed, imagining all the different ways he can have his way with you.

The way your legs tense when the toy hits that spot that sends you into convulsion, your moans filling the air as well as the curses as you grind out your orgasm. Sometimes you’ll even repeat your sessions back to back, in search of the relief he wants to provide for you. He palmed his bulge as he reminisced those favorable moments. He looks down and gazes at his own hard on, his hair hovering over his face with his lips slightly parted as a red hue forms on his cheeks.

“Shit.” He whispered, feeling the overwhelming urge to climb on top of you. He just wanted to take a look at your wet pussy again. Leaning over to where he uses a hand to slide the leg nearest to open to gain a better viewpoint of your covered vagina. The tight shorts caused an imprint to outline the frame of your center. He glanced at you before gently connecting his fingers with your pussy, rubbing over the slit. He watched you as his middle finger moved to where your clit is hidden under the shorts, applying a still pressure to test the waters. Your hips twitched as you slightly readjusted but your eyelids stayed shut.

His fingers slid until he reached in between your ass cheeks, grazing over your covered anus before removing his hand all together. His torso bends over, crawling until he climbs over your legs. His hands connect with your shorts before he slowly pulls them down, revealing your naked bottom half as he tossed them to the side. He scoots to a better position over your legs and cupped both of your butt cheeks, squeezing and using his thumbs to caress the skin before spreading your labia with his fingers still planted on your ass.

He glanced at you to see your sleeping figure once more before he released you and shoved a hand into his pants. He lowers the lining of his underwear before pulling his cock from his pants. Deciding to ease some of the tension, he positions himself closer to your ass, using a hand to spread a cheek before pressing his cock in a downward position to where he could feel his head against your warm pussy.

He released a quiet grunt before lowering his torso on yours, basically hugging you as he eased his arms under yours, pressing his hips against you as he held it there. He thought he would have enough self control to not go all the way in since he just needed to feel you. It felt so good to feel your body against his, soft and warm. As time went on it was beginning to feel a little too good. He pressed down his hips before pulling back and repeating the same motion slowly in an attempt to not wake you up. He pants as the feeling becomes too hard to handle.

Deciding to just use the head of his cock, he licks his hand before lathering up his girth and using his fingers to position himself to your already wet vagina. He pushes forward slowly, your labia popping open wider as his tip stretches your hole. He accidentally released a moan as his head dropped, arms slightly shaking as they balanced himself over your figure.

“Oh fuck.” He hissed as he pushed in just a smidge more of a distance than before, stopping himself before he continued. It already feels like your pussy is sucking him in, the walls tightening the part of him already inside of you.

“So warm.” He groaned as he sat up more, breathing heavily with his lips apart as his head fell back. You slightly squirm against him as you attempt to reposition yourself, your leg that was bent moving down to where your feet are parallel. You wince as you take a deep breath before the slumber takes over once more.

He’s had to wait so long for this. He was having a hard time thinking rationally as all he wanted to do was shove his cock inside of you as deep as possible before forcing you to take all his cum. His hands reach the skin of your back under the shirt. His hips twitch back before he pushes back in, only his tip immersed in your walls. He can feel your pussy releasing more juice from the stimulation. Everything felt so hot.

He couldn’t take it anymore, lowering his upper body as he repositioned one of his arms under you and the other hand covering your mouth, lifting your head slightly. Your eyes finally flutter open into a squint, only just coming back to reality as you feel a heavy weight above you as well as a pressure from below.

“Forgive me, Y/n.” Your eyes widen at the low whisper before the hand tightens around your mouth and someone leaves a kiss on the back of your head before you feel a sharp pain in your core, causing a muffled grunt to leave your mouth as Mikey’s hips lock against yours in a swift motion.

He moaned when his hips smacked against your ass. You whimper at the pain as you attempt to push against the bed in an attempt to throw him off of you. You failed miserably, not even being able to move from your position because of his immense strength overpowering you from atop. You couldn’t even turn your head to see who the culprit is forcing themselves upon you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you grunt loud from another hard impact from his thick cock.

“G-get off of me!” You attempt to scream but his hand only muffled your speech. Both of your bodies rock as he gains rhythm, his hair flailing as he grinds against you.

“Shhh.” He nibbles on your ear as he makes an attempt to quiet his own moans, not wanting to risk your parents walking in though if it happened, he wouldn’t have a problem with ridding himself of the inconvenience of their presence.

“M’ gonna find it and make you feel so fucking good, Y/n.” He says in your ear, forcing his fast strokes in deeper as he searches for the spot that has you quivering when he watches. Your nails impale the sheets as your grip tightens, the pain having resided once he found the spot, a moan escaping your lips.

“There it is.” He smirks before pressing his head against yours and closing his eyes. He continuously aimed to kiss your cervix as his head dropped to your neck, his lips connecting with the skin before he thrusts harder, rutting against you as he humps your backside. His cock is suffocated by the warm gummy walls inside of you, your juice lathering him as a natural lube as you reflexively push your ass against him, meeting his thrusts as your nipples harden against the bed.

“Th-this isn’t right!” You try to speak once more, struggling to push yourself off the bed as he adds more weight to your form, cock rubbing along your inner lining as your g-spot is assaulted. “I don’t even know you!”

“The only thing…” he breathes, “…that matters is my lo…” He pants as his eyebrows furrow before the smacking of his hips against your body becomes louder as he brings you both closer to your orgasms, his tip beating hard against your g-spot. You release a loud grunt followed by a moan as your hips move against him desperately.

“Ah fuck, baby this feels so good.” He hissed before his lips fell apart. Lowering his head, he rests it against your shoulder as he fucks into you with firm yet fast strokes. You bite your lip as your eyes shut tight, your hips bucking as you release a desperate moan, a wave of pleasure engulfing your abdomen as you orgasm on the stranger’s thick cock.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He whispers before his grip on your face and shoulder tighten, his hips rocking as he thrusts out his orgasm. You both pant as you catch your breath, his cock still inside of you before he slowly pulls his hips back causing a grunt to leave you both. You feel him kiss your shoulder and neck as your eyes widen in horror at the realization of your circumstances as he releases your mouth.

“W-who are you?! Y-you j-just…” You try to turn around to get a look of him but he only pressed your head against the pillow.

“When we get to know each other better, I’ll explain. For now, just know that you’re my wifey, okay?” He smiled, ignoring the look of confusion and fear that appeared on your expression.

“I-I don’t even know you! HE-!” He covers your mouth once more and leaned to your ear.

“I don’t want to kill your parents, Y/n. So don’t make me, okay? I’d like to meet your family properly.” Tears stream down your face as he tells you to close your eyes. You comply, shutting them tight as you feel his weight shift before completely disappearing.

“See ya next time.”

tbh i liked the request but idk if i liked how i wrote it

[yukurie]

So I had an idea about haunts and ghost territories. Ghosts have haunts and are fairly territorial over them. Danny’s haunt is Amity Park obviously but it extends to more than that: every square inch of the town and every resident that lives in it whether they currently live it in or were born there and moved elsewhere are his and he is very protective, it’s his nature after all, his very obsession is to protect.

Normally multiple ghosts haunting a location is normal, there is a hierarchy and internal logic to how a ghost goes about joining a location to haunt however: when a new ghost is formed or finds a location that calls to them to be their haunt and it’s already haunted the new ghost must find the ghost with the original claim to the location and request to co-haunt it. Usually this is accepted and allowed with a few exceptions of greedy ghosts.

Danny isn’t fully aware of all this however, his living side has been blocking out certain instincts of his ghost half in a mental block he’s unconsciously made to continue having a sense of “normalcy” in his living half of his life. One day a particularly rude and aggressive ghost come through the portal and states that they will take this haunt as their own, Danny as usual excuses himself from the class though those few looking at him (Tucker, Sam, maybe Dash) notice he looked particularly angry (what was that crunch? Why does the corner of his desk look cracked?). As he fights the ghost onlookers notice Phantom is particularly aggressive while fighting this ghost: there’s no quips, every time he talks to the ghost he seems enraged, and he seems to be doing as much as he can to hurt the ghost instead of capturing him as usual. After the fight is over and he disappears (to release the ghost back i to the infinite realms) instead of being gone till another ghost appears (Danny never returned to class), Phantom can be seen floating above one of the tallest buildings for hours observing the town quietly.

Ghosts are ageless, once they pass a small impassable mental barrier is created to separate them from their mortal age to protect their mind from the passage of time, now that more of hi instincts as ghost are no longer being blocked by his living half he is starting to see everyone around him as what they are: children (they will pass on eventually and he’ll be here to guide them gently through it).

Depending on if this is a no one knows au or if Tucker and Sam know it changes from here. If they don’t know: they notice Danny seems to quiet drastically from here, his eyes seem both duller and almost older, he seems to watch everyone almost like an old man would watch a child taking their first steps before snapping back to his normal self. If they do know well they go looking for him and when they find him he’s draped along a balcony of the tallest building in the town in his ghost form watching the town quietly, when they try to question why he didn’t come back and why they heard he was so violent with this ghost he answers vaguely and says something along the lines of “He tried to take whats mine”.

Basically my idea is that some random rude ghost claims they intend to steal his haunt and that breaks down the mental block his living side has created to keep him balanced, now his mind is flickering back and forth between the 14 year old boy who happens to be half dead and the practically immortal ghost who happens to be half alive and who practically reigns over the concept of protection. It also releases just how truly protective he is over his town and everyone connected to it.

Heck if you wanted to you could potentially extend this to dpxdc by making it so that since he practically reigns over the concept of protecting people that everyone who would fall under the titles of “hero, vigilante, or antihero” (basically anyone who does what he does for Amity) and focuses on saving people fall under his banner. A hero saves someone somehow despite being sure they shouldn’t have been able to run that fast or be that strong or stay standing after the damage they took? Danny subconsciously grants them that additional little help they needed to save that person. Maybe batman could notice that occasionally in extremely dire circumstances heroes at seemingly random are able to do things not in their limits that can’t be explained via adrenaline: maybe flash manages to hold up something he isn’t nearly strong enough to even lift an inch, maybe Batman manages to run at a speed just barely under super-speed but definitely over what he knows he’s capable of to save a child from being shot in the head, etc etc

[mins-fins]

i CAN feel .. 𝒏a jaemin

👑 ,  ❝ i want to fill my mouth with your name. i want to eat you whole . ❞ ─ pablo neruda

⠀૪    જ the prince of regnum morsu has always been the slightest bit peculiar, looking to devour, appearing to yearn for the very taste of ..

pairing, na jaemin x male!reader.

genre, alternate universe, medieval & mid–1800s combination, romance, ..fluff(?), inspired by many gothic tales, (attempted) horror, strange cryptid jaemin, royal au, arranged marriages.

warnings, violence, murder, cannibalism, romanticizing cannibalism 😕, blood & gore, implied sexual content, initial corpse details, somewhat unhealthy relationships, reader is pretty pathetic, jaemin is a strange creature (which is not specified).

word count, 7.3k.

notes, first real post of 2025 lets go!! cant get over my final work of 2024 being jaemin & my first one being jaemin again.. i love this strange mf 🫶 please do head all of the warnings given because this thing sort of goes into a few grisly details!! i obviously do not condone cannibalism i just enjoy love being expressed through wanting to consume your partner bone by bone <33 its romantic 💖 as always, user junjiie, my forever technical beta reader, i love you 🫶🫶 always so receptive to my ideas even when its THIS monstrosity 😭😭 it really killed me to write idk 🤷‍♂️ i just enjoy writing strange creature jaemin and i love daphne du maurier btw 😊.

YOU COULD BEST DESCRIBE REGNUM MORSU AS DEAD.

death awaits all souls, and maybe the landscape of the kingdom is somewhat akin to sand slowly allowing for you to sink, taking everything which equates you to a human being. tragedy permeates the earth, even the nocturnal creatures fear the weight of the land under their feet, less of crunching dirt and more of crunching bones after each step.

the liveliness of the subjects are all which save the incarnation of ruination which is this kingdom. without the tunes, the gatherings in the square, the dancing, the sheer joy of containment concerning human relations, this kingdom would be the haunting walk it so much exudes.

despite its own state, there’s beauty in the picture of death.

yet tonight can be excused, it is a much different story.

“a body has been discovered just before the palace”.

you would often assume your nightmares could not escape your mind, if you do not dwell, how could they escape its corners? well it seems you’ve mistaken the extent of this kingdom, though death is as mundane as the rising of the sun, the astonishment remains festered in the air.

the council falters for a singular moment, in spite of the clear feat of normalcy, there’s a rise to the worry. the gleam of concern causes for the widening of eyes, frantic pupils glancing back and forth as the situation attempts to be assessed.

one soul remains dormant though.

you find yourself releasing a wince at the alarming details. he was one of the knights stationed outside, the bones of his skull protruded out from where his head had been completely lacerated. there laid bite marks sunken into his skin, animals bites potentially? but what kind of animal snaps a bone in a singular bite? 

“what kind of creature..?”

“that is what we are all thinking” it is clear that nobody can help their own fear, you cannot place blame on them for that. “were trying to see if we can.. capture it”.

you stifle a scoff at such a suggestion, the trembling of their undertones alone sells that the feat at which they appear to think they can capture this thing is faulty at best, it needs reparation, there’s none of courage in each of their singular glances.

you suppose you have to hand it to them for the attempt.

“what do you think it might have been? some undiscovered wolf?”

“it’s not the time for comedy, your majesty”.

with the quirk of an eyebrow, na jaemin relays his pure amusement, no such need for words. you envy his seemingly born courage, not even the flinch of a facial muscle, it is as if the gruesome nature of the execution is just another tick on a yet rising pile.

you manage to shake out of your thoughts, assuming his degree of empathy is ridiculous, he could just cope with passing in a differing manner. your gaze falls to the ring caged around your finger, the spontaneous paleness of it causing a drop in your stomach, you didn’t realize the tightness of it.

when you cease your staring, jaemin’s eyes burn into the side of your head, a small smile tugging at his lips, chatter fading into the background as it seeps into ear bleeding noise.

but you cannot wince, focus lasered in on the pierced eyes of your fiancé. you do not fear him, yet it appears as if he has earned a ticket to your very own mind, each distinct wavelength of thought sprawling outward, not perfectly hidden in the corners you folded them into.

his lips remain upturned, an indescribable gleam shadowed by his voided pupils. “are you alright, your highness?”

they’re speaking much too high, you’re afraid of your ears popping, jaemin opts to turn in his seat, speaking no words to you. “just a little disturbed”.

the words are scarily lessened, yet you surmise those surrounding you still capture the fear of your undertone.

you cross your arms in feigned defiance, as though the air would sink its own barred fangs into you, ripping seams from your neck with the simultaneous blood pour following the crushing of your bones.

a painstaking demise, you ponder on when the fear would take form. might it possibly begin in the same manner as the ripping of your muscle, or perhaps the trepidation would descend as the life drained from your soul, skin paling, eyes rolling back, bones snapping in tandem.

you have much time to consider such a thing, you’re aware the wedding will be delayed.

you do not mind that.

“it hasn’t become a pattern yet, guards will remain stationed outside”.

a whisp of the air, hot breath behind your ear you have bright knowledge does not exist. you shiver, aware someone must have caught that.

that lonely night, you dream of death in the form of a beast. tearing at the cursed remains of your soul with the pure white gleam of its fangs, crushing the bones of your body with pure animosity. you would have no time to escape, all life coming to a nought.

you assumed the death which would grasp at the strings of your viability may appear beautifully, a face of clear artistry. perhaps you would pass in your sleep, eyes peacefully fluttered shut as life slipped away. yet you now have the mind to comprehend a newly settled fear, this creature, a monstrous varmint attempting to gnaw through the protective barrier of your skin.

your existence may now depend on the ability of this thing to stalk around the palace, the palace of a kingdom defined by its deadly curse. you offhandedly realize the danger of your arrangement, yet what can you do besides allow for it to unfold?

after allowing for several hours to pass, your eyes unwillingly flit upward, darkness shrouding visibility, ticking clock akin to the countdown of terror, an imaginary behemoth scales the walls, golden pupils staring intensively into your soul, serrated edges of teeth pulling at the confines of your heart in spite of the clear deterrence you attempt to make face with.

you fear sleep, so you do not sleep.

THERE APPEARS TO BE SOMETHING TERRIBLY WRONG WITH THE CROWN PRINCE OF REGNUM MORSU.

you have always linked the worst of your nightly thoughts to your insane extent of observance, the act of you picking up on singular traits, quirks, peculiarities that no one person would utter to another human being without a feat of embarrassment.

prior to the engagement, you had always perceived na jaemin as just a little odd. children often perceive the unknown as strange, yet na jaemin carries the eccentricities in adulthood, split smiles, voided out irises, unmoving molars which appear jagged once you allow a squint, curls of hair strands unrealistically unalloyed in a hue of white.

the titular moment you laid your eyes upon na jaemin, childish naivety surrounding your circle, you feared him. feared the conundrum of him, feared the clear darkness of his eyes which contrasted the bright shade of his hair, white you could not make sense of.

and the engagement brought out oddities you could not comprehend prior, something of a mystifying element added onto his presence. yet over the years, the formerly habitual fear has become something much more..

you assume the strange likeness is one of his most prominent qualities, though his parents often irk you, they are not as anomalous as the man they brought into the world. occasionally, you assume he may not even be of human nature.

you have known him for long enough that it all simply contains its own fit of normalcy.

of course, the thoughts shall remain entrapped in your mind.

just up until two more guards appear slain before the gates, face paled, the structures of their skeletons protuberant, skin— oh lord, you feel yourself growing disgusted.

after a consistent nightmarish battle with your inner conscious, you spare yourself the definite details, instead yearning for some degree of isolation.

the marriage shall be pushed back, knights will no longer be stationed outside, the subjects are now granted a curfew in order to ensure their own safety, the king can’t risk any more accidents before the ending of his term.

you spend days scouring the library’s romance novels, fearing that if you blink severely enough the entity would flash before your vision. you do not make time to listen during important discussions, having to catch yourself once the titular spot on the walls begin to blur your sight, not even the callings of your name enough to snap your conscious into working order.

you so desperately yearn for the solace of your home kingdom, agitation grasping at your soul, now seemingly guiding your movements. you long for the peak of sunshine, there appears to be nothing of light in this place, the air devoid of soul, life, animation. you ache for your parents, in spite of their consistent arguments, they provided you with some necessary protection.

but you are no longer a child, a simple monster should not be enough to petrify you.

in order to not sink into your fit of terror, you occupy your time with reading and painting, an illustration of the creature which plagues your nightly thoughts.

you are able to scribble through eight of those before you feel the settlement of horror.

“y/n, i feel you are taking this strangely”.

for all his own abnormalities, na jaemin’s parents appear to be as mundane in the daylight. you stare down your creations, feeling the carving of your own sockets, lethargy seizing you by the throat.

“i’m simply.. curious”.

you suppose the mechanism of your subsistence is clearly inquiring, and by the flickers of their eyes, the debate of if they should have engaged you to their son is clear.

well, their son is enough of an atypical figure, they have no place to judge.

“those look.. beautiful”.

in contrast, na jaemin appears enamored at the sight of your art pieces, splattered red paint coinciding with the widening of his eyes, the blank shade jumping out to your own, you cannot even make out a gleam, it is the slightest bit disturbing.

yet there remains a degree of devotion, a deep sense of partiality, it appears he intends to remain transfixed by your artwork, nothing of a falter in each singular movement.

you are thoroughly perturbed.

“all of them are hand painted?”

“with my very own ones” you whisper, beaming off that of the lamp, his pupils widen in manual astonishment. the engrossment outweighs any chance of reason, it appears he will not emphasize on external stimulus. a stark warmth encapsulates you, the shy appreciation does wonders to your very heart, something of a miracle. “do you.. uh— enjoy them?”

he steps closer, the curvatures of his fingertips tracing the esteemed canvas, corners seeming to stab, yet falters whisking out into the air. “you are dementedly adroit”.

“well i was just painting based on my night terrors” he spares a glance, and the speck of affection settles a fit of disquietude, for an unsure moment, you fear the presence of a man who you are bonded to by none other than a slab of golden jewelry, a man who, in a odd manner, you also cannot help but desire in the same breath. “can’t even muse on where my mind went when i crafted these..”

and spontaneously, he occurs closer, frightening you enough it manifests in a physical reaction, a wince caught in your teeth. it did not even arise that his footsteps are startlingly silent, it is as if he simply surfaced besides your own, materializing out of the air’s own particles. how does one perform such a thing?

his lips pursue, the cracking of his bones emitting a daunting sense in your very own blood, heart yearning to burst out of your skin. he unnaturally bevels his head sideways, boring through the valor you attempted to fasten in place. “there appears to be something wrong, are you bothered y/n?”

suddenly, there descends a chill across your being. lord, should this room not be hot? should his occupancy not be the catalyst of calefaction? why are you chilling?

“no, i’m simply weary”.

you do not mean to display full dishonesty, yet you cannot help it.

and then, you have your stomach twist when his guise transforms into that of concern, a latterly aspect of his face which you haven’t seen. guilt grabs at your heart, you are unsure how.

“make sure you sleep, alright?”

regard, perhaps you may blush.

“thank you for the notice, i will”.

oh, well you suppose the oddities stray far once proximity nears. you happen to enjoy observing the crescents of his features, because you can state the prospect of beauty, na jaemin conveys beauty, you could sketch that of his own concaves, already picturing a perfect painting.

yet a degree of alarm remains.

THE FOLLOWING NIGHTS, SEVERAL OTHER BONES CRUSH UNDER THE FORCE OF TEETH.

you physically regurgitate, fearing the inevitable sickness which typically seizes you in tandem with consternation. existential dread may be your downfall, the expanse of your mind, and contingent upon your very scrutiny, will completely overtake any of your credible sense, tears welling up in your eyes, all safety naught.

the palace encapsulates impending doom, your sight appears to be pulling strings of its own. you envision bite marks, engravings cursed into your skin, the fracture of your skeletal structure now plaguing your days, no longer secluded in the form of your nightmares.

the pattern of a bodily pile continues, yet you strive to venture down a contrasting path, possibly able to distract yourself by burying your nose in absorbent literature.

the palace swallows you whole, the terror rendering you unable to escape its clutches, however, you are encased by your own unrest.

the night you find the metaphorical monster behind your back a minimal issue, you find the act of treading the extensive hallways to perturb you much more.

you take a small breath as your footsteps shuffle towards the door of a titular room. your defense is meant to be the brick wall cascaded by the supposed hardness of your eyes, but you believe it might not be doing much.

na jaemin settles where you supposed he would settle, atop his bedsheets with a book in hand. your eyes nowhere, his current read being that of ‘madame bovary’, a piece of literature you could only squint at when passing through the library. you surmise from the quirk of his brow that he takes a liking to the novel. “y/n? evening”.

you muse that he appears much too tranquil.

“hello, i..”

you swallow your upcoming words, weakness stabbing at the skin of your stomach. “my apologies, could you accompany me to the cookroom?”

he blinks, eyes devoid of particular passion, yet vibrant with a capital of affection. you really do find his individual qualities strange, down to the movement of his pupils. his eyebrows then jump in a silent display of amusement, fingertips tracing the curves of his storybook. “is something astray?”

you practically tremble at how visible you are. “i’m a little frightened”.

then he spontaneously splits into a smile, allowing for the novel to remain dormant on his sheets. “that is no issue, y/n”.

in clockwork, he emerges beside you, offering his arm for you to cling to. “don’t worry honey, i’ll keep you safe”.

the use of an endearing name could be concern for perturbation, yet you instead feel an encapsulation of warmth. although na jaemin is typically numbing, there’s an air of mellowness which captures you as your arms come to intertwine, the hold providing solace you seek in moments such as this.

“what exactly do you fear?”

the inquiry results in the freezing of your facial muscles, perhaps intrigue is integral in moments such as this, or perhaps this is a trick, it is conceivable to say that he draws amusement from your fright. “well.. the unknown, i suppose”.

there appears to be a gleam across his pupils, absorption you would be an imbecile if unable to pinpoint. “ah, but it is not that bad”.

“how are you so sure?”

“i’m simply gauging the prospect” he whispers, mouth splitting into a smile, the display of his straight white molars alerting you to the uncanny ferocity of the spaces. “there is no need to fret, y/n, i’m here”.

“for protection?”

the sight of the cookroom alerts your eyes, yet you can only gaze upon the man who you surmise is the definition of valiance, you spite your very own mind. “of course”.

you blink, vulnerability overtaking your presence as he slips from your grasp. it appears the protection heightens once he remains close, you do not want for him to leave just yet. “could you.. uh— well, i would enjoy it if you remained by my side for the time being”.

amusement colors his features, humming gleefully. the stretch of his smile pleases you, his smile really is a touching sight, you could sketch out its pattern from memory. “that will not be a trouble”.

the soft sigh which escapes you completely displays your serenity.

THOUGH HE APPEARS TO BE THE PINNACLE OF BEAUTY, you have yourself a fear of the.. humanity regarding the man you are set to marry once the dust settles on these morbid “animal” attacks. when the thought initially crossed the threshold of your mind, you surmised that the demented man some whispered you to be was finally making himself known.

it really does appear ridiculous, na jaemin, for all the abnormal actions of himself, is human. a fairly odd human with fairly oddly sharpened molars, voided out eyes, and the untypical appearance of his limbs, but a human nonetheless.

at least.. you yearn.

there appears to no longer contain order, regnum morsu seizes you by the throat, a knife against your heart and air swallowing you whole.

you suppose one day you might waste away in this kingdom, death coming to fasten your end, there appears to not exist an endless struggle, the tug will not end up in failure, and perhaps you’re a weakling, a pathetic excuse for a man whose right mind has been hindered from the flurry of stories you have been fed in the passing weeks.

it is completely feasible, you are going to perish here, despair scrawled across the stone which will house your corpse.

and na jaemin, he happens to strike the balance of elevated paranoia in tandem with simply.. adherence. you crave a degree of intimacy which appears to have manifested itself out from thoughts you had mislead yourself into believing did not exist, it is not as if the marriage disappointed you, the prospect was aptly plain, a paradox which did not trouble you enough for such thoughts to arise,

you desire the brushing of his curvatures against yours, the astounding delicacy of his fingertips as they make contact with your skin. grown nails cultivating individual marks on the vain, restrained complexion of his simply striking epidermis, teeth barred in the manner of an animal as you unabashedly ground them into the side of his neck, masticating each piece in a singular bite, the bitter lingering of copper remaining on your tongue.

but no sane individual divulges such feelings, you envisage the horror that shall paint the features of your parents, and you’re aware of the petulance of jaemin’s own, they would chop off your head.. astoundingly, that would be a terrific case for you.

you really do despise how far your mind strays, intrusively worming into your conscience, staining every plain thought you could ever have.

na jaemin makes it no better.

and it occurs to you that he is completely aware of that fact, your clear lack of contentment aside, there’s a sense of delight he derives from your plight, lips splitting upward in that terror inducing grin he possesses.

“do you still have night terrors?”

he inquires it to you the following week, accounts of attacks have lessened, yet you remain entrapped by surrounding dread. your nails sink into the conjunction of your shoulder blade, but you neglect to mention such an aspect. “yes but.. i can take care of it myself”.

“aw, don’t you desire my company?” he begins breaching through your safety guard, a specific chord striking in tandem with his candidly alluring smile. “i heard lying along with someone helps do away with them”.

heat coils over your previously unadorned skin, a shade of red evocative of the blood which warms even in the wintry tenor this room holds. you remain frozen, he somehow manages closer. “ah, really? and who states that?”

“that will have to remain a secret”.

you intertwine your fingers before even concluding your contemplation process, basking in the mellow delicacy brought by the contact. your eyes flutter closed, as if completely against your own being, but you do not fret.

you do not exactly recall agreeing with his term, but you suppose your memory does often deviate occasionally, that does not happen to grasp your attention.

what does grasp your attention is the sheer mellowness emanating from such an embrace, you once surmised na jaemin would be cold, you reckon he can be once focus is truly applied, but you have never begun to slip so easily. your breathing steadily plummets to a silent state, chest rising and falling in consistent motions, fatigue rendering your limbs weak.

you question what otherworldly abilities he must hold, head tipping over as your conscious slips. his hand remains on your back, jaemin hums, you cannot see him, yet you envision a beam marking his features. “see, what did i tell you?”

a thumb swipes across the skin of your cheek, a touch so pliable you could fall asleep from just it alone. “..soft” you mutter, lips pressed on the blade of his own shoulder. “i’m exhausted”.

the brush of lips on your forehead just barely breezes by, but by such a point, you’re about halfway gone. “sleep fine, i’ll wake you up tomorrow”.

and you cannot halt such movements, you slip almost insistently.

MEETINGS TACK THE FIGURATIVE SCHEDULE YOU MUSE PROBABLY BURNS INTO your brain, though you typically assumed as a child marriage would be much simpler, you retained little of the knowledge needed for such extensive features riddled in the complexities which scorch the arranged union. your mind is misplaced over the course of a few slipping weeks, and if you had little known knowledge of your surroundings, you would be oblivious to how jaemin breaches through your soul with his stare.

his suddenly spiked intrigue in you is displayed by the several thousand gazes you truly wish you could avoid. he has the prettiest of irises, the softest hands though his palms run frigid, a few sharpened molars yet a strikingly enticing smile.

of course you had been riveted first, a flooding, intense fascination marked once you two were children, you suppose you aren’t exactly superior to him in that regard,

but it begins striking that chord again, a pit burying itself further in the crux of your gut, it takes its own childish turn, your skin tone burning bright red as if it is some playground coquetry, he simply holds so much skill, lording all of it above you in a fashion he is aware you could never avoid.

though that cannot shadow over the impending dismay he can always seize one with.

“you’ve been captured by a bundle of nerves haven’t you?”

your constant grazing of your fingertips against the very ring binding you two is enough indication, you wish to envy such observance but you had been much too keen on displaying such anxiety.

he appears knowing of it all.

his riposting grin earns a physical recoil.

yet there’s a shadow of beauty your gaze is sure he possesses, snow white hair and all.

“this is a bit imbecilic”.

“won’t you brighten?”

the corresponding locutions sprout a small smile, regardless of several other feelings present in the air, he somehow boasts the ability to blossom a beam.

“see? you have a beautiful smile”.

and you attempt to grasp at words which have suddenly whisked away, skin possibly an atypical shade of red.

there is an irretrievable skill, you admit.

“won’t you let me help you?”

you blink, baffled, poking a short nail into the visible skin of your chest. “with— with my shirt? i can do it mysel..”

“what kind of fiancé would i be?” and when he advances you remain in your spot, your core organ threatens to beat out of the confines created by your bones. when he takes ahold of your very hands you gaze, in an almost obtrusive manner, his are astoundingly beautiful, the ends of his fingers curve perfectly into your own, despite a clear unconventionality concerning the civil partnership of you two, he simply.. fits. “you deserve to be spoiled”.

“well not.. spoiled, odd word”.

“not even by me? i have no qualms with it”.

“i..” then his hands cross the figurative barriers you had yourself fasten upward in regards to strangers, it all crumbles speedily, the brick wall fragmented by his plainly frozen hands, prompt points of his fingertips coming to aid you in pinning the buttons of your shirt together. “it’s a little convoluted”.

whispering appears to be his forte, his reply arrives swiftly; “i’m good at decoding people”.

you have diminutive assertions against that one.

the silence is an irreparable exertion you somehow fear though the expectancy rules over the now chilling air.

you peek with the upward flit of your eyes, an encapsulating fear tugging onto the seams of your conscience. jaemin’s gaze retains hunger, faultlessly dimmed over by affinity mysteriously wrought.

a flinch, his thumb dances over your knuckles and the brisk touch withdraws a wince. “ah, you have a problem, do you always bite them?”

you timorously heave yourself away from such a convenience, leer averting as you attempt to disconcentrate. jaemin chuckles, it has a peculiar, harmonious ring, a sweet rhythm you loathe enjoying as much as you do. “i’m simply.. uh—“

well you’re a bit pathetic aren’t you? so entrenched in the confines of your very mind that the prospect concerning a simple tête-à-tête had you just about yearning to perish at his presumptuous peering. “i get overwhelmed easily, it has a better effect than scratching”.

you misread his upcoming expression, the reticent nature of his eyebrow raise unsettling you. “could you not?”

you are slightly baffled. “what?”

“it’s destructive”.

nail biting is a years aged tendency sparked in your juvenescence, simply ridding of it has proven arduous. he appears to miscalculate you in the same breath his confidence overtakes him,

but you cannot say that.

his grip tightens yet you cease the painful sound crawling up your throat, hands threatening to burn a shade of red. “okay”.

he seemingly senses the urging perturbation, movements faltering as he relaxes his tensed limbs. “sorry, i care for you, you know?”

you remain quiet, he hums.

“i won’t ever do anything to harm you” oh his tone is so docile, pupils shaded over with intimacy. “trust me”.

you swallowed down your extent of fear, despite it all, there was a certain degree of benevolence you cherished.

WHEN NA JAEMIN DOES KISS YOU, FOR THE initial moment you’re stagnant, motionless, astonished yet not all averse to such actions. darkness shrouds over the horizon as brisk months reign in, candles blazing in tandem across the halls, effortlessly brightening the atmosphere despite a clear weariness. your limbs had acted upon practice and a step back was taken, expression remaining stalled.

“sorry” his laughter always produces a harmonious rhythm, a sound so pleasurable you constantly wonder the circumstances of such actions. “did you not..?”

“no, no! i—“ well you could merely blink, a stark glance retaining all of the apprehension you could communicate, though silent. “i was put aback, that is all”.

a sullied frown tugs at his lips, his appearance remorseful even in the face of your clear craving, soulful desire you could barely contain in the crevices of your pupils and the continuous exhibition which concerned your very inclination. “is kissing restricted?”

“i..” he is indeed adept at rendering you aghast, tongue tied as your stare lingers. “no, i was unaware our relationship extended far enough”.

the visible light bouncing off his eyes falters a bit, as if planned by those pulling the strings of the universe, an indurate pool of dullness coating it all. he then chuckles, the hysterics a chorus in itself, you are unsure of what to expect from him, courtesy to several peculiarities.

“we have to practice for the wedding”.

a short snicker itself escapes you, amusement as clear as the bright red displaying itself across your cheeks. “you’re charming”.

“ah, really?”

“strange.. but charming”.

he may as well eat you whole, a shadowing creature which reminds you of the word devoro; consume, devour, taken from the roots of devorare; devoravi, devoratus. teeth all illicit, conniving in that evil manner you cannot comprehend, tearing first at your flesh, then muscle, then bone, licking it all clean simply, gore painting the seams of his lips.

yet you are irresolute to just how freakish you would find the sight, in the worst of shades he could possibly behold the world’s beauty.

such a shameless notion is pathetic.

and perhaps you are too, a stout man built off concerning queries.

“how about we just anchor in on the charming point?”

you chuckle again, delight somehow trailing behind you once in his presence, perverse eccentricities and all.

“well it’s..” the mismatched terms lodge themselves in your throat as he purely approaches you, once more, inaudibly, lashes fluttering in their typical fashion. his fingers trail across the fabrics of your shirt, it acting as a barricade towards his veracious desires. you waver, fumbling through terms which should be compatible. “is seduction formidable?”

“what were you speaking of before?”

“i— jaemin..”

“hm?”

a sharp clutch at your collar, his lips hook upward into a grin which entices you greatly, ready serenity faltering.

your sanity shatters in definite fragments.

he latches onto it, some solemn creature, dimmed gaze boring through the enclosure you once prided upon the existence of, yet you are simply so..

frail.

you may well have madness scrawled over your features, permeating the insolent corners of your very mind.

so he does advance again, and you do not stagger astern, in the moment, you solely submerge yourself into the juncture.

kissing is.. odd, on his part anyway. it is as if his proclivity does entail the prospect of drinking your lungs, unhinging his jaw from its point of origin to swallow you whole, scant bones behind in your wake.

the honesty which persists colors your cheeks a baby pink, his drive is uncoordinated, mismatched yet boyishly endearing. its endlessly puerile, a complete disparity to what you might have assumed in specific late night dreams.

he nips at the breaching barrier of your top lip, teeth all perfect as he groans into the seams of your mouth. it’s all foolish, asinine in the fashion concerning a child, uninterrupted clashing with pulling and gnawing, like you supply a ready source for his hunger.

his teeth take a grinding motion in the sector of your neck, you sigh.

“still wedding practice?”

his tongue slides over his teeth, your breath hitches.

he breaches in and takes you apart with easy pulls, his nimble hands embed themselves into the crevices of your sides, barrages of red and purple blossoming in the stitching joints which align your hip bones, overly interfering with the digging of his nails.

it’s all a dizzying prospect, his fingertips figurative markers in the canvas which smudges your epidermis.

he is intensively torrid, blistering despite the frigid stabbing the ends of his digits offer.

the starry stricken actions remind you of scribbled literature, poetry echoing in reference to intimacy, boundless scriptures throughout history concerning love, amor, roaming hands clasping several individual emblems into your typically pallid dermis.

you can muse on several instances where you reflected over love making, isolation leads to those sprawling out perplexing ideations of how their fate may play. the curvatures painted into the ceiling jump out in your vision, figures reaching to entwine fingers despite their inevitable distance.

jaemin lifts a finger, the touch emitting some otherworldly pinch on your temple, cushioned up across your ecru comforter, his features appear all docile in spite of the intimate point shared, laid out bare before you. “your eyes keep brightening in that manner..”

“hm?”

“you are all disconnected, is ceiling architecture truly so riveting?”

you tut, habitually seeking out your unguis to pick at, yet na jaemin instead interlocks your hands, soundless in his scowling. “i’m unsure”.

somehow, he nears, your frames practically woven as the fragmented vaulting artwork resembles something of a dream, dormant pastel shades weaving into each other, an image you can equate to a quite familiar sight.

“do such paintings come with the palace?”

“do i possess all the world’s knowledge?”

you stare. “is that the start of a spurn?”

“is all you do inquire endlessly?”

you fall inaudible, interlaced hands falling atop the door of your heart. jaemin hums.

“your heart beats rapidly, you’re all skittish”.

such a circumstance is unfortunate, you could not illustrate a much fitting word.

MAN OFTEN ESCALATES STRIFE, IT IS OFTTIMES WHY you speculate violence transpires in the manner of an outdated experiment, rapidly evolving upward, surfacing until it all delves into inevitable failure, the gurgling of one’s own blood or the protruding fragments their bones offer. the landscape crunches under your scōns, figurative screams of souls suffocating in the mountains encapsulating nature’s parcels haunting your very ears.

yet you have not been in the face of death for a few yearning months, nightfall extends over the horizon and the numbing atmosphere seizes your nimble heart, rendering you a mere useless vessel.

what pleases your mind is the presence of flora, all slight graces and bated breaths heeds it. there is trivial discrimination on your part, floret all bear beauty; daffodils, irises, daisies, roses in spite of the rudimentary thorns and peonies all alike. they harbor no true judgment, the luminescent moon beams several petals containing grace, across the curves outlining your features which then correspond to the solace easily provided.

the most unsaid of thoughts do not bear a name in the crevices which begat your mind, yet you are aware the inclined hymns of nightly creatures bring out the worst notions any one mortal being could manifest, such an upheaval a stoic plight.

jagged, uncanny corollas about splinter the core of your middle finger when you are alerted by a sound. your eyes flit upward, encompassing ambience encapsulated within the twilight area, veiled in tenebrosity.

nothing, you have a mad mind, y/n.

chastisement does you no aid.

a twig snaps, the racket nearly shaking the encircled environment.

you shut your eyes, avoiding any semblance of antipathy is intelligent, your parents clobber in the like statement ad nauseam, lacking juvenile violence a marker for the clear upshot.

you shake your head, naught imperilment yet a stark disquietude.

you retain a minuscule feat of valor, all which compasses you equates to one fainthearted caitiff, one who could not withstand peril,

yet you take the two steps.

stalking around the overarching woodland bordering the garden is possibly an imbecile’s action. thorny vines form shards in the cross of your epidermis, weaving before your path as if shading you against the inevitable hazard.

but you haphazardly breach through the incorrigible protection offered by mother nature herself, all impetuous, unhandled negligently.

on the outset, you surmise the continuous snapping is of your soles pressed against the ground, a poignant snap resounding in every step.

you are terribly mistaken.

the former uptake of clouds has now dispersed, though you are completely overtaken by whelmed dread.

there stands a.. creature, wolf-like features all nowt, a nauseating crack echoes throughout the environ, magnetic pulsars reverberating off the walls. its jaw extends, splintering, inhumane, hanging onto the point at which it begins. enlarged claws drawn from the seams of its fingertips, it towers over the surface its feet begin at.

you, insoluble in all sane mind, are starstruck.

throughout the several pages of scorned literature which permeate your mind, you have never once envisioned the skeletal structure regarding such a behemoth, but this is no veridical varmint.

frankly, the sight is obscene, though such a statuette has not once beliked the eyes of one human being, yet you gaze upon it, alive, fragmentary..

the thing is much akin to leviathans, swines you had sworn to fiction in the safety of your shy story books, its protuberant skeletal frame distended from the very corium which relays the sliver of humanity a beast could retain.

then it descends upon its victim and.. oh lord how you do not purge up every single internal vapor at the grotesque sight. he is hapless, seraphic phenomena nowt as it takes one ceremonious bite, resounding in a abhorrent crunch to destroy formerly order bones in the seams of his chest cavity.

your breaths remain intact, a dutiful action which could possibly save you a couple years.

it is ruthless in its execution, the overgrown claws obtruding from inhumane limbs sinking into the core of the human senses; the heart. ribs snaps in tandem with trenchant talons euchring the man’s existing cutis, blood beginning a violent stream as his continuing beating heart seemingly withstands the barbarous strafe.

you are aware of how it may transpire, you are an imbecile! you ought to evade such a discerning affair and hasten.

yet you gaze on, enigmatic, the inscrutable urging to merely perceive such gnarled events, perhaps inciting your very demise, a death which you had narrowly circumvented with impromptu prosperity.

ichor almost poetically stains the lamented land you and all others associate the air of regnum morsu with, coloring it with vibrancy one would surmise could only be caused by celebrations of human life.

you suppose it is much forthright.

clear thought is steered clear once the hankering creature, abundantly immersed in feasting on the heart of one innocent man, pauses in their maneuvering, as if sensing your very presence, you muse on how far you would make it to ready safety, aptly falling into the arms of your parents in the manner of a skittish child, sobbing into the night.

yet you are once again frozen in your locus, the purging pool in your stomach relinquishing.

its..

“jaemin?”

indeed, it is the scrawled face of your imminent husband, golden marriage token binding you to him. a spate of several conversations hastily meeting the points which intersect your mind with your common sensibility.

the sight is sickening, a ravishing grin overtaking his distinct facets, gore staining the formerly vain white of his teeth, softening pupils akin to the unlit ether relegated by the existing sky. he does not allow a kindred terror to grip his heart, unlike the one he had been mauling.

you despise your very fortitude, you cannot help.. well,

he is beautiful, almost ethereal, otherworldly in his denominative modus. your blink produces teardrops you had little cognizance of, though you conserve the inevitable sniveling.

“y/n” and oh, may the lord forgive you for your actions, peering in the direction of this monster, yet you reside, circumstances enigmatic to your very sanity, how does one oppose a prospect?

the back of his hand comes smeared over with blood as he seemingly polishes himself, a sheer amount tinting definite strands of white.. red. a sight paralleling the printed words regarding the queen of hearts painting her white roses red. “ah, i wished for this to hap another way”.

you grapple with deduced terms, inhaling a long breath.

“you want to sob”.

your riposting head shake displays lucid dishonesty. “well.. i—“

foreseeable words perish in your throat, his stupor dissolves, and he again inclines back into the jaemin you know, startlingly peculiar, yet not an entire monster.

you whimper, his stained hands come to cradle your cheeks. the slight caress jostles a sob upward from the crux of your chest, blood painting your very own skin despite the nearby ferocity. “pardon me, it’s simply.. difficult”.

your sleeve acts as a cushion, drying up your tears. a swiping finger, your teeth sink into the side of your cheek. “you— a bath, you’re filthy”.

it’s a pragmatic approach, a man’s heart lay bare over the grassy landscape, yet you have apprehension concerning the portrayal of your fiancé.

he chuckles, the first of many pink tints accompanying his rejoinder.

you two interlock hands, solicitously, uncanny callousness meeting your very fingertips.

in sickness and in health, they muse, till death do us part.

AMANS SEMPER, QUOD TIMET, ESSE PUTAT; a lover believes it to be as he fears. your several durational stints are pervaded by absorbent literature, tempura airbrushing permeating the air fumes, and an anomalous expanse of displayed macabre, distempered varnishes staining several of your very canvases, clashing hued red only deciphered with the slightest narrows.

the marriage shall go forward, the reflection of your aureate trinket reminding you each moment. per capita, jaemin insights hindrance, prodding at the seams of your very mind which clearly does not detest, you surmise that something has to be wrong with him.

yet you suppose uncanny cheshire grins and flagrant embraces he feigns all innocence to are little of an indicative hassle, you covertly enjoy such disturbances.

he heedlessly carves over the arches of your shoulders, thumbs compressing the sheer few knots, all tempering the strain which weighs upon you.

you affably bat no eyes when jaemin infiltrates your chambers during the off fashioned twilight hours, habitually whilst you fasten your focus onto a particular novel, his lips stained a peculiar red, the prospect now its own distinct color painting your very canvas.

jaemin is exotically benign considering his.. attributes, as if you are all fragile, a lone share of glass, one where despite the sting, is all volatile at the merest of graces. his fingers weave extensively into yours, digits often tapering off into callous territory, natheless evading their typical docile manner.

there is a clear lack of the imminent monstrosity you expected prior, or perhaps you have simply been driven deranged.

you presume the derangement pervades it all. feasibly, he could consume you one day, once the figurative cattle go to waste, you remain. he commences at a hushed beginning, allowing you to gaze on at his teeth as he carved out the thoracic cavity, the core of your thorax decimated to fragments in a singular bite alone. dawning at your lungs, then mangling your thymus, esophagus, trachea, you muse he would save your vascular organ as an apparent finish, savoring each singular sinking of teeth.

jaemin is an indicatively amorous, pure white smiles planting kisses upon your skin.

“you are all.. hysterical”.

“not quite”.

his fingernails require some trimming, it is a stark reminder to you what he truly entails, uncannily splintered claws abrading over your nightly cooling dermis. “i reiterated i would never”.

“what if i’m the only one left for you to?”

his thumb snares at the corner of your lips, his caress so placid you about pitch into a slumber. his grin is narcotic, every single tooth, including those which occupy much brimmed space is displayed.

“is that where intimacy lies for you?”

“is it truly that intimate?”

you reckon the answer is about crystalline.

it may appear intimate to him, desire as imminent as the ichor which would smear over his hands at the grasp of your beating heart. “intimacy varies..”

“a sincere romantic you are”.

the flat of his palm feels your heart once more, he may devour it one by one, chewing immersive.

you infer perishing is inevitable, but if you do, you crave for his hands to be those to ruin you.

[witchofthesouls]

Bayverse squandered their "Earth is Unicron" subplot and so many characters.

It would have been so perfect to delve into the really freaky and disturbing lore that humans created across the world...

And found out it was real.

Not just King Arthur and Merlin, but the faint remains of Atlantis, the echoes of mad laughter from a revelry in ancient forests, the fox messengers of Inari traveling everywhere, strange and terrible shapes twisting beneath the ocean waves or off the coast of the Diego Garcia base, ghost towns filled with decrepit homes and buildings with the odd sense between hope and despair as they wait, national statues or ancient sculptures that are actually once living people and beings but transformed into marble and rock and sleeping until they feel the brush of the Matrix or the Allspark, wide and empty stretches of road with no one else and GPS glitches along with time (minutes that go on forever, every so slowly, painfully) as they pass the same canyon formation or homemade sign over and over and over-

I live and love the Other aus too much to give them up, so-

Give me a Mikaela Banes who has become a Dragon herself with the blessings by a Primordial (the Great Shadow, Carnage Incarnate, Unmaker's Mirror) that devoured worlds and remade them as she's the one that offered herself as tribute upon their altar.

Give me a Sam Witwicky who has seen the universe in all of its terrible and wicked glory, beastly and divine in the transcendent music that the Allspark weaves in its own song in the grand orchestra -he has seen, he has heard, and he cannot help but remember snippets beneath the breeze that rustles the trees and the soft patter of rain upon his bedroom window and haunts all his dreams and every waking moment because, despite his vocal adamance, he can never return to normalcy.

Give me Judy Taylor that tries to outrun the monsters in her family's shadows and the ghosts that howl for vengeance and protection in her childhood home by eloping with a Ron Witwicky with a similar madness in his own bloodline.

Give me a William Lennox whose luck is too uncanny, too fortuitous, especially in hindsight, as he feels the very signs his own grandmother would foretell as she hangs trinkets in the branches and leaves sweets on the porch.

("Long ago, Man made peace with Magic.")

[aster-oid]

To the stranger I knew too well

Summary: When your recurrent dreams about a puppet become out of hand, a reality check feels like the only way to get back to normalcy. Fate proves you wrong.

Pairing: Wanderer & gn!reader (post Irminsul), the relationship is heavily implied to be platonic

Content warnings: Reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood and murders but I don't go into details, slight angst, Wanderer is bad with feelings, platonic content

Word count: 7.2k | Soulmate AU

Comments: A special thank to my beta @ladyfocalors for always brainrotting with me about Genshin characters. We'll platonify the Genshin soulmate AU one work at the time /lh

It took you years to understand that your frequent lucid dreams about an Inazuman electricity-wielder leader were actually the memories of your soulmate.

To your parents' defense, every normal individual would have dismissed the idea. While your soulmate wearing an extravagant hat wasn’t impossible, your tales about a place shrouded in darkness and an Electro-user without a Vision sounded like a child's fantasy. There was no such thing in Teyvat.

You quickly got the reputation of an imaginative kid. Adults liked to ask you about your dreams.

"What a smart child you are!", they cooed once you finished recalling your visions. "You could write a storybook!"

Your younger self would shoot them the dirtiest glare they could muster. Unfortunately, adding that the protagonist was a puppet made hundreds of years ago was not the convincing argument you thought it was. To the layperson, your visions were nonsensical dreams.

But you knew what you saw. It felt real. Terribly, shockingly real. Most often that not, you woke up from these flashes with the taste of iron in your mouth, static filling your sight, your muscles locked into place. You were trapped in your own unresponsive body. Even your breath was stuck in your throat. But the worst part of your awakenings was the sticky feeling on your hands. No matter how many times you scrubbed, it lingered on your skin. You didn't know what it was at that time, just that it made you feel gross and that it would sometimes reappear if you washed your hands hard enough.

You learnt what blood was before you knew how to spell the color red. 

When one is repeatedly told that they're wrong, they will come to believe it. You were no exception. As the years passed by, you pushed those fantasies in the back of your mind. The adults in your life must have been right. You were just a strange kid with gruesome dreams, that was all.

Despite knowing that they were figments of your vivid imagination, the sights of snow-covered plains and bloody massacres haunted you well into adulthood. They had grown more complex. Details you didn’t notice as a child seemed obvious now that you had more experience. You could also recall conversations better. That’s how you learnt the name of the body you inhabited. Well, it was more correct to say you learnt multiple names for them. Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, the Balladeer... It was like you could never make up your mind.

The puppet you temporarily inhabited was as elusive as the wind: no fixed name to call them and no face to match. They fled mirrors when they saw one, preventing you from seeing their appearance. The only thing you knew about them was their title: number Sixth of the Fatui Harbinger. A seat that was left vacant for centuries according to every Fatuus you asked.

Your constant daydreaming was annoying but manageable until you started having visions about Kunikuzushi taking over Sumeru. You saw them getting experimented on to become one with a robot, wincing in pain at the hands of a masked doctor, rambling about their birth-given right to access godhood, taunting a blonde traveler; a chain of events that could only make sense in a dream. The problem was that your reverie was affecting your daily life. You couldn’t go through a day without getting assailed by memories that weren’t yours. You had to stop halfway through any task, discussing became hard and sleep rarely came to you.

There was little you could do as you didn’t know what had worsened your visions. You were hoping it would go away by itself.

That was until a particularly haunting dream. As usual, you were but a spectator seeing through the Balladeer’s eyes. You saw a hand -their hand- reach for a chess piece, leaning forward as much as they could. Your blood went cold. They were about to fall over the edge of the platform! Your gaze darted everywhere. There was nothing on the distant ground that would break their fall. For the first time in your life, you realized that they could die. Scaramouche, the one you had observed for decades, could die.

You were the only one to realize how far they were leaning. They only had eyes for the violet pawn in front of them, begging and begging with a shaky voice. It had never sounded so frail, so raw with hurt and panic.

"Please, anything but the Gnosis!" 

It’s not worth it! you tried to scream. Stop! You didn't know why this Gnosis was so important to them but it was nothing dying for. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to move your mouth, the body refused to answer to you. You were nothing but a witness of a tragic scene, a powerless ghost with a bleeding heart. Your throat was thick with emotions you were not allowed to express.

Your dream ended in a snap, quite literally. A tearing sound erupted from behind you before you were sent falling down, pain flaring in your back. You bit down a scream as the world turned to blurry shades of blue and fluttering black bangs. The increasing speed made your eyes water and your body burn. You clenched your teeth. The fall was inevitable. Maybe it made you a coward but you couldn't bear to see it. You didn’t want to see Kunikuzushi die. Muttering an apology to the stranger in your dreams, you squeezed your teary eyes shut. 

The last thing you heard was a wet crushing sound, a mix between eggshells broken under the palm of your hand and a fruit being squashed. Your body jolted in your bed and you gagged, fighting the urge to throw up. You had never felt this sick. Not even when you dreamt of unfair massacres.

You sank to the floor, furiously wiping away the tears beading in the corner of your eyes. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to confront your dreaming problem. There was only one solution: if your brain was so adamant on obsessing over an imaginary character, you had to show it the harsh reality, to remind yourself that Kabukimono never existed.

Your trip to Sumeru was the most spontaneous project you ever planned. You were strolling through the busy streets of Sumeru city the very next day with barely enough money to get back to your nation. You had packed the bare minimum in your suitcase to carry it easily, meaning you wouldn’t be able to stay for more than just a few days.

That was, if you found a room for the night. You had no time to check what the usual prices were in the capital before leaving. Now that you were scouring the streets with your meager funds, unable to find a hotel within your budget, you were bitterly regretting your lack of foresight. You sighed. You supposed that the saying was right. Slow and steady wins the race.

As if it had felt your determination dwindling, the crushing sound echoed in your mind in response. You bit your lip, bile rising in your throat. You hadn't been able to forget about your last dream. It looped in your head like a broken record. Even if impulsively leaving your country was one of your worst ideas ever, the quicker you settled your daydream problem the sooner you'd be back to your normal life. 

Your weary steps lead you to an indoor bazaar. The smell of fried food filled your nostrils, making your stomach growl. You winced. The small homemade sandwich you had earlier couldn't compete with the appeal of street food. Unfortunately you needed to save your funds for a room. You let your gaze wander in the crowded marketplace, trying to distract yourself from the appetizing smell. Colorful stalls were full of fresh fruits, potted flowers and intricate trinkets. If you stood on your toes, you could even see a small theater representation in the farthest part of the bazaar. It was a lively place that perfectly encapsulated Sumeru’s charm.

You were about to turn back when your eyes stopped on a blue silhouette near a candy stand. You didn't know how you missed them earlier. In the brown and green crowd, their traditional clothing and their ornamented Inazuman hat stuck out like a sore thumb. They were in deep discussion with the merchant. Turquoise fabric trailed behind them, floating in the wind.

Without a second thought, you cut through the crowd, never leaving the stranger from your sight. Your heart leaped in your chest when they left the small stall. 

"Hey, you with the hat! Stop!" you yelled. To your dismay, the Inazuman did not even slow down. They must have been too far to hear you. Breaking into a sprint, you called again. "Hat guy!" 

You breached the distance in a few seconds. Just as you were about to grab their shoulder, they turned around. A cold hand snatched your wrist, making you wince. When you looked at its owner, you were greeted with a deep scowl and narrowed indigo eyes. 

"Don't." The man’s low voice warned you, his tone full of unspoken threats. You swallowed uncomfortably as your confidence melted away. He managed to be intimidating in spite petite stature and youthful appearance.

As he glared daggers at you, you were hit by a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You pressed your lips together, studying his messy black mullet and his glowing Anemo Vision. The word popped up in your head. Familiar. The stranger felt familiar.

Wiping the feeling of déjà-vu from your mind, you retreated your hand. "Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention." 

"Well, now you have it," he huffed. Annoyance was written on his face. He crossed his arms. "What do you want?" 

A good question, but not one you had an answer to. Running after the man was a spur of the moment decision.

Self-awareness striked you like a thunderbolt. Why were you even doing this? Your goal was to cure your daydreaming, not to throw yourself headfirst into the rabbit hole nor to annoy a stranger with the tales of an imaginary character.

He clicked his tongue. "Hurry. I don't have all day." 

You huffed. It was true that you were taking too much time to gather your thoughts but he didn’t have to be rude about it. 

"I'm looking for someone,” you said tentatively. It was the closest you could get from the truth without annoying him. Considering his foul mood, the stranger would have walked away if you told him you were looking for the lack of existence of Kunikuzushi, the Sixth Harbinger, the person who tried to become an Archon, someone that only existed in your mind.

The man didn't answer, encouraging you to continue with a movement on the head. His black bangs flew in the light breeze. Now that you had a clearer view of his face, the man seemed more bored than irritated. He wanted the conversation to be over with but he still had the patience to hear you out. This realization gave you the courage you needed to talk again. 

"Their clothes are quite similar to yours, but they're red and black. They also have a hat. A huge one." You opened your arms in emphasis.

He scrunched his brows together, looking at you like you were an idiot. "Right. Because the length of their hat is the most important detail you could give me," he deadpanned. 

You fight the urge to sigh. "I wasn't done. I don't know much about them, but they're linked to the Fatui." The stranger's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was back to glaring at you, his face closed. Unsettled by this sudden tension, you quickly added. "Probably. I'm still not sure about that." There was no Sixth Fatui Harbinger, after all. Your brain had made it up. 

"Of course." His voice was drier than earlier. What little interest he had in your discussion had melted at the mention of the Fatui. You scrunched your brows. You swore you could read another emotion than ire in his eyes, even if you didn’t know what. "Anything else I should know about that... Friend of yours?"

You racked your brain for more details. There was a lot to say about the person in your dream. Their lack of heart, their coup attempt in Sumeru, their bloody killings, the experimentations they underwent... Nothing you could talk about in public without looking crazy, in sum. The only thing you could still mention was... 

"Their name is Scaramouche."

The man went rigid. "What did you say?" he gawked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Scaramouche. I think that's their name?" Truthfully, they were given so many names that it probably wasn't their real one. But it was the one that came up most in your dreams. 

As if it caught onto the tense atmosphere, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. You barely noticed it, focused on the horror shining in the man's eyes. He couldn't believe what you had just said. His piercing eyes analyzed every inch of you with a newfound distrust. 

“Nobody should be able to-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. Recognition flashed across his face. "Wait. You...!"

His face went from surprise to disgust in the blink of an eye. You had barely the time to react before he pulled his hat down over his head, his scowl peeking from behind the rim.

"Of course fate would string something like this..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Has it ever made anything easy for me?"

You watched as crossed his arms, lifting his head to glare at you as if you had purposely wronged him. You tried to appease him by apologizing. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Despite your question, you knew you had done nothing worth this cold attitude. You didn’t know why he was overreacting, why he was looking at you like dirt under his soles.  It’s as if he was personally offended by your description of the Balladeer. You blinked as pieces fell into place. An Inazuman with a strange hat and dark hair, just like the one you were looking for. Could it be…?

"Is that you? Are you Scaram—" 

The man turned around before you could finish your sentence, the blue fabric tied to his hat smacking you in the face. You yelped in pain.

"Don’t use this name." You couldn't see what kind of expression he was making but his flat tone told you enough.

You were standing in front of the protagonist of your dreams.

Reality shattered around you. There were only two reasons for your dreams to be visions of the past. You either were a seer —which was unlikely considering you had no elemental affinity— or you were using your soulmate link. Realization sank in. You had a soulmate. Everything finally clicked together: why you had Scaramouche's memories, why he recognized you, why you never stopped having those dreams… It was because the universe had deemed you a perfect fit.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were not an anomaly without a soulmate, like you were led to believe. You just didn't pay attention to the signs.

"Wait a minute," you gasped. No matter how happy you were about your discovery, it came a lot of terrible implications. "Does it mean that everything is real? The Fatui, the taking over Sumeru part, everything ?" 

Kunikuzushi immediately clammed up. Not even bothering to look at you, he said without a trace of emotion. "This conversation is over."

Strong wind currents flared all around you with him acting as the epicenter of the small storm he invoked. You stared at him with wide eyes. He was getting away! 

"Please!"

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The man gave you the dirtiest glare from above his shoulder as the miniature hurricane intensified. But you didn't let him go. You sank your nails deeper into his arm.

"Listen to me!” you said through gritted teeth. “I'm not gonna pretend I know everything about you because that's not true. I only know glimpses of you. Parts of your past that don't make any sense." 

You closed your eyes as the memories flooded your mind. The Gnosis, the laboratory, the crushing sound as he fell down... You didn't understand what those events meant to him. What kind of story they told. It was like you were in front of an incomplete puzzle where all edge pieces went missing. It was impossible to get the big picture no matter how many combinations you tried.

That didn’t mean the little bits of memories you had taught you nothing about him.

"You were hurt. That much is certain."

Your words only rekindled the fire of his ire. He bared his teeth at you. “Huh?! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He stabbed your chest with his finger, forcing you to take a step back. “Seeing glimpses of my past doesn’t give you the right to assume things about me, you worm.”

"But it’s not an assumption. You lived a very long and lonely life. A bloody one too.” You briefly wondered if contrary to you, he had grown accustomed to seeing his hands covered in crimson. You let out a shaky exhale. “But you cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago."

You had the experience to back yourself up. You still weren't sure what the Fatui thing was all about but if you could barely believe it after seeing his memories firsthand, no one else could.

"See, you’re just assuming things again out of pity," Scaramouche snapped. He tore himself from your grasp, sneering. "Guess what? I don't need you to feel sorry about me."

You shook your head. "I wasn't about to."

You were never going to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the crackling of electricity as you saw someone charred alive, the coolness of a cadaver against your skin. You couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for this man. It wasn't what someone like him sought. 

Pity was for those forced to live under the ruling of unfairness, not able to object to its cruel laws. Forgiveness was for those that were mothered by this tyrant and dedicated their life to preach its teachings. For now, the Balladeer deserved none of them.

When you opened your eyes, Scaramouche had tipped his hat down, obscuring his expression. His grip on his crossed arms was so tight you thought he was going to break his fingers. 

"You don't understand. You can't understand."

His voice was lower than earlier, almost like a growl. 

It wasn't enough to scare you.

"You're right," you admitted. "I cannot understand you. But I really want to." 

Maybe it was because you knew him on a deeper level than a stranger, but something had changed. You were starting to notice it. The hurt he masked behind a veil of fury. Until his words, you thought he was just an eternally angry man, bitter at the world and at his fate. Now, you wondered if he was just someone who lived through too much. Someone who was ready to beg and kill himself for a glimpse of a better future.

He snorted, disbelief written across his face. “A human like you, understanding someone like me? Don’t make me laugh.” He leaned towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back, withholding his stare with all of the courage you could summon. His mouth contorted into a twisted smile. “You’ve seen what I am capable of. Not only are you fundamentally unable to relate to a fraction of my existence, you’re also unable to withstand it. Understanding me will only bring you trouble.”

“You already do.” Scaramouche didn't utter a word, turning his back to you. You didn't let it get to you, instead squeezing your hand against your chest. "I spent my life stuck with visions I couldn't control. Seeing your memories at random moments robbed me from precious moments with the people I love. From enjoying a normal life, one where I don’t have to fear falling asleep."

Your hands were shaking. Whether from anger or sorrow, you didn’t know. Scaramouche was the one assuming things. You may only be a human, one similar to thousands that have come before you, but you knew how it felt to be misunderstood. How it felt not to belong. Nobody had believed you for decades, nor understood why you were so uncomfortable when it came to sleeping. Even your friends couldn’t wrap their heads about your constant worry of getting lost in the daydreaming. You might as well have been from a different species.

You took a deep exhale. Your anger faded away as quickly as it came. "I feel close to you, no matter how strange it sounds. You've always been a small part of me.” Determination seeped through your tone. “So I won't be able to move on as long as I don't know what's going on with my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word rolled strangely on your tongue. It was the first time you were saying it out loud.

Scaramouche gagged at your word choice. "I'm not looking for a lover." Disgust laced his voice. Seems like you were not the only one who felt weird about the whole situation. 

You shook his concern with a wave of the hand. "Me neither. I'm looking for an explanation. A timeline in a chronological order, if possible." 

Your attempt at a joke fell flat as silence fell between the two of us. Your face shifted into a frown. Had you been too insistent? 

"It's alright if you find the situation strange," you said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that you saw glimpses of my life. This is quite embarrassing...."

You didn't have the most exciting life but there were private moments you wanted nobody to see. Especially not your soulmate. 

He shot you an uninterested look, examining the dirt beneath his nails. "I could not care less about your mundane life."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to get interested in your life as much as you were in his, but was that supposed to be comforting? Unsure how to respond, your face contorted into a polite smile.

None of you said a word after that. You didn't dare move either. Weariness taking over you, you watched as the back of his hair fluttered in the breeze, joining the hypnotizing dance of the blue ribbons. The sound of animated conversations and the ringing of distant bells filled the otherwise tense silence.

You were about to leave when Scaramouche let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind. He finally turned to you, uttering a single word. 

"Wanderer."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Come again?" 

He rolled his eyes but repeated it anyway. "Wanderer. That’s my name. Not Scaramouche or whatever name you heard in my memories." 

You felt your entire face lit up. You could recognize an olive branch when you saw one. "I won't call you anything else, I promise!"

He sighed at your sudden excitement, shaking his head. You were starting to recognize when he was truly irritated and when he was acting annoyed by habit. This time, the look in his eyes didn't match his bored pout. It was not soft by any means, but he did not glare daggers at you anymore.

"I still don’t think someone like you can handle the tale of centuries of existence.” He clicked his tongue. “That being said, I suppose it would be entertaining to see you try. Come to the entrance of Sumeru city in two hours."

Your eyes widened. You thought that you wouldn’t get more than his name, and now he gave you the opportunity to explain his life ? You had half the mind to pinch yourself awake.

"Don't be late Wanderer!" 

He scoffed, readjusting the position of his ginormous hat. “If I were, you'd scream my name in the streets of Sumeru until you get ahold of me. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, really?" A smug smirk took place on his lips. He cleared his throat before taking a high-pitched voice. " 'Hey, you with the hat, stop right there ! I really want to talk to you! Stop, I say !' "

You gasped in shock. "So you actually heard me! Do you not stop when someone calls you?"

"I do. I just don't typically talk to pipsqueaks."

His grin deepened at seeing your offended expression. He even let out a short laugh. You playfully punched the cheeky bastard on the shoulder, not putting much force in the blow. 

Wanderer didn't budge. He instead grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. His eyebrows were pinched together in irritation. "Don’t think you can punch me and get out unscathed, kid."

Despite his words, his grasp on you was light, as if he was careful not to hurt you. It was easy to slip from his hold. He was entertaining you, you realized. Considering how harsh he had been when you first had tried to touch him, a light scold was nothing. 

Mimicking a fighting stance, you started shifting your weight from left to right.

"You're the one who's gonna bite the dust! I can knock out someone with a single blow!" You punched the air to demonstrate, a smile blooming on your face. "I can take anyone in a fight!" 

Wanderer pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by your playful attitude. "Celestia above, not another Childe..."

You pouted at his words. "Are you calling me a child again? I'll let you know that I'm a fully-fledged adult!" You may not be as old as the immortal puppet but you were no kid by human standards. You were only teasing Wanderer because you needed something light after your heavy talk. He couldn’t base his whole perception of you on a speech stemming from your sleep-deprived self…

He clicked his tongue in his mouth before looking at you directly in the eyes. "You talk big for someone I've seen fall in the stairs several times."

Horror washed over you. Every little embarrassing moment you lived flooded your mind. The fact that Wanderer had seen some of them sent warmth pooling in your cheeks. 

"You said you didn't care about my life!" you said, absolutely mortified. 

"It doesn't mean watching you was not mildly entertaining. Why would I focus on boring Fatui politics talk when I could be the witness to the mess of your teenage years?” Your expression was decomposing by the second, to his delight. "I especially liked it when—"

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. Aren't you busy?" 

His gaze fell into a small pouch at his sides. "I do, actually. Buer must be looking for me."

"Buer? Who's that?" You didn't remember hearing this name in his memories.

"The Dendro Archon," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Teyvat. 

"...Right. Of course.”

Maybe you were a bit too optimistic about his ability to open up to you.

Wanderer couldn't believe himself. Three betrayals should have been enough to teach him that closeness only brought pain. Whether because of misunderstandings, lies or the unpredictable and unescapable scythe of Death, the ending was always the same: he was fated to end up hurt. Alone. Cursing himself for loving too much.

He snorted. He knew all of that and yet here he was, wrapping his job up before his meeting with you. How pathetic.

Part of him was not surprised about this new twist of events. Fate liked to throw him in the most ironic situations. He was currently going on errands for Buer, the same Archon he had tried to supplant her months ago and who took him prisoner. Randomly meeting his soulmate in the middle of the streets was not the most unexpected thing to have happened to him. Far from it. At that point, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

When Wanderer entered the sanctuary of Surasthana, the Archon was sitting on her swing, humming to herself. The melancholic tune didn’t sound familiar but the lyrics in old Sumerian sang the tale of a love long gone. If he rolled his eyes at the song choice, he was polite enough to wait until the end of the song before clearing his throat.

Buer perked up, finally noticing him. She jumped from the swing and greeted him with a small wave.

"Hat guy!" He cocked an eyebrow at the oh so creative sobriquet, making her giggle. "I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think that you had forgotten about me."

"As if my memory would get faulty. I was held up by someone." Holding his hat to pin it into place, he sat on the lush grass. Reunions with Buer always took a while. He might as well make himself comfortable. 

Familiar curious green eyes landed on him. "Was it a friend from the Akademiya?"

He rolled his eyes. "I had never seen them before."

He had expected this flow of questions. Buer was very invested in his relationships with other people– well, rather his lack of. She had made him participate in social events like the Interdarshan championship to socialize. She even enrolled him in the Akademiya. Her argument was that it would help him understand humanity better, as well as himself. 

The results were arguably mixed. Wanderer admittedly tolerated people a bit better than before. They were predictable creatures but they could be entertaining. Sometimes. On the other hand, he had not grown close to anyone since he started attending classes. Sure, some students followed him around, gushing about the mysterious “hat guy” and throwing a birthday party for him, but he would not call them friends. They were classmates at most. It was for the best: it didn’t matter if Buer claimed he was progressing regarding socialization, talking to him was an experience he wished on no one.

She didn’t seem to agree with him. Excitement and pride shone in her eyes. "Every stranger is a friend in potentiality. That is what makes new meetings so exciting: you might be talking to your new favorite person in Teyvat," she beamed, taking place near him. 

"If you say so." 

Friendship was a human concept. Something he could neither fully understand or get. Melodramatic speeches and lengthy explanations meant nothing to him. That is why Wanderer didn’t try to counter her argument. There was no point in talking about something he knew nothing about.

What he did know was that Buer was wrong. You were no stranger to him.

His gaze fell to his hands. The first time he had seen your memories, Scaramouche had thought he was defective. He had never been able to dream until then. His creator didn’t see the interest in allowing him to do so. The only reason he knew what dreams were was because Niwa liked to recount his when they worked together in the forge. 

One second he was lying down in the laboratory of the Fatui, the other he was in a small bed. Piles of toys were scattered around him, decorating what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Why on Teyvat was he here? Scaramouche tried to move his arm but it did not move an inch. He cursed under his breath. For some reason, his body refused to listen to him. If it was Il Dottore’s scheme, the man was dead.

Without a warning, his head turned. He was greeted by the reflection of a small child in the mirror of the wardrobe. You.

His mind had been pure madness when he had come back to his senses. He had the time to zap five machines before the Doctor arrived, complaining that his research was being destroyed. The Tsaritsa, the stars, fate itself... He had cursed everything he could think of for giving him a soulmate. There was no other reason behind his sudden ability to “dream”. Fate had decided to intertwine your destinies together. The thought only made him more angry.

He couldn't be mad at the child you were, though. You were barely five. No matter how much of an unfeeling person he was, Scaramouche was not about to hold the situation against someone as young as you. A small part of him, one he had tried to bury for centuries, had even ached to hold your chubby hands in his when he had seen you reach for your reflection.

With the impossibility of breaking a soulmate bond, the Fatui Harbinger had been forced to watch you as you grew. He learnt about your favorite color, the school subject you liked best, the names of your childhood friends, the color of your bedroom, all the details of your ordinary life. He was a spectator to mundane moments, to victories and horrific failures alike.

You had transformed from a kid with shining eyes to a determined adult before his eyes.

If Buer was right and that all friends started as strangers, it meant that you would never be able to grow close to him. You already knew him.

Wanderer plucked a few strands of grass, watching how they fell to the ground. No, hoping for you two to be friends was wishful thinking. You had seen the atrocities he had done as a Fatui Harbinger. Once he filled the gap in your knowledge, you would not want anything to do with him. His erasure from existence didn’t excuse the actions of his past life.

He would not blame you. He deserved your hate. At the end of the day you were another name on the endless list of his victims. Because of your soulmate link, you had lived your entire life plagued by visions you didn't understand, othered because of things out of your control. You were the proof that Wanderer brought suffering just by existing. That he wasn't a fundamentally good person, like the one Buer and Traveler insisted he was. You had every right to loathe him.

That was why he accepted your offer. If he explained everything to you, if he confirmed that every "dream" of yours was true, you would move on. You would forgive Fate for giving you such an unloving person as a soulmate. Maybe you would even want to settle down with someone else... At the end of the day, you'd be free from the chain of destiny. So would he.

The world would let him do a good thing, for a change. 

"While it's true that talking it out will appease both of your minds, you shouldn't only see them as a way to atone for the sins of your past life," Buer intervened. 

Wanderer gave her an unimpressed look, throwing away the rest of the grass strands. "One day, you will have to answer for all of those breaches of privacy before the General Mahamatra."

"Talking about your thoughts with someone else can help you sort them out and gain new insight. I felt like you could benefit from it."

Her growing smile told him that she didn't feel sorry for reading his mind without his consent. He huffed. She was lucky he had grown accustomed to this habit of hers.

She hummed as she stepped in front of him. "Agreeing to a meeting to ease your guilty conscience is not a bad thing in itself. The problem is that you’re assuming that they can only hate you."

“What other reaction could they have?” The answer appeared in his mind before he finished his sentence. “Pity?” Pronouncing the word made his insides hurl. Wanderer would rather feel your wrath than your pity. The former didn’t feel as disgusting as the other;

Buer shook her head. “That’s not it either. It’s alright if you don’t yet understand Wanderer, you will see in due time.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He preferred it when she used complex metaphors. At least he had the opportunity to understand what was going on in her mind, contrary to when she used vague words of wisdom like a drowsy prophet.

"If I can give you one more piece of advice, you should give this relationship a chance." Seeing his scowl of disgust, she explained herself. "I'm not telling you to pursue a romance with them. Just don't assume that tonight is the only time you meet. Keep your mind and your heart open."

Despite her smile, she had a serious look in her eyes. It was the face of wisdom in all of its assured glory. Wanderer closed his eyes. It was easy for him to forget she was not a young child, like the one he took care of all those centuries ago. 

"There is a reason why they're your soulmate," Buer said. "Don't you want to discover why?" 

"Someone like them has nothing in common with me." 

Your memories told the tale of a simple life. In an ideal world, a normal person like you wouldn't have been paired up with him. How it happened in this one was a mystery. If he was inclined to pity others, Wanderer would feel bad for you. Being his soulmate only brought you experiences that you couldn’t talk about to anyone.

“You cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago.” Their hands shook as they lifted their head to meet his gaze. He stilled. He had expected to read loneliness and fire in their eyes. He only found the glow of loneliness. It was the same he had seen in your reflection all those years ago.

Wanderer hid his face behind his hand. He supposed he was wrong. He could see a few ressemblances between you and him. That didn’t necessarily mean you would become friends.

"Don't expect too much from this meeting. I only plan on retelling my story, not on learning more about them."

Gentle hands covered his, pulling them away from his face before lightly squeezing them.

“You don’t need to. You already know them better than anyone else.” Buer's voice was as soft as her expression.

He opened his mouth but no snarky counter-argument came to his mind. From what little insight Wanderer had gained on friendship over the course of his life, sharing experiences with a potential friend wasn’t enough. You also had to learn about the other person's personality, their taste, the little things they did… Such a process was too much work for a relationship that would eventually decay. But the man already knew you, more intimately than any person ever would.

If to be friends was to learn about someone, he had become yours a long time ago.

Wanderer fought the urge to shield his face behind his hat. It would be as good as admitting to Buer her words had struck a chord. No way he would embarrass himself like that.

“You're not going to give up, are you?" he sighed.

“While I do hope you will form a bond with them, I will not hold it against you if it doesn’t happen.” She took some time to think, trying to come up with a convincing imagery. “Fate is a tricky concept. It steers you in a specific direction but it cannot force you to follow it. No matter what, you can always make your own way.”

He let the words sink in as he laid down on the cool grass. From the Sanctuary, he could hear the entire city’s hustle and bustle. The sound of the streets mixed with the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the branches.

He felt Buer sitting next to him. Her voice interrupted his quiet reverie, sounding cheekier than usual.

"Don't I deserve something in return for my good advice?"

Her eyes were focused on the small pouch hanging at his side.  He had forgotten about it, their conversation had distracted him. Wanderer shook his head in defeat. The Archon didn’t need to use her mind-reading powers to know about the actions of her subjects. 

“If you want to be paid for giving lectures, you should think about becoming a teacher at the Akademiya.”

“I would deprive someone from the joy of educating young minds.”

His lips curled into a grin. “Right. Poor them.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he relented. He unclipped the package from his belt and gave it to her, not bothering to sit back up. Buer tried to open it carefully. It was so full that in spite of her efforts, morsels of candied Ajilenakh nuts spilled on the ground.

Wanderer frowned at the sight of the mess. Something churned inside him. If he had known it would be wasted, he wouldn’t have bought so much food.

“Be more careful,” he chastised her. “It’s expensive.”

Buer shot him a perplexed look. He scoffed in response, averting his gaze. 

"I didn't buy them. The merchant gave free samples to bystanders and he couldn't take no for an answer."

Another white lie from him. He had noticed that Buer didn't have much candy left and since he had to go to the Bazaar anyway, he had decided to buy some. He watched as she inspected a piece of candy, rolling it between her fingers. He didn't get why she was head over heels for those disgustingly sweet nuts but he had to keep her in good spirits. Otherwise, she might decide to lock him back in his cell. That and seeing her smile so much sent warmth running in his chest. 

Her eyes crinkled, amused. "A free sample? How nice," she said, popping one of the delicacies in her mouth. He supposed there was no fooling the Archon of Knowledge. She pointed at him. "Your friend hasn't had the opportunity to try food from Sumeru, have they? You could bring them to Lambad’s and keep some of the Ajilenakh nuts to snack on."

“We have other things to do than distract ourselves with culinary tourism.”

“It’s not a distraction! See it as a bonding experience that will allow you to grow closer.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “As if I needed something like this to become their friend.”

He stopped after his own sentence. He blinked, not believing what he had just said.

Wanderer didn't know how he ended up in this situation. Truly. He was never one to let Fate decide for him. He defied it at each opportunity, fighting with all he had. This shouldn't have been any different. He was a traveler, an outcast, an outsider. He had no use for a soulmate– a lover. Especially not a human one, one that would be gone in a blink of his immortal life. 

He had no use for a lover, but he supposed that if he had to befriend a single person in the world, it may as well be you.

If you liked this work, please reblog and leave a comment or an ask!

[p-taryn-dactyl]

way down we go: the aftermath (i)

a/n: hi!! I love this AU and im so happy that y'all liked it!! i know i said that there wouldn't really be a long fic continuation but i think this AU has some real potential and so im back lmao, it's been a while

word count: 1.9k

warning(s): agatha is a serial killer - psychological manipulation (kind of) - 👀 🌶️ - i have no real clue how police and stuff works this is so fiction - rushed ending im sorry - this might be bad but hey! i wrote something (oh and, first time writing anything remotely spicy on this blog so please be kind)

pairing(s): serial killer!Agatha Harkness x forensic scientist!reader

way down we go & way down we go ii

The trial came and went, a passing memory in your mind, pushed away so you wouldn't see her eyes boring into your dreams. 

It didn't work. 

Every night since you sat as a witness against Agatha, blue eyes followed you to sleep, haunting you with their coldness. Every night you woke up in a cold sweat, a phantom knife held to your throat. 

This night wasn't different as you shot out of bed with a gasp, a sheen of sweat covering your skin. Checking the time, you allowed yourself a bit of gratitude at the amount of sleep you got this night. 

Deciding to get into work early to examine bone samples of a cold case that you had reopened, you stretched and walked to your bathroom to get ready. It was a numbing experience, Agatha's humming no longer filling the air to sooth your mind. Soon, you found yourself in your car on the road. As you pulled into the parking garage of the building, a feeling akin to dread pooled in your stomach. Never before did the cold, dark atmosphere of the garage haunt you, follow you, as it did right then. You parked, in your regular spot, a sense of normalcy that did little to calm your nerves. 

Agatha had claimed insanity, a response to the abuse and PTSD given to her by her own mother, a claim that had kept her off of death row. You would never admit to anyone that you were relieved, relieved that the woman you loved for so long wouldn’t meet her end in a dark room strapped to an inhumane device. However, unless you made the decision to visit, Agatha would spend the rest of her days in a federal prison. 

When you got out of your car, you had the feeling of being watched, a feeling you knew all too well. But when you looked around, no one was there. However, a fluttering noise caught your attention, drawing you to the concrete pillar next to your spot. A piece of paper, duck taped, fluttered in the small gusts of wind. You tore it off, opening the folded paper and promptly dropping it onto the ground below. 

You knew that handwriting. 

Before the note could be taken away with the wind, you crouched on the ground, picking up the paper and leaning against the pillar as you read. 

You won’t find anything with the bones, they’re old and dry: useless. Go back to where they were found, let’s see what you discover there. See you soon, my darling. 

~ A

It felt like years could pass and you were stuck in place. Millions of questions ran through your mind as your hands gripped the letter in a vice like grip. 

How did she know what you were doing?

How did she know about the bones?

How did she send this letter?

How, how, how?

No answers entered your mind, you could think of no way, no reason, that Agatha could’ve accomplished this. But curiosity prevailed and you stood up, making your way back into the driver's seat. 

This cold case has been the bane of your existence for far too long. Only bits of bones were found, a shallow grave that was old when discovered. No one had ever found the skull, let alone enough for a full skeleton. It was like the second the bones were discovered the case ran cold. Even if it was your wi- even if it was Agatha bringing to light new possible discoveries, you would take it. Solving this case could get you back on your feet, as you had been hiding in your lab in the months of Agatha’s trial. You entered the address of the crime scene, a long abandoned park and walking path thirty minutes away, into your GPS and drove away. 

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

The air was almost still with anticipation as you walked the path. The bits of bones had been found only a few hundred feet away and you felt a pull towards the spot. But as you got closer, you saw a stick standing straight up in the ground, marking the exact location of the shallow grave. On it was another piece of paper, with words that sent you falling to your knees, digging in the soft dirt with your hands, 

Here lies Evanora Harkness, first to die, the one with no regret. 

Dirt clung to your nails, roots stung against your skin as you clawed the ground away, making it past the spot where the initial grave ended. But as you kept going, you came across smaller bones. A body of a long decomposed rabbit lay in front of you, something to throw search dogs off their scent. You kept digging. You dug until your arms burnt with the strain, until your arms were covered in a thin layer of the earth. You dug until you found it. 

The skull. 

Its position in the ground told you how the body had been buried. Methodically, of course, but as if Evanora was standing up in the ground, arms stretched to the sky. The finger bones were what you had collected years previous. 

As you held the skull in your hands, you felt an indent on the jaw. A cut from her throat, sloppy with the hands of someone first committing murder. This really was Agatha’s first victim. But why had she led you here, how did she lead you here? One more body equaled another life sentence, no chance of ever seeing daylight again. 

Your phone started ringing, the horrible service on the walking path letting a stray call through. You answered, but Darcy’s voice barely made it over the static. 

“Turn on the news!” Was all you could hear before the call fell through. 

The panic in your colleagues and friend’s voice made you stand with haste, putting the skull back into the ground and frantically pushing the dirt back into the hole. You grabbed the stick, breaking it and throwing it off the trail as you crumbled up the note, stuffing it in your back pocket. 

There was a gas station almost right outside the park. You rushed in, your mind going a thousand miles per hour. Why would Darcy want you to turn on the news? You had your answer almost the second you crossed the threshold. A group of people stood in front of the cashier, who had a small TV hanging above their head. The news was playing, a somber looking reporter standing in front of a landscape covered with tape and police cars. 

“Earlier this week, a mass confusion occurred outside Salem Penitentiary. Law enforcement said that, at the time, they didn’t know how bad the damage was. But now, as reports flood in, they have no choice but to release what really happened. A prison break. Some two hundred…” 

Her voice trailed off in your mind, muffled by your shock. 

The notes, the feeling of being watched, the cold case. 

Agatha had escaped. 

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

The drive back home was loud. You blasted music, yelled at others on the road, honked at people to get out of your way. When you pulled into your driveway, it was like a wave of deja vu crashed over you. The car went silent as you turned it off, your eyes never leaving the shadow in the window. Slowly, you got out of the car, your heart practically beating out of your chest. You opened the front door, the silent aura of your home expectant as you walked further into your house. In the living room, it was like history repeating itself. Except this time, your wife held no wine and had no knife. She wore clothes from the closet you couldn’t bear to clean out, looked like she had recently taken a shower - something you were suddenly very aware you needed, but her eyes stayed the same. Cold and blue, boring into you. You steeled yourself, not letting your eyes fall from hers as you approached her. Agatha just watched until you were a foot in front of her, she uncrossed her legs and spread her arms out like she wanted a hug. You hated how fast you folded, rushing to straddle her lap and wrap your arms around her. Burying your face into her neck, you felt tears build up in your eyes. For a moment, you would let yourself pretend. Pretend that your wife wasn’t a serial killer, pretend that she hadn’t been in prison for months, pretend that it was all a bad dream and she was consoling you. 

“Oh how I missed you, darling,” her voice sent chills down your spine. It held overwhelming affection, but she spoke as if detached. It was then you realized the last time she had seen you was when you sat the witness stand, giving the evidence to put her away for lifetimes. You leaned back, letting your arms rest on her shoulders as you stared at her. Her eyes examined you, running over the bags under your eyes, the dirt layering the skin on your arms. Seeing the concern in her eyes made something in your mind crumble. 

Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, right? And honestly, her victims had no one to miss them so-

You internally shook your head at yourself. No, you couldn’t think like that, you couldn’t-

Your train of thought was interrupted by Agatha’s hands cupping your face. You brought up your hands to cover hers, tears now streaming down your face. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you choked out, noticing how something in Agatha’s eyes softened at your words, “I thought I was doing the right thing, I didn’t want-”

She cut you off with a light kiss, which deepened as her grip on your face grew tighter. Soon, your lips were crashing against hers with a ferocity you had missed. Craved. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around you as she stood. Never once breaking the kiss. She brought you to the spot you stood all those months ago, pressing you against the wall as she kissed down your neck, sucking lightly at your collarbone. 

“Agatha-”

“Did you miss me?” She cut you off with a bite to your shoulder, pushing your sleeve down your arm with strength that almost tore the seams. You let out a breathy gasp, surprised. 

“I,” you swallowed, about to admit something out loud that you had only thought for months, “I did, I do, I miss you so much.” The tears came back, flooding your eyes and choking your words. Agatha looked up, slowly letting you down so you could stand as she put one arm by your head. 

“I’m right here, I don’t plan on leaving you alone for a long time.” 

The smile she gave you was shark like, all teeth. You were her prey and you fell right into her trap. Her free hand trailed down your body, coming to pause over the buttons on your pants. She circled the metal, tapping it as she spoke. 

“Now, after our last conversation, I don’t think you believe me when I say I missed you,” some part of you shuddered with guilt, she was right, you didn’t believe her fully, “And I can’t have that. Why don’t I show you how much I missed you?” 

You gasped as she unbuttoned your pants, trailing her fingers down to the place that had been abandoned since Agatha went behind bars. She crashed her lips into yours again, licking the seam of your lips, begging to be let in. You parted your lips, allowing your wife to consume you. As her fingers pushed your underwear to the side, you wrapped your arms around Agatha’s neck tighter, raising one leg to hook around her hip. 

Oh this was a bad idea.

a/n: hehe, hopfully this was ok?? my writing slump has been EVIL and im just now crawling out of it

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience 9

(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 9th snippet. The evening before they plan to march on Eregion and fight Sauron, Adar and Celebrimbor share one last dinner together. The elf ponders his time with the uruk, and the two husbands share some reassurances. (There is some mildly alluded to/hinted Adar/Sauron and Celebrimbor/Sauron in this, but it can be read as either platonic or romantic imo.)

Remember how I mentioned that I'd write one of their meals if my muse let me? Yeah, have one extra part. As a treat. We are nearing the finish line, slowly but surely, and I am both excited and a lil anxious about it. At least it looks like I might actually get this thing finished, which is still mind-boggling to me. Enjoy!

They'd do it, tomorrow. It still felt surreal to even think it, but tomorrow, the joined armies of Adar and Gil-Galad would march onto Eregion together, demand entry, attack Sauron - and hopefully, free all of middle earth of the looming threat he posed to it.

Everyone had been tense, even downright restless, during the day. Galadriel hadn't been able to sit down during the last round of planning, Elrond had been lost in thought more than not, and Gil-Galad had taken to pinching his brow and twirling Vilya around his finger at times when before, he'd have avoided such obvious tells about his state of mind.

Even Celebrimbor had found himself wringing his hands and fiddling with a writing quill to the point that he'd accidentally frayed it, earlier in the day.

The only one who seemed to become more even-tempered instead of agitated was Adar. The smith had first noticed it when the uruk poured all of them something to drink; whereas Celebrimbor's own hands shook from nerves as he reached to take his cup, Adar held it out steadily for him.

The uruk wandered around the table in an almost leisurely pace, calmly recited the number of his troops or the amount of war machinery he possessed, and pointed out potential weak points of the city walls as well as how their alliance might safely breach them in case the city was truly lost to the Deceiver - all with nary a hint of emotion.

It was eye-opening, in a sense, to see how Adar appeared to thrive in a time that spelt dread for most others. The smith needed to mull this over, for a time, until he realized that this was likely due to how the uruk had lived most of their lives. Always prepared for a battle, for an attack, for aggression.

They knew war, understood war, even if they wished to avoid it when it came to Eregion. Most likely, they'd been forced into it by Morgoth. And then, after the fallen valar had been banished and Sauron temporarily defeated, they'd had to live it once more, when the other races of middle earth turned their backs instead of reaching out to them.

These and similar thoughts haunted Celebrimbor's mind as he and Adar sat down together for dinner later that day - the final one they would have together in this camp, before facing their enemy tomorrow.

As the elf watched Adar eat, looking almost completely unperturbed, while Celebrimbor merely picked at his own food. Mixed in with his worries, there was a sense of melancholy that demanded closer attention.

He hadn't been in the uruk camp for long, all things considered. A few weeks, at most. And yet, he had found a sense of normalcy here, between negotiations and exploring the camp with Glûg, tinkering at Gurlak's forge and having conversations with Adar. Especially the latter part.

The elf's feelings towards his husband had gone through rapid changes in those few weeks. From initial fear and distrust, to brief resignation, to hope, ease, curiosity. Mutual respect, a sense of camaderie, then companionship. 

Friendship.

Affection.

Something the smith couldn't - didn't dare to - name yet.

When Celebrimbor looked up again, hoping to catch another glance of his husband's face while the other focused wholly on his meal, the smith felt warm when he found that the uruk was already watching him instead.

There was a moment as Adar chewed and swallowed whatever he had been eating, before stared pointedly at Celebrimbor's plate. "Is the food not to your liking today?" A pause. "Or is something else the matter?"

The elf exhaled, long and loud, and felt his shoulders sink in defeat. He put aside his fork. His meal had surely gone cold by now, and he didn't feel able to stomach any more anyways. "The food is as good as always. I just find myself...distracted, today."

Adar hummed. "That is to be expected. I think all of us are having mixed feelings about tomorrow," he replied, and held Celebrimbor's gaze. "But remember it is not just a simple fight. It is the chance to save all of middle earth for generations to come - possibly even for good."

The elf nodded, and tried to will his face into a more hopeful expression, but it wouldn't obey him. There were a great many things that troubled him; some that had done so for weeks, some that recently started to keep his mind occupied. Now, they threatened to overwhelm him. "You are right. I should try and focus on the positive side of things. But I find it hard not to- have some lingering apprehension."

He found his own eyes had wandered the tent as the spoke, unable to focus on the uruk, and the smith had to consciously pull them back toward his husband. Who did, in fact, still watch him. Adar's eyes were intense, and it felt as if he could see all of Celebrimbor's doubts in that moment.

"You aren't feeling ready to face him tomorrow, aren't you?" the uruk asked.

Celebrimbor tensed in response - he had not expected the other to see his deepest fears and lay them out, bared to both their gaze in the space between them.

But the look in Adar's eyes was one of understanding, and his tone soft as he spoke, and so the smith felt safe enough to be honest with himself as well as his husband.

"No, I do not," he admitted, and heard his voice crack before he cleared his throat and sat up straighter. He balled his hands, which he had placed in his lap, into fists to stop them from shaking. "I fear what I will find, walking back into that city. What he might have done to it. To my forge, to my subjects. My apprentices, my - friends."

"But most of all, I am terrified of having to be so close to him again," his voice was small. "Of what he might do, how he might try and twist my own mind against me, my ambitions and my insecurities. What if he gets a hold of me again and I cannot resist him this time?" The question was directed at no one, but it was one that had kept him on his feet, twitchy and eager to occupy his mind with other things.

It was a deep-seated fear that had gnawed away at him, so insidious he hadn't even dared to admit it to himself until then. He'd tired to push it away for all those last weeks, at least until it became apparent that their negotiations would actually lead somewhere, as their alliance finally took shape.

He was startled from his thoughts when Adar spoke up. Still, his voice was soft. If he hadn't been under Morgoth's command and suffered whatever had scarred body, Celebrimbor suspected the other's singing voice might have rivalled the beauty and candence of Maglor himself.

"Back then, in the First Age, when I freed my children. I did not feel ready to face him either," Adar revealed.

The elf needed a moment to fully comprehend the words, and as he did, his eyes widened.

The uruk was still looking directly at Celebrimbor, but when the elf remained silent - too stunned to speak - Adar continued. He propped up his elbow and let the fingers of his gauntleted hand rub against one another as his face tilted to the right of him, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Back then, it had already been centuries, even millenia, that I had served in his master's ranks alongside him. Mairon, as he was still called back then, had been friend and foe alike, at least I thought so. I followed him and his master's lead, both because I thought there was no other way, and because I could not make myself leave even when I hoped to create another path to walk instead."

"Each time I threatened to falter, he managed to coax, plead or seduce me back into perfect loyalty. Even when they twisted and scarred my children, even during all the wars they made me wage for them. He told me it would all lead to a future where my children and I could be free. And I believed him."

"It was only when he began to sacrifice them in droves for his 'unseen world' project, when he grew the idea of subjecting all living things not just to his yoke, but his very thoughts, that something changed."

There was a long pause. Celebrimbor did not even dare breathe too loudly, much less move. He could not take his eyes off of Adar, who looked both so regal and so frail in that very moment.

"I could not bear the idea of losing any more of my children. Or any more of me. But even then- it was the most terrifying thought I'd ever had, and the most terrifying thing I had attempted. I still see myself killing him on the back of my eyelids during bad nights. And each time, I still feel the same fear as I did back then."

Finally, Adar looked at Celebrimbor again. The elf felt unmoored, as if he were floating, from the sheer depth of compassion he saw in those eyes. "Believe me when I tell you - I fear tomorrow the same as you do."

Celebrimbor swallowed, and felt his eyes cloud over a little, before he blinked the moisture away and looked down, trying to hide his reaction.

He heard Adar get up from his chair and walk over towards him, at which point the smith lifted his head in surprise. Adar was still watching him, but his look was changing from one of compassion to a different expression, one that the elf couldn't quite place-

The uruk sat down on his haunches next to Celebrimbor's chair, and placed his bare hand onto the elf's wrist. Warmth seeped through his robe and he felt as if it were spreading through across his whole body. It brought Celebrimbor back to himself, made him feel grounded and- safe.

"I did it for my children, back then," the uruk explained. "All you have told me, all that I have seen you do, made it clear to me that you too care about your people in such a way as I do mine. And look how far it has brought us. Few believed this alliance could be achieved, yet we did. Neither of us has to face him alone now."

"I did not falter when it mattered most, back then. I will not falter now. And neither will you. I am sure of it."

Celebrimbor could only describe the way he felt as 'thunderstruck'. The nagging voice in the back of his mind, his doubts, all of it seemed to fall away at Adar's words, the way he said them so confidently, with an assuredness that made the elf unable to even question, much less contradict him.

If Adar believed that they would succeed, then they would. There was no other option. Perhaps, the elf mused, this was part of why Adar was such a good leader to the uruk.

When Celebrimbor didn't speak, Adar lightly squeezed his wrist. This, of all things, helped Celebrimbor regain his speech with a slight jolt. The warmth of their contact continued to spread through him. Yes, this- this was definitely affection he was feeling. Fondness.

"I do not just fear for my own people," the elf replied, voice still quiet. "I fear for yours as well. I have made...friends, among them. Glûg, and Gurlak. I know Glûg has a wife and child. Gurlak has apprentices like I had- have, in Eregion."

At that, a light quirk stole itself onto Adar's lips. The elf felt his gaze being drawn to the motion. Whenever Adar smiled, even just a little, it seemed to transform his whole face.

"And I am pleased that you have. As I said. I did not think it could be done, a friendship between elves and uruk. I am glad you helped prove me wrong - and everyone else, too."

Celebrimbor tried to say more, even as his words threatened to flee him again, but Adar was too quick for him to do so as the uruk got up again.

"Rest. I need to check on my lieutenants and help ready the troops for tomorrow. Perhaps you might be able to eat a bit more, yet," Adar said. As he walked behind the elf's chair, towards the entrance of the tent, his hand slid from Celebrimbor's wrist, up his arm and to his shoulder, which he squeezed softly with his hand.

Adar's words, his touch, the way it made Celebrimbor's heart seize and then feel as if it might burst in his chest, made the smith quickly reach up with his own hand and catch Adar's where it lay, grasping it and keeping it locked in place.

A shuddery breath, and he turned his head up at the other.

The uruk was looking at him still, but his face was more placid now. He was so quick, so skilled, at hiding himself away.

There were so many things the smith had said in his life - he'd given rousing speeches, encouragements to his apprentices. Affirmations for his friends, praise for Elrond, Galadriel and Gil-Galad for their accomplishments, tender words to those who had endured great losses.

And yet, now, his words had utterly deserted him.

He wanted to tell Adar so many things - 'I am glad we achieved a treaty for our people.' 'You are nothing like I expected.' 'I am glad you are here.' 'You and your words have calmed me like no other could.' 'I worry about you most of all.' 'I cannot explain what I am feeling, but the thought of losing you terrifies me, I think I might not be able to bear it.'

'Meeting you has been a coincidence, but I am glad it did happen, despite the circumstances.' 'I liken your eyes to gemstones in my thoughts and I want to craft you jewelry that fit their shade.' 'I wish I knew how to ask to repair your armor, so I might protect you like you did me.'

'I think I feel more for you than a husband in a political marriage typically does. Certainly more than I expected to feel.'

But, overwhelmed by his own revelations, the only thing he managed to say was "Thank you, Adar, for your reassurance. I am not sure if I might ever be ready to face him, but. You are right. And I am glad not to be alone this time," a pause. "You are not alone this time, either."

There was another small smile on Adar's lips, but it made Celebrimbor feel dejected instead of elated, for it seemed to hold no happiness, nor humor.

"You are very welcome, Celebrimbor. Now, as I said - eat. I will be joining you again once I am done," and with that, Adar stepped away as he pulled his hand out of Celebrimbor's grasp, and was gone from the tent before the elven smith could protest.

He sat there, his own hand still resting on his shoulder, still and quiet and all by himself. His heart still felt too big for his chest, but now, it also felt is if someone were tearing it apart.

Never in his life had Celebrimbor felt so utterly, completely bereft before. As if something intangible, yet very crucial and important, had just slipped through his fingers. And he felt terribly unsure if he would have the chance to ever reclaim it.

This, instead the thought of facing Sauron come tomorrow, scared him most of all.

[bronze-and-silver-keys]

i was telling my sister about the ghost au and she said "i think it would be cool if everyone alive can see the ghosts of the people who were executed because they're the ones who voted for them and sent them to their deaths" and i think you mightve said at one point that the "killer" is a more literal thing but. thoughts on that

I actually had the loopholes of the ghost au on my mind since this post and there are definitely cool things I can do with it, SO I will be answering a lot of the questions brought up by that previous post because I think it would be sick as fuck and add to the uneasy atmosphere of the killing games themselves

Spoilers for THH, SDR2, and NDRV3 below

Can Makoto see Chihiro? (In one of the FTEs he reccomends training with Mondo)

I would imagine Makoto is kind of haunted by all of the people that died in the killing game, including Junko, both figuratively and literally. He'll catch glimpses of their ghostly forms out of the corner of his eye, in the bathroom mirror, in the shadows.

I want to see this boy driven insane by the constant reminder of all the people he couldn't help or felt so responsible for dying. I want more of that scene in DR3 where Makoto volunteers to watch the killing game video and sees everyone that died.

I love Makoto, but I love subjecting him to endless despair even more.

Can Aoi see Sakura?

Can Hiro/Syo see Sakura (because they think they killed her)

Similar to Makoto, Aoi sees Sakura everywhere as a ghostly figure that's not completely there. She'll see her at the end of a hall, turning a corner, and shout her name and bolt after her, only to find it empty as she breaks down from the guilt of not being able to stop her and essentially handing Sakura her own death.

For Hiro it'd be similar, because he believes in ghosts (as shown by his insistence in the 5th trial that Kyoko was a ghost), but he'd be more jumpy.

Genocider Syo wouldn't be as prone to seeing her ghost, but Toko would be the same as Hiro. Seeing her everywhere and being terrified to sleep at night.

Can Nagito see Twogami?

During the first investigation and trial, I think he would be able to see Twogami's silhouette when it hangs around Teruteru and passes silent judgment. I like to think he'd at least feel some guilt over it. Yes, he set this all up to start the killing game, but Twogami did this to protect him. He gave his life for him. How could that person who pulled you back from the fate you created with your own hands, only to fall victim to it himself, just fade away entirely?

After Teruteru’s execution, the sightings of Twogami became less frequent, until they disappeared altogether. Until he died, of course.

Can Sonia see Hiyokos ghost because she told her to go to the music venue to tie her kimono?

The guilt of that would definitely chase her, and only build more after Gundham's death (the betrayal and the thought that she could've stopped him [she couldn't. His fate was inevitable]) and the fifth trial (she knew the bombs were fake, and this piece of information eventually helped condemn Chiaki to her fate).

I would argue she felt partially responsible for Mahiru and Peko's deaths as well. It was her enthusiasm over Sparkling Justice that gave Peko the idea of her cover to be voted as the blackened, and just inspired a large part of the murder overall.

She loves to talk about her interests, but refrains from speaking about them, just in case someone used that information for a murder. She would see Hiyoko in mirrors constantly. Every interaction she had with the Devas hurt more than the last. Nagito and Chiaki are always just out of view.

I never thought about how haunted Sonia would be by just trying to help keep everyone safe, and have some kind of normalcy by making friends and talking about her interests. Huh.

Can Maki see Ryoma (<- Because they swapped Motive Videos and that gave Ryoma less will to live)

Ryoma would hang out a lot in his lab after he died, thinking about his life, what went wrong, why no one was left for him outside of the academy.

The night after the trial, Maki stops by his lab, posture stiff and shifting from one foot to the other, and start apologizing to the empty air. After Kokichi revealed her true talent, she doesn't want to be seen as just a killer. She feels guilty about giving him the motive video, even if she didn't know what was on it. She apologizes for killing him before Kirumi dealt the final blow.

Ryoma suddenly appears before her while she's finally starting to tear up and her throat is closing. There he is in front of her, clear as day, reassuring her that it wasn't her fault. He would've found out one way or another. He should've been stronger, he should've fought for the others inside of the academy and made an effort to be closer to them. He shouldve made them his reason to live. He just wasn't strong enough.

He tells her to live. Even if you have no one out there, live. Live for yourself. Live for the friends you will make in the future. Live for the days when the sun is shining while rain pours down on everything. Live for the trill a cat makes when disturbed by pets during a nap in the sun. Live for all the color in the world, for the music, for the intoxicating scent of sweets and fresh bread. Live, damn it.

Can Himiko see Tenko? (<- Himiko was supposed to die at the seance)

Sometimes, when she can't sleep, Himiko will sit up in bed, and see Tenko's familiar outline sitting in the chair by her bed, watching over her. Every time, she breaks down into a mess of tears and repetitious apologies.

Can Maki see Kokichi? (<- we still don't know if the poison killed Kokichi before the press)

Teehee I'm already writing a fic about this with canon divergence (it's in my pinned post, if you haven't read it please do I'm working on a new chapter) BUT if we stay with canon, with Kaito being the Blackened:

Maki would never see but always hear both of them. She would hear them bickering just out of sight nearby constantly. Both of them would greet her in the morning, wish her a good night. She would be sure she was going insane from the guilt.

If she hadn't intervened and fired the crossbow, maybe she wouldn't have had to go through the heartache that was the entire 5th trial.

Can Himiko see Kaito (<- Gave him the crossbow/weapon to fight Kokichi with.)

This is an instance where i don't think she would have as strong a reason to feel responsible for his death. I believe she would see it more that she did what she could to help him, but have no real power in the whole situation. That doesn't mean she doesn't miss the hell out of him. He was the last remnant of Tenko she really had. They acted so similar.

[e-dragonic]

BEING MOBIAN AU

Based loosely on Being Human

What do you get when you get an anxious Werewolf, a repenting Vampire, and a naive Ghost in a house together?

A semidisfunctional family!

Barrett was the first. Around 100-ish years ago, he was a great Echidna Warrior of his Tribe, who protected a powerful mystical artifact. During the tail end of a War against another Tribe, he ran into Clutch and his flock of Werebeast hunters. They were passing by, picking off stragglers from the War when they met. Despite being outnumbered, Barrett fought back as he saw one of them drain one of his fellow Tribesmen dry. Clutch took him up on his declaration and though the fight was a bit sided, Clutch liked his ferocity. So when Barrett lay on the ground defeated he gave him a proposal, join him and his flock or they would kill him and destroy his Tribe. Under the threat, Barrett had no choice but to accept and let Clutch turn him, eventually giving him the nickname of 'Knuckles' for the Sliver Knucks he would soon wield.

He tried to hold onto his Warrior spirit, but it wasn't long before he became like them, bloodthirsty and ruthless till he met a witch, another Echidna named Tikal, who brought back some of his morality and honor, as feelings came back to a heart he thought long since dead.

But it wasn't long before they were found out and Clutch killed Tikal for her blood. When he found out, Barrett started on his path of redemption. He ran far from his Sire and his group, feasting on the blood of animals instead of Mobians to sate his Thirst.

Eventually, he got a job and began to set his roots down in the small town of Emerald Valley, once he found out that a close friend of his, Rouge was the 'Head' of the Town. He found a house in the suburbs, hoping to try and regain normalcy...until he found out he wasn't alone...

A ghost, a two-tailed fox by the name of Miles, or Tails, haunted the house. He didn't know how long he had been dead or how he died. In fact, he didn't even know he was dead until Barrett explained what Miles was now and what he was.

It wasn't long before a friendship formed between Barrett and Miles.

One day, when a curious Tails tagged along with Barrett to see how he hunted, they stumbled across Nicholas, a newly bitten Werebeast, just waking up after a rough Moon. It wasn't long before he noticed them and quickly ran before anyone could say a word. Barrett was prepared to go in the other direction but Miles decided to follow after the strange Werebeast despite Barrett calling after him.

Miles soon finds Nicholas' campsite where he quickly packs up his stuff because if there's one Vampire, there's more nearby and he had already had a very bad experience with them. Miles was quick to explain how Barrett is different but Nicholas is skeptical.

It takes a lot of convincing from Miles to get Barrett on board with inviting Nicholas to live with them and it takes a lot of convincing from both of them to get Nicholas to accept their invitation, stating that he deserves to live and feel normal just as much as the two of them. Nicholas soon gets a job where Barrett works and the three of them just try to Be Mobian.

...

Yeah, this is my new fixation now. I'm so sorry to those who were looking at Growing Pain. It'll still come... in time but for now, you guys get this!

Sorry for the Watermarks, you can never be too safe nowadays.

Trust me when I say it's worth it. Those in the THOAM server have seen the drawings and even short stories I've written for this and you guys will too!

Will there be an Ao3 fic of this? Yes, there will be! It'll take a while for me to start it due to IRL stuff but it'll be done. I'll even start by putting up the two short stories I have now. Mostly of Nic but I do want to do shorts of Barrett and Miles eventually.

This even comes with a relationship chart for your viewing pleasure!

It'll be filled out with pictures in time and will be updated along with the Fic!

Know that this is still kinda? in the works? so don't be surprised by any changes.

My ask box is always open for asks about my characters or AUs!

[jenuinely-speaking]

Haven't been able to write at all the past two weeks and it seems even Spotify is on my side tonight 🙌🏽

It's time to get this first monster chapter done and possibly post some previews and back story for this AU. Been working on it for almost a year and it's been sizzling in the slow cooker 🤌🏽

Sneak peak tag of story one of the collection in the tags

[xlettex]

Deception || tetsurou kuroo Yakuza AU - Chapter Three

From the moment you looked into his eyes, you knew—he was nothing but trouble. Everyone warned you. Stay away from him. Don’t get involved. But you never listened. Tetsurou Kuroo, better known as Kurai, is the infamous yakuza boss of Japan. Just mentioning his name is enough to send shivers down spines and silence conversations in dimly lit alleyways. He is a force of nature—deceitful, ruthless, and dangerously unpredictable. A man who bends the world to his will, leaving chaos in his wake. And yet, to you… he is irresistible. You crave him — his touch, his warmth, the way he sets your skin on fire with just a glance. He makes you feel invincible like you can take on the world. But loving him is a double-edged sword. Because just as he lifts you up, he destroys you.

pairing - tetsurou kuroo x reader genre - action romance, crime romance, dark romance, erotica/smut rating - 18+ MINORS DNI chapter word count - 7.6k content warning - violence, drugs and alcohol, illegal activities, sexual content, and angst. see each chapter for specific warnings.

Authors Note - This fanfic is inspired by the amazing fanart of the tetsurou kuroo mafia au (found image on pinterest, help me find the artist - I want to credit them). Disclaimer- This is a work of fiction, I do not condone the act of illegal activities, violence, or romanticization of the yakuza. Read at your own risk.

chapter two <- chapter three -> chapter four

✯ chapter-specific warnings -violence, references to drugs, alcohol, illegal activity, depression, mention of suicide, anxiety, death, grief ✯

You step onto the street, the morning air crisp, biting at your exposed skin. The streets hum with life—children rushing past you, eager to make it to school, adults briskly moving along the sidewalks, and the faint smell of fresh bread drifting from an open café door. You feel out of place. The vibrant normalcy of the world around you is a stark contrast to the turbulence occupying your mind. You shiver, but not from the cold. The weight of uncertainty clings to you, wrapping you in a quiet, suffocating embrace.

A few weeks have passed since you patched up Tetsurou, his cryptic words and that unnerving smirk continue to haunt you. You haven’t seen him since, but his gaze lingers in your thoughts, like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. Every time your mind wanders, his voice echoes—“I owe you”—and each time, a knot tightens in your chest.

What does owing me even entail? The question swirls around you, relentlessly, as you try to make sense of it all. But every answer you come up with only leads to more confusion.

You barely knew the man. Yes, you helped him in the alley, but surely that wasn’t enough to warrant a debt—especially one that seemed so… personal. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was instinct, a basic sense of morality. You weren’t the kind of person to leave a bleeding man to die in the street.

The hospital was already buzzing with activity when you arrived. The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the faint aroma of fresh coffee from the nurses’ station. The steady beeping of monitors hummed in the background as you weaved through the crowded hallway, nodding at a few coworkers who looked just as exhausted as you felt. Everything about this place was routine. It should have brought comfort, but the thought of Tetsurou lingered, ever-present, like a slow-burning fuse you couldn’t quite extinguish. You tried to push it aside by immersing yourself in the busy chaos of the hospital.

“You’re late.”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts as Shirabu glanced up at you over the top of his clipboard.

“Only by two minutes,” you said, offering a sheepish smile as you grabbed your scrub cap from your locker.

“Two minutes could be the difference between life or death in surgery,” he said, his voice carrying a touch of authority, though there was no real malice behind it. “You’re assisting with my laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Get scrubbed in.”

“Yes, sir.”

The mechanical motions of getting ready for surgery are second nature by now. The sterile environment, the use of medical jargon—it’s familiar and comforting. You tried your best to only focus on work and for a moment, you almost forgot about what was plaguing your mind. Almost.

Then, during a lull between procedures, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen.

PAST DUE NOTICE: FINAL WARNING.

Your stomach dropped. You barely dared to open the message, but you already knew. Rent was overdue—again. You had a week, maybe less, before your landlord took action. And with the hospital cutting overtime hours, there was no easy way to fix this.

Your grip tightened around your phone, a sinking dread coiling in your stomach. You took a sharp breath, pushing the screen aside just as Koushi’s name flashed across the display.

You hesitated before answering, trying to push past the uneasy feeling gnawing at you. “Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” Koushi’s voice came through, filled with concern and a touch of frustration, stark against the quiet hum of the hospital. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. You’ve been on my mind, especially since.....” He lets out a breath,  “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

The warmth in his voice should have been comforting, but it only made you feel more torn. You weren’t sure how to explain that you weren’t fine—so many emotions clouded your thoughts, so many things left unsaid. The weight of the chance encounter with Tetsurou was starting to feel heavier by the day.

“I’m fine,” you said a little too quickly, pushing the words out with a forced cheer. “Just been busy with work, you know how it is.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the silence thick with Koushi’s concern. You could almost hear him debating whether to press further. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer. “You don’t sound fine. You’ve barely responded to my texts and ignored all my calls. I’m surprised you answered this one. I just... I’m worried, okay? Since what happened a few weeks ago, you’ve been distant.”

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the counter in the break room as you ran a hand through your hair. Koushi’s worry felt like a heavy blanket, smothering you with its warmth. He was right. You hadn’t been yourself. But how could you explain the unease gnawing at your insides? How could you explain the growing dread that's taken root in your chest?

“I’m fine, Koushi. Really,” you say, your voice faltering despite your best efforts. “Just... work has been hectic. That’s all.”

Another long silence. You can hear Koushi breathing on the other end, his concern palpable, like a soft weight pressing down on your chest. “I get it,” he says, finally, a hint of resignation in his voice. “But you can’t keep ignoring everything that happened. You can’t just push me away. I’m your best friend. I’m here, alright?”

You close your eyes for a moment, pressing your palm to your forehead as if it could ease the weight of his words. He’s right, you know he is. Koushi always knows when you’re hiding behind a mask, pretending everything is fine.

You let out a breath, feeling the familiar weight of your past settle over you like a shadow. You’d never fully allowed yourself to belong to the Sugawara family. They’d taken you in when you had nothing, and given you warmth and comfort when you needed it most, but they could never replace what you’d lost. A small, guarded part of you kept its distance, remembering that people could be taken from you in an instant. Loss had always been a silent companion, one you couldn’t shake no matter how many people surrounded you.

"I... I know," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But sometimes it’s easier not to feel too much. It doesn’t hurt as much that way."

Koushi’s sigh on the other end was filled with a deep, tired understanding, “Listen, I was thinking we could meet for dinner tonight, my treat. It’s been a while since the two of us hung out properly. Maybe a change of scenery will help clear your head.”

Dinner with Koushi sounds exactly like what you need. You hesitate, staring at the phone in your hand as if it holds the answers you’re searching for. Part of you wants to say no, to remain in this space where no one can reach you, but the other part aches for a sense of normalcy you haven't felt in weeks. The quiet comfort Koushi offers feels like a lifeline you desperately need.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” you said, more to reassure him than anything. “Let’s do it.”

A sound of relief filtered through the phone, and you could almost picture Koushi’s smile on the other end. “Good. I’ll text you the details,” he said. “Just... take care of yourself, okay?”

You smiled softly, though he couldn’t see. “I will, I promise.”

You ended the call and tucked your phone back into your pocket, forcing yourself to focus on the next surgery. But even as you suited up for the next procedure, The dinner invite with Koushi lingered in your mind. The thought of a quiet dinner and some normalcy beckoned like a distant shore, a place you weren’t sure you were ready to reach but knew you desperately needed to.

At the same time, far above the streets of Tokyo, in a sleek penthouse bathed in the warm glow of the midday sun, Kuroo sat at the head of a polished, modern table. The expansive view of the city sprawled beneath him, a chaotic maze of buildings and bustling streets, mirroring his volatile life. Papers were scattered before him, but his focus was distant, his thoughts miles away. His fingers swirled the glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light, but the real matter gnawing at his mind had little to do with business.

He can’t stop thinking about you.

Weeks had passed, and you still lingered in the recesses of his mind, an echo that refused to fade. Your quiet concern, the hesitation in your eyes when you helped him—it all replayed in his head like a song stuck on repeat. But it wasn’t just your actions that haunted him. It was your face—your eyes, soft and uncertain, yet sharp with something he couldn’t quite place. The way your hair fell, it was messy but somehow still perfect. The way you looked at him as if you saw something more, something deeper. He should have let it go by now. It should have meant nothing. 

But here he was —wondering what it was that made you so different.

A part of him itched to repay you, to settle the unspoken debt that lingered between the two of you. Yet, another part—the one that knew better—was reluctant to. Once he started paying that debt, your life would be intertwined with his. And being involved with someone like you? That was a danger he couldn’t afford to entertain.

The soft click of the door broke his reverie, and Kuroo looked up to find Kenma entering, his expression flat, unreadable. As always, Kenma knew. Kuroo didn’t have to say a word—his friend was sharp enough to see through the mask he wore.

“You’re still thinking about her,” Kenma said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Kuroo’s eyes flicked to Kenma, a sharp, almost predatory glint flashing in his gaze. He leaned back in his chair, his tone low, tinged with frustration. “It’s not that simple,” he muttered, trying to push the thought of you away. 

Kenma didn’t comment, but the look he gave was enough to say he wasn’t buying it.

Kuroo dragged a hand through his hair, ignoring the faint pull of his stitches. His mind shifted gears, locking onto something else gnawing at him. His eyes fell on the papers he’d been neglecting while he recovered. “Daishou’s attack... it was too messy, too risky. That’s just not his style. He frowned, his grip tightening around the glass. “This isn’t just a turf dispute. There’s more going on here.”

Kenma leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “A drug deal gone wrong?” he mused, his voice calm, calculating.

Kuroo shook his head. “No. If it were, he wouldn’t have played it this way. I have a feeling this isn’t about the usual shit. He may want to take over control—starting by seeing how much chaos he can throw into our organization—and he’s not working alone. The shift in his methods only confirms that.”  His voice turned sharp, frustration creeping in. “So who the fuck is helping him?”

Kenma considered the theory, letting the silence stretch between them. Then, finally, he spoke. “Daishou’s reckless, but he’s not stupid. If this were about taking over, he’d be smarter.” His gaze darkened slightly. “Are we sure he’s even involved, it could be an entirely new threat?”

Kuroo exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers against the glass, the sound filling the quiet space. “Good point. We need to consider other angles.” He shifted, eyes narrowing. “Have Yaku look into that missing shipment from last week. If this is connected, I want to know.”

“Already on top of it.” Kenma’s tone was clipped.

Kuroo exhaled, jaw tight. “Someone’s poking holes in places they shouldn’t. And I don’t fucking like it.”

The room hung heavy with tension, but it wasn’t just business weighing on Kuroo’s mind. Kenma was watching him too closely, and Kuroo knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, Kenma’s voice broke through the quiet, edged with amusement. “It’s been weeks. Why is she still on your mind?”

Kuroo’s fingers twitched. The frustration inside him coiled tighter. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice lower now, rougher. He ran a hand down his face, ignoring how his muscles tensed at the thought of her. “She helped me. But it’s more than that and I can’t figure out why.”

Kenma studied him, sharp eyes assessing, before he tilted his head slightly. “I’ve never seen you like this.” His voice was almost amused, but there was something else beneath it—curiosity, maybe. “Not since… well, ever.” A small, dry laugh escaped him. “A girl’s never gotten you this off-balance.”

Kuroo’s eyes snapped to him, irritation flaring before he smothered it beneath cold indifference. “I’m not off-balance,” he muttered. The words rang hollow.

Kenma let the silence stretch before offering a shrug. “Maybe not. But something about her is fucking with your head. And when you start overthinking, that’s when everything goes to shit.” His voice sharpened, turning blunt. “She’s a distraction. We don’t need distractions. Not with someone stirring up trouble.”

Kuroo inhaled shakily, frustration still tightening his chest. “I told her I owed her for saving my life.”

“You hate being indebted to people,” Kenma said, pausing for a moment before continuing carefully, “I know we all gave you a hard time about her at first, but she’s smart. She patched you up without asking questions and didn’t involve law enforcement. Figure out what she wants, pay your debt, and be done with her for good. Maybe then, it’ll stop fucking with your head.”

Before Kuroo could respond, the room door creaked open, and Alisa walked in, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she approached, her smile laced with sweetness and false charm. The warmth of the sunlight framed her in an almost surreal glow, casting her shadow over the room like a predator preparing to strike. She glanced between Kuroo and Kenma, her eyes gleaming with something far too knowing.

“You two are still talking about business?” she asked, her voice sweet as honey, but with a clear undertone of something far more playful. “How boring. I’d much rather be doing something... fun.” She took a few steps closer to Kuroo, her gaze locking onto him with an intensity that bordered on suffocating. 

Kuroo’s patience snapped, his voice cold, sharp. “Alisa, this isn’t the time.”

“Oh, come on Tetsurou,” she cooed, walking closer, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of his chair, her perfume—a mix of expensive florals and something darkly familiar—clinging to the air like a trap. She stepped in, her voice dropping into a more sultry cadence. “You look like you could use some relief, don’t you think?”

The frustration surged in Kuroo, and before he could stop himself, his voice snapped out, harsh. “Don’t call me Tetsurou,” he growled. His eyes flashed dangerously, the words cold and commanding. “Only a few people get to use my first name.”

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable—frustration? Amusement? It was hard to tell. Instead of leaving immediately, she trailed a slow fingertip along the back of Kuroo’s chair, her nails just barely scraping against the wood.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kuroo,” she purred, voice dipping into something dangerously sweet. “Didn’t mean to overstep.” She tilted her head, eyes locking onto his with something closer to calculation than hurt. “But don’t forget, darling—some of us don’t like being replaced so easily.”

Kuroo’s patience was already worn thin. He rose from his chair, his towering form casting a shadow over the entire room. “I’m serious, Alisa,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “This is business. If you don't have anything valuable to contribute, leave.”

Then, with one last lingering glance at Kuroo, she turned and walked out, her heels clicking against the floor in sharp, deliberate beats.

Kuroo let out a sharp breath, the weight of his frustration slipping momentarily. He stood still for a beat, trying to shake off the anger that simmered beneath the surface, but Kenma didn’t miss it.

Kenma glanced at the door, then turned his attention back to Kuroo, a sly smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “She’s got a way of leaving an impression. Must be exhausting, dealing with that.” His voice was light, but there was sharp meaning behind it, cutting through the stillness.

Kuroo shot him a look, his eyes narrowing slightly, his voice tight with annoyance. “Don’t start.”

Kenma, clearly enjoying the moment, settled deeper into his chair. 

It wasn’t a secret that Alisa and he had a history—some heated moments, a few quick, messy releases—but frankly, Kuroo couldn’t have cared less about her. Their relationship had always been a mutually beneficial transaction. He no longer had the patience for her games. 

Just as they were about to speak again, the door opened, and Fukunaga stepped in, his expression serious with a clipboard in hand.

“Boss,” Fukunaga said, his voice respectful but urgent. “Are you still set to meet with Bokuto later?”

Kuroo’s focus snapped back into place, his movements smooth and controlled. “Yeah. I’ll meet him later. Make sure the funds are ready to move.” Setting the whiskey aside, his mind clicked back into gear. “We need to move quickly. Withdraw what I need, and have everything prepped.”

Fukunaga nodded. “Understood, Boss. I’ll take care of it right away.”

As Fukunaga exited, Kuroo turned to Kenma, his gaze cold and calculating. “Bokuto had been doing well using the bakery as a front for our drug stash, but now I’ve got him handling our finances. Laundering money, tracking earnings, and keeping the books spotless. If anything gets flagged, we’re done.”

Kenma’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening as he processed the new information. “We can’t afford a slip-up, not after what happened with the last accountant. Bokuto’s curiosity could spell trouble. Keep him in line—don’t let him start digging into things he doesn’t need to know. One wrong question, and it all comes crashing down.”

Kuroo’s lips curled into a grim smile, his voice low and hollow. “Don’t worry. When I see him, I’ll make it very clear who’s in charge... and exactly what’ll happen if he sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The evening air had softened, and the usual hum had faded into a peaceful stillness, bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. Above, the sky had deepened into rich indigo and violet, the last remnants of daylight bleeding into the horizon, leaving a canvas of tranquil hues.  The colors seemed to breathe with you, a quiet exhale against the weight of the day. As you made your way down the quiet side street to the restaurant, there was a sense of calm in the air, something that allowed you to finally exhale, as if the world itself had offered you a moment of respite.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the screen lighting up with Koushi’s name. A small smile tugged at your lips, his presence always managing to soothe the tension that seemed to cling to you lately.

"Hey," you answered, your voice much warmer than it had been earlier.

"Hey! I just parked. I’ll wait for you inside," Koushi replied, his cheerful tone reaching through the phone with ease. You could hear the sound of him settling into his seat as you approached the entrance.

The restaurant was small and cozy, tucked away from the bustling main road. It had the kind of atmosphere that made you feel at home—a haven where everything felt simple and calm. As you stepped inside, the savory scents of grilled meats and roasted vegetables welcomed you, easing the tension that had lingered in your chest all day. Koushi waved from a booth near the back, grinning as he spotted you, and immediately, the tightness in your stomach loosened.

You joined him with an exaggerated embrace, laughing as he gently teased you about your apparent exhaustion. The two of you sat down, and after ordering your food, the conversation flowed easily. But despite the usual comfort of your time together, there was an underlying weight that hung between you. Koushi’s sharp eyes never missed a thing.

“So,” Koushi began, pushing his glass of water aside, his tone softening with concern. “You’ve been distant. What’s going on?””

You hesitated, tracing the rim of your glass, as you struggled to find the right words. How could you even explain the tangled mess in your head, especially with the strange pull Tetsurou had on you? The way his presence seemed to haunt you, even now.

“It’s... complicated,” you murmured, your eyes flicking toward the door as another couple entered. “You remember the guy I helped a few weeks ago? The one in the alley?”

Koushi nodded, his eyes narrow as the memory resurfaced. “Tetsurou, right.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice trailing off as you took a sip of water. “I... can’t stop thinking about him. The whole situation’s been bothering me. It’s making me feel... off.”

Koushi’s brow furrowed as he leaned back in his seat, studying you carefully. The playful expression that usually adorned his face faded, replaced by something more serious. “Did he threaten you?”

“What… no,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “He had this….presence. Like violence was second nature to him. He warned me—told me not to get involved with him.” You hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass, “Part of me felt like I could trust him, He…. He didn’t frighten me. Not really.”

Koushi exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before leveling you with a look that was equal parts concern and frustration. “Do you hear yourself right now?” His voice was low, and measured, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “He warned you to stay away. Hell, you just said he was violent. And yet, you’re sitting here telling me you trust him?”

He shook his head, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “People like him—who hide things, who have agendas—are dangerous. You need to stay away from him. I know his type of men, they like to push just enough to make you curious, just enough to make you want to get involved with them. You don’t know him. And you sure as hell can’t afford to start trusting him.” 

His fingers tapped against the table, his expression darkening. “Tell me you’re not planning to see him again.”

You hesitated, and the silence stretched just long enough to make Koushi sigh. “Of course not,” you said quickly, but even you didn’t believe it.

Koushi fell silent for a moment, his gaze shifting toward the window. The noise from the street filtered in, momentarily muffling the restaurant’s ambiance. His lips pressed together as if weighing something in his mind, and then he spoke again, his tone heavier this time.

“You know," He said, his voice tinged with concern, “this makes me even more apprehensive about the area you live in”

Your stomach twisted slightly, but you said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“What happened a few weeks ago…” He trailed off, glancing down at his hands before meeting your gaze again. “That man —he shouldn’t have been anywhere near you, let alone been brought your apartment.”

You took a slow breath, trying to keep your tone even. “I wasn’t going to leave him to die, Koushi. And I’m fine. I handled it.”

Koushi’s expression softened, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. “I know you did. But that’s not the point. Your place—it’s not safe. You deserve better than this. There’s no reason you should be living in a neighborhood like that. The city might not be perfect, but there are safer places you could be.”

You shifted uncomfortably as Koushi’s words settled in. As if I hadn’t thought about that before. As if the reality of my situation wasn’t constantly looming over me like an inescapable shadow.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” you muttered, trying to keep the bitterness from creeping into your tone. “It’s all I can afford on my salary, Koushi. I’m trying my best.”  

What little money you had left over went to groceries and student loan payments. 

No matter how hard you worked, or how many shifts you picked up, they never seemed to shrink. The debt clung to you, a constant reminder that no matter how many years had passed since college, you were still paying the price—literally—for a future you were barely holding together. The idea of moving somewhere safer? Laughable. You were lucky to have a roof over your head at all.

You were doing the best you could. That was the lie you told yourself, anyway. Koushi didn’t the full extent of your financial troubles, and you weren’t about to tell him.

His sigh was heavy frustration evident in the way he ran a hand through his hair. “I know you are,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I’ve seen what happens in places like that. What if it’s worse next time? You got lucky this time. But what if next time, you aren’t?

His words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. I know I got lucky. But what now? Just pick up and leave? With what money? Rent in a safer neighborhood was nearly double what you paid now. Even if you miraculously scraped together the cash for a deposit, how long would it last before you were drowning again?

You stared down at the table, picking at your napkin, as the memories flooded in—of a time when you didn’t have to worry about safety when home was a place of warmth and laughter. You remembered your mother’s soothing voice, how she used to read bedtime stories, the rhythm of her words wrapping around you like a soft, protective blanket. It was the kind of comfort that made you feel safe as if nothing could ever go wrong. Your father, too, had been a steady presence, always in the kitchen, filling the house with the smell of home-cooked meals, humming to himself as he worked. His laughter had been the heartbeat of the house, making everything feel grounded, stable, and peaceful. You used to feel like warmth was something you could reach out and touch.

But that warmth had a way of vanishing when you needed it most. And now, it felt like everything was a distant memory, a ghost of a time when life didn’t feel so uncertain.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, pushing back the unease creeping up your spine. “I’ll make it work.”

Koushi didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as he reached across the table. “I just want you to know… if you ever need a way out, I’m here. Always.”

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his support, though it didn’t quite reach the growing knot of unease deep inside you. The rest of the conversation passed in a blur, as Koushi tried his best to lighten the mood with stories of his students causing chaos at school. 

His familiar presence helped, but it was hard to shake the weight of the previous conversations you had—your financial strain, Tetsurou, the quiet ache of a home that once felt warm, a family that had been taken too soon. The comfort Koushi offered now only reminded you how much you had already lost; how little warmth remained in your life. You had learned to survive without it, but it still lingered like a shadow, reminding you of what you could never have again.

Unbeknownst to you, as you absentmindedly picked at your food, Kuroo entered the restaurant. His dark attire sharply contrasted against the warm glow of the space, and his eyes scanned the room with calculated care. His steps were smooth and purposeful, but when they landed on your booth, his gaze faltered, a jolt of something unfamiliar surging through him. His pulse picked up, the sensation so sudden and sharp that it felt like fate had nudged him into a direction he hadn’t anticipated.

The last time he’d seen you, everything had been chaos, and even now, he found himself thinking about you more than he cared to admit. There you were, sitting across from the man, smiling, looking so effortlessly at ease. You were—so composed, your laughter light and genuine—made him pause. He admired how the soft glow of the restaurant highlighted the warmth of your expression, the way the light caught your hair. You looked… different, more at peace than when he last saw you, and it struck him harder than he wanted to admit.

The knot in his gut tightened. Something about your appearance, the ease with which you existed at this moment, dug under his skin in a way he wasn’t ready to confront. The sight of you—so unaffected, so natural with someone else—made a strange jealousy flicker to life in his chest. 

Who the fuck was this guy?

Kuroo couldn’t pinpoint what about you had gotten under his skin. There was something there, some unspoken pull that made him want to know more, even though it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like him to be intrigued by someone in this way, especially not someone like you. But the attraction was undeniable, pulling at him with an intensity he couldn’t ignore. He wondered if maybe this—this encounter—was more than mere coincidence.

But before he allowed himself to think further, his phone buzzed, pulling him back to the reality of the moment. He glanced at the screen briefly, then returned his gaze to the two of you. His attention needed to be elsewhere. As he made his way to the back, where his meeting with Bokuto awaited, the image of you—completely unaware—remained stubbornly in his mind. Fate had placed him here, and something told him this encounter was far from over.

You felt a strange shift in the air, the weight of someone’s gaze on you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, a faint prickle of unease crawling down your spine. When you looked up, though, the restaurant was just as it had been—a warm, cozy space, no one staring. But the feeling lingered, nagging at you.

As the night wore on, the city slipped into its quieter hours. The restaurant’s warmth still clung to your skin as you stepped onto the dimly lit sidewalk, Koushi following close behind. The crisp air carried the scent of snow on the horizon, a promise a harsh winter would be settling over the city.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Koushi asked, his brow furrowing as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s late.”

You shook your head with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a few blocks.”

Koushi didn’t look convinced, but he sighed, knowing arguing would get him nowhere. “Text me when you get home, all right?”

“I will.”

He hesitated before pulling you into a quick hug, his warmth momentarily shielding you from the night’s chill. “Be safe.”

With a final glance back at him, you turned and began walking, the city’s pulse a steady rhythm beneath your feet. The streetlights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows against the cracked pavement. The occasional hum of a passing car was the only sound accompanying your footsteps.

Despite the quiet, an unease prickled at the edges of your senses. It was subtle—like an itch at the back of your mind, a whisper beneath the hum of the street. You exhaled sharply, shaking off the tension. Koushi’s earlier words lingered in your mind. He wasn’t exactly wrong—your neighborhood wasn’t safe. The flickering streetlights, the occasional sound of distant shouting, the way you always kept your keys between your fingers when walking home—it wasn’t ideal. But what choice did you have?

You thought about the way the city felt like it was closing in, the quiet had settled in with you. In some strange way, it reminded you of a time long ago—before all of this. Back when your world still felt warm.

Your mother had always tried to shield you from the dark things, the struggles that weighed on her silently. At only eight years old, you couldn't comprehend the depths of her battle. Darkness had crept into her mind like a quiet shadow, something you couldn’t see but could feel in the spaces between her smiles and gentle touches. She hid it so well—those smiles, those soft, comforting hands—but beneath it all, the weight of her depression dragged her further and further away. It was as if, despite all her efforts to mask it, something inside her was quietly breaking. In the end, it became too much for her. She succumbed to her demons, ending her own life.

You were left with your father—a man who tried to hold it together for you. He did everything he could to keep things normal, even when it was clear that his grief was consuming him. He wasn’t just mourning her; he was mourning his inability to save her from herself. You could see it in his eyes—how every day felt like a failure to him. But what could he have done? What could anyone have done? In the silence of her absence, you started to understand just how fragile everything was. And that truth hurt far more than any single moment of loss.

When you were ten, the world seemed to shatter again. Your father was diagnosed with lung cancer, and in those moments, it felt like a sick, cruel repetition. You remembered his face, drained of color when the doctors gave him the news, and how it changed everything from that point on. You spent the next three years in the sterile, bitter air of hospital rooms, never really knowing if the next visit would be the last. You were too young to process the gravity of what was happening, but you could sense the finality of it. Your father’s strength faded, just as your mother’s had, and there were moments when you could see the same helplessness in his eyes that you’d once seen in hers. The weight of everything was too much for one person to bear.

When you were 13, you lost him too. And suddenly, the house felt like a tomb—empty and silent. There were no more shared meals, no more laughter or soft hums of comfort in the kitchen. There was just the hollow echo of everything you once had, everything you once were.

That loss, that emptiness, stayed with you. You realized then that you couldn’t trust anyone to stay—no one could be relied on forever. People came and went, and with every loss, a piece of you hardened. You couldn’t bear to be close to anyone without the fear of them slipping away. That fear of being abandoned, of having your world shattered once more, was something you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried. You had learned to keep your heart locked away, to guard it fiercely, because if you didn’t, you were afraid it would just keep breaking.

The cold air bit at your skin, pulling you away from those thoughts. The city, once familiar, now seemed colder—lonelier. The darkness crept around you, and each step you took through the quiet streets felt heavier than the last. Your mind raced, the unease growing in the pit of your stomach. It was as if something was watching you, waiting. You quickened your pace until a strange, unnerving sensation crawled up your spine.

A rustle. A footstep.

You turned sharply, only for a hand to clamp over your mouth, yanking you back into an alley. Panic surged through your veins, but you didn’t freeze. You twisted, using the momentum to stomp hard on your attacker’s foot. The grip loosened slightly, just enough for you to elbow them in the ribs and tear-free. You barely made it two steps before another hand grabbed your wrist, firm but non-violent.

“Relax, doc,” a voice purred, cold and smooth, wrapping around you like a snare. “Didn’t think you were the type to get so feisty."

That voice.

You froze, dread crawling up your neck. Slowly, you turned, already knowing who would be there.

Tetsurou.

There he was, leaning lazily against the alley wall as if he owned it, his smirk wide and confident, his eyes gleaming with something that made your stomach twist. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch as you took him in—the same arrogant posture, the same gleaming golden eyes that always saw too much, always knew more than you did.

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, heart racing, the terror still clinging to your bones. You jerked your arm, trying to pull free from his grasp. His fingers barely tightened, like he was waiting for you to test the limits of your resistance.

“Why are you out here all alone?” His tone was teasing, amused even as if this was some game. “A little reckless, don’t you think?”

 “What the hell do you want?” you shot back, struggling against his grasp. 

He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I don’t want anything, doc. Just trying to look out for you.”  His lips curled into a lazy grin as he released his grip on you. “You’re making it easy for someone else to grab you first.”

“Easy?” you snapped, voice rising with indignation. “You’re the one who grabbed me, you sick—”

He raised a hand, cutting you off, his expression growing more serious, his gaze never leaving you. “Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The words had no weight, no comfort. You could feel the tension in the air thickening, the pressure of his presence suffocating you.

“Then what?” You demanded.

His eyes glinted. “I want you to consider an offer.” He took a step closer, invading your space without hesitation. “You’re in over your head. You’re out here alone, on your own, with no one to watch your back. Don’t tell me you don’t know what kind of city this is. People like me… we don’t let people like you wander around without knowing what’s at stake.”

The insinuation hit hard. You swallowed thickly, trying to keep the lump in your throat from betraying you. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I don’t?” He shrugged like it was nothing as if he wasn’t talking about your life, your safety. “You’re struggling, aren’t you?” His voice was suddenly colder, harder. “Money, debts, living in fear, worrying about whether you’ll be able to pay rent next month. I can see it in your eyes, You don’t have to keep scraping by.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “How do you know about that?”

He gave a sly grin, his gaze darkening. “I know more than you think. It’s what I do.” He leaned backward, his eyes gleaming with intent. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

You furrowed your brow, trying to keep your composure. “A proposition?” you asked, your voice steady, though your stomach churned.

“Mm,” he hummed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Leaning in closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “A job.”

“A job?” You laughed, but it came out bitter, laced with incredulity. “What are you going to make me do? Sell my soul?”

His eyes gleamed with something darker, more calculating. “Not at all, doc. I need someone like you. You’re a surgical assistant. You know your way around wounds, and injuries—things people like me can’t just go to a hospital for. You’re someone who can keep their mouth shut, knows how to handle people, and isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty.”

You stared at him, heart racing. The weight of his words settled like a stone in your chest. You had no idea whether you should be terrified or intrigued. “People like you?”

His lips curled into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “People like me… people who have enemies, who don’t have the luxury of going to a hospital when things go south. I need someone who can keep them alive. Someone with your skills. Think of it as being an underground doctor.”

Your mind spun, your thoughts a blur. The words "underground doctor" echoed in your mind, but nothing seemed to settle. He was asking you to step into a world you knew nothing about—a world full of danger, of things you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“You want me to patch up criminals,” you said, voice flat, though inside, everything was screaming at you to walk away. “To be your medic.”

He nodded, his expression serious now, the casual arrogance replaced with something more intent, more purposeful. “I’m offering you security. A way out of this shithole you’re living in. A way up. You won’t have to keep looking over your shoulder every damn second. No more locking yourself in at night, hoping nobody’s out there.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and the words hit harder than anything he’d said before. “I’ll give you a place to belong. A place where you’re not just a little lost soul trying to survive. You can have more than that. If you’re smart enough to take it.”

Your mind raced, but you couldn’t shake the sense of déjà vu. Koushi had just told you that you deserved better and that you shouldn’t have to live in fear. And now here was Tetsurou, offering a “solution” that felt more like a trap.

“Were you following me?” The words shot out harsher than you intended before you could stop them.

His smirk widened. “No.” He leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “I don’t need to follow you to know exactly where you are.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating, pulling at you from all directions. You knew the cost. You knew the price of getting involved with someone like him—someone dangerous, someone whose world you’d never understand. But as you stood there, breath shallow and mind spinning, the thought of running from this decision… the thought of facing another night in that shitty apartment alone… made the offer sound almost too tempting.

“Why would you offer this to me?” you managed, barely able to find your voice.

His presence loomed over you, his breath warm against your skin. “I owe you. You saved my life, the least I can do is offer you a better life in return.”

"You think I’d just jump at your offer?" you shot back, trying to keep the bite in your voice, though you could feel your resolve slipping. He was right about one thing—life was wearing you down.

His grin didn’t fade, but there was a flicker in his eyes like he could sense your hesitation. He straightened up slightly, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, before speaking again, quieter this time.

"Not jump. Just... think about it. There’s a place for you in my world. And for once, you won’t have to keep running."

Your stomach twisted. Running. You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—that he saw straight through you or that he wasn’t wrong.

"I don't need your help," you managed, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts to sound sure of yourself.

"That's what they all say," he replied smoothly, his tone almost sympathetic, but his eyes never lost their calculating gleam. "But everyone needs a little help eventually."

You hated that he was right. You hated it more because you could see it: the lifeline he was offering, however twisted, while you were drowning in a sea of uncertainty.

Despite everything you knew about Tetsurou—his cold, calculating demeanor, the dangerous air that clung to him like a second skin—you couldn’t shake this strange, irrational trust in him. It was a crazy thing to feel. He was dangerous, no doubt about it, but there was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place, that made you believe he wouldn’t hurt you. 

Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he saw through all the walls you built around yourself. Maybe it was the fact that, for a brief moment, you felt like he cared. But that didn’t mean you were willing to dive headfirst into his world. You couldn’t forget the price of that trust. The consequences of even stepping a toe into the world he lived in.

"Think it over," Tetsurou continued, his gaze locked onto yours, unblinking, unwavering. "But this offer’s good for 24 hours. After that, it's off the table."

24 hours. That was all you had. A choice that could change everything. Your heart thundered in your chest. The shadows were closing in, and you could feel the weight of the decision pressing on you, suffocating. The life he offered was dangerous, but the alternative... scraping by in fear, always looking over your shoulder—was just as suffocating.

“I’ll think about it,” you whispered, the words slipping out more like a tentative promise to yourself than anything else.

Tetsurou’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. He seemed pleased with your answer. “Good.” His voice softened, almost too softly. “I’ll find you again.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by the night, leaving you alone with the weight of a decision you weren’t ready to make.

The alley felt colder now, the silence pressing in around you.

Koushi’s voice echoed in your mind, warning you, pleading with you to stay away from him.

You should.

You knew you should.

But you weren’t sure you would.

And that terrified you more than anything.

[yilingpatriarchscvnt]

Lost affection

Alhaitham x reader

Angst with fluff

Alhaitham's unwavering dedication to his career has led him to neglect the emotional needs of his partner. As the chasm between them widens, they grapple with the pain of their fading connection, haunted by guilt and regret.

Neglecting, guilt, angst, fluff, regret.

Kinda of modern au!

In the dimly lit room, Alhaitham was hunched over his desk, surrounded by a chaotic mess of papers and the soft glow of his laptop screen. He'd been at it for hours, days even, neglecting everything and everyone, including you.

You watched him from the doorway, your heart heavy with a mix of concern and frustration. The once vibrant spark in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by an exhausted, distant gaze. It was as if he had disappeared into the world of work, leaving you to stand on the periphery, forgotten.

"Alhaitham," you whispered, your voice barely reaching him. No response. You took a step closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You've been working non-stop. Please, take a break. I miss you."

He finally turned to look at you, and for a moment, you saw the guilt and fatigue etched in his expression. "I can't, not now," he mumbled, his voice strained. "I have so much to do, and I can't afford to stop."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized that he was drowning in his responsibilities, and there was no room for you in his world anymore. The neglect had become a painful reality, a silent chasm between the two of you.

You retreated quietly, closing the door behind you. The weight of his absence settled on your shoulders, and you wondered if there was a way to break through the walls of his relentless work and bring back the Alhaitham you once knew.

Days turned into weeks, and the chasm between you and Alhaitham continued to grow. He was consumed by his work, barely acknowledging your presence. The moments you once shared, the laughter, the intimate conversations – all of it seemed like distant memories.

One evening, you decided to make a simple dinner, hoping it might bring some normalcy back into your relationship. As the aroma of the meal wafted through the house, you set the table with care, your heart heavy with anticipation. Alhaitham had been working late into the night for weeks, and you longed for a shared moment, a connection that went beyond fleeting glances.

When he finally appeared at the doorway, you could see the exhaustion etched on his face, but there was something else – a hint of sadness in his eyes. He glanced at the table, surprise flickering across his features.

"What's all this?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You gave a small smile, trying to hide the hurt. "Just a dinner for two. I thought we could take a break from work and have a quiet evening together."

Alhaitham hesitated, torn between his mountain of tasks and the desire to reconnect with you. In that moment, he made a choice that would shape the future of your relationship. With a sigh, he put his work aside and joined you at the table.

As you shared the meal, the two of you talked about everything but work. You reminisced about the adventures you'd had together, the dreams you'd once shared, and the love that had brought you together. Alhaitham's walls remained high, and he barely opened up about his feelings.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, realizing that perhaps the distance between you had become insurmountable. The dinner offered a temporary respite, but the underlying problems still loomed large. You missed the warmth of his presence and the connection you once shared, but it seemed like he was slipping further away, buried under the weight of his work.

The dinner ended in an awkward silence, the unspoken pain hanging heavily in the air. Afterward, Alhaitham retreated back to his workspace, his laptop screen once again casting a cold, bluish glow on his tired face.

You watched him for a moment, your heart heavy with a sense of despair. It was clear that the gulf between you had become too wide, and your attempts to bridge the divide were met with resistance. You couldn't help but wonder if your relationship was slipping away, as Alhaitham remained entrapped in his never-ending cycle of work.

Nights turned into a relentless pattern. You went to bed alone, while Alhaitham continued to toil away in solitude. It seemed like he had lost sight of everything beyond his professional obligations. Your loneliness was palpable, and the weight of his neglect felt like a physical burden.

One evening, as you sat in the dimly lit living room, the cold silence pressing in on you, you realized that something had to change. You couldn't continue like this, with your relationship crumbling and your own needs constantly ignored.

You mustered the courage to confront Alhaitham, who looked up from his work, his eyes carrying the same distant look they had for weeks. "We can't go on like this," you whispered, your voice shaking.

Alhaitham's gaze met yours, but his response was distant, his voice flat. "I have no choice. The work is never-ending, and I can't afford to stop. Please stop being a nuisance."

As you stood there, a sense of hopelessness washed over you. The neglect had taken its toll, and it seemed like there was no way to salvage what was left of your relationship. The distance between you both had become an unbridgeable chasm, and the sadness in your heart was immeasurable.

As the heavy words hung in the air, you saw something change in Alhaitham's eyes. A flicker of recognition, a hint of guilt, perhaps even a touch of regret. He seemed to realize the depth of the pain he was causing you, and it weighed on his conscience.

"I know I've been neglecting you," he finally admitted, his voice heavy with remorse. "I never wanted it to be like this, but the pressure at work has been overwhelming."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt a glimmer of hope, a tiny crack in the wall he had built around himself. "Alhaitham, I miss us. I miss the connection we used to have."

He sighed, rubbing his temples as if the weight of the world rested there. "I miss it too, but I'm trapped in this never-ending cycle, and I don't know how to break free."

You reached out and touched his hand, a silent plea for him to see the pain you were in. "We can find a way together. I don't want to lose what we have."

Alhaitham's eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and vulnerability. "I'm so sorry for neglecting you. Let's try to find a way to make things right."

It was a small step, but it was a step nonetheless. The guilt he felt was a sign that he recognized the damage he had caused, and perhaps, with effort and understanding, you both could work to rebuild what was broken. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but it was a start in the direction of healing and restoring the love you once shared.

[jasontoddiefor]

Heyyyyy roses & champagne anon here! First your answer made me feral with all the juicy brain gremlins it spawned and then you wrote that little fic and I now I’m even more insane but like all I can picture is Leewon going “fuck this shit I’m out” at like age 11, running away, accidentally running into Caesar who’s already starting to get the feelings of “hippity hoppity I want you to be my property” weird little friendship starting to form.

And then years later Leewon in full on teenage rebellion bad decision making is like “what if I lost my virginity to this dude I sometimes hang out with that my dad can not stand? Wouldn’t that be fun?” and uh accidentally turns Caesar’s budding obsession with him over the years into full blown levels of “I am planning our wedding, it’s going to be in the summer because you get cold and then you will never ever leave me.” as Leewon is like damn the dirty talk in this fwb relationship hits hard

And then Leewon finally achieves his dream of fucking off back to Korea for college and does that without hesitation and then stays even longer for law school because he likes pretending he’s normal, he likes pretending his life is normal, (he’s a lawyer and his ass is lying, he could never truly be content with normalcy) and he only goes back because he wants to say a proper goodbye, after he graduates from law school

And uh proceeds to cheerfully greet the man whose heart he unintentionally shattered and now haunted like a ghost for seven years like nothing ever happened. Oops?

Also in regards for Vladimir I feel they got a weird resentment codependency going on there but also I can’t help but feel in a world that they grew up together they’d kind of be bickering gossiping friends at their core so it’s like “I hate the roles we have been forced into because one another, sometimes I think I even hate you, but you’re are still a core of my world and I don’t know how to exist without you because of this, anyway you will not believe with this one lady did at a party-“ kind of vibe going on. He’s pissed and hurt and resentful when Leewon goes back to Korea and he spends years soothing his and everyone else’s hurt and Leewon comes back and he’s angry for like 5 minutes before breaking and filling him on the latest gossip. Because I think they deserve to have a messy, complicated relationship that’s also overrun by the need to be a bitch and discuss drama because there is literally no other option in the mafia compound.

If you’ve got any more thoughts on this au I would love to hear them so badly!!

Anon you’re back!!!

Aaah thank you so much for your long ask, this absolutely made my evening (literally, I’m stuck in bed bc my back is killing me and am using my bluetooth keyboard to write this reply lying down hahaha)

Let’s start on the family side: time to reveal the fact that this AU also exists to like at least 30% because I wanted younger sibling Vladimir takes. That man already behaves like a spoiled younger brother in canon, he’d be terrible here. I do think their dynamic would be exactly as you said. Vladimir gets adopted to be Leewon’s companion, his right hand, raised to be loyal and trustworthy - his one and only friend after nearly a year of living in Russia. It fucks up their dynamic because they’re raised with clear expectations but at the same tie, the only way Leewon treats him is as a younger brother? Because that is the notion that makes the most sense to him at that age. When he realizes what Vladimir’s purpose is, he very much resents it? They have a bit of a falling out because to Vladimir, his older brother suddenly started distancing himself with no explanation as to why. And like, when he realizes the reason, he doesn’t really think it’s bad because he owns the Lomonosov his life anyway? Of course he’d die for his older brother. He loves him and that’s his job.

Anyway. Vladimir thinks Dimitri ain’t shit. He would never treat his boss like that and scheme. He’s built different (loyal like a most beloved dog). Leewon staying in Korea for his studies kind of helps Vladimir gain some perspective and insight into everything because nothing makes you reflect more than your codependent better half not being within reaching distance. But at the end of the day, he still doesn’t entirely mind. He stops pushing the boundary when Leewon enforces it (opposed to his behavior as a kid) but that’s about it. They are two very gossipy siblings.

To Leewon’s life!!! Anon I am !!! At how your ideas match mine. For the simpler things - Leewon absolutely puts his foot down about studying in Korea. It’s probably the biggest fight he and Mikhail ever have. I’m thinking maybe to the point it’s the first and only time Mikhail genuinely hurts Leewon in his anger? Like, Leewon has been hit before by his father, during training, but only seldom bc Mikhail frankly speaking has Issues and was not cut out for teaching his son violence himself. But yeah, they fight, there’s injury, and hmm. Not entirely sure if Leewon just stays in his room or moves to another property in the city until his flight to Korea, with Vladimir acting as an unwilling go between father and son because he ALSO thinks this is a shit idea, but if he says so then Leewon won’t talk to him anymore either (and then he wouldn’t talk to anyone, and it’s Vladimir’s job to advise his brother, but he’s supposed to be on his side even more.)

Anyway, Leewon leaves to study and I imagine he only comes home during the holidays which are incredibly tense the first year, but get better after. I don’t think Leewon quite has the concept of I could leave this life. He’s angry and frustrated, but not to the point where he can picture a life where he’s not the family heir? I think he mostly wants to run this business differently and that most of his frustration comes from his father raising him as this sheltered princess in the tower. His best friend is his little brother who his father adopted so he would have someone to talk to. That’s deeply fucked up, especially because he spent his first nine years just attending normal school and playing with the neighborhood kids. Even more, with his mother sick and dying early, Leewon at nine is fairly used to doing things independently, and now suddenly needing an adult to go with him everywhere, if he’s allowed out of the house at all, is horrible.

Now on to our hot mess, the red flag fuck himself.

I was also 200% thinking “oh yeah they absolutely fucked when Leewon was like 15”. To Caesar this is absolutely a game at that point, some matter of pride to get the enemy’s heir in his bed (or just. Beneath him. Imma be honest, I think Leewon ran away, got drunk at a bar and they fucked in a bathroom stall under dubious consent). Drunk teenagers with too much power and too many daddy issues. Leewon got “I’m doing sth that isn’t safe my father would freak about this” out of it.

Anyway, I do think Caesar would be amused at first, and then grow into his - as you put it so aptly it made me wheeze - “hippity hoppity I want you to be my property”. The 11 year old mouthing off against his kidnappers with little strength to back it up was entertaining (Caesar was honestly just there because it seemed easier to just let himself be taken to get to the guy whose head he needs to bash in than wait around) especially because he didn’t hold back. And then it’s a game, deflowering him, taking more and more pieces, not quite like collecting fountain pens or art, more the desire to consume entirely. Till death does them part, yes? Predictably, does not react well to Leewon’s “wow why is my bad decisions fuckbuddy so intense about me?” Behavior and being left out of Leewon’s plans.

My guy has just been assuming that them being fwb means they won’t try to constantly kill each other when they’re All Grown Up and in charge of their father’s businesses. I think this Leewon would very much enjoy the illusion of normalcy, matching Caesar’s freak in the way he reacts when it is interrupted. But I think that also means he’s rather peculiar about upholding the status quo to a degree.

Meanwhile Dimitri has been under the assumption Caesar has been running a long con trying to gobble up Lomonosov via making its heir his boytoy.

Well this got long but I hope you enjoyed my thoughts!!! Feel free to dm me any time, I’d love to hear more of your ideas!

[cienie-isengardu]

Mortal Kombat 1 Behind the Scenes AU: Lin Kuei Life - when duty calls, p. 3

Author's note: though Bi-Han is the heir to the Lin Kuei Grandmaster title, he takes an active part in defending the Earthrealm and is sent on mission whenever the situation demands the best. Which is why Kuai Liang is so stressed, because in such case he should be there to protect his brother but he was left behind on film set, so he could have fun/normalcy/time with Harumi he wanted. Thus he is consumed by guilt, because in Lin Kuei life, one never be sure if your family and friends will come back alive from mission. Thankfully, Tomas is there to calm him down, a bit at least.

[Earlier posts, from #1 to #52] [Shao learns about Paid Leave (p. 2)] [Johnny’s complaint] [The problems with Smoke’s powers] [Dark Sub-Zero] [Say ‘cheese’!] [Haunted mansion] [Sektor & Cyrax - Scenography (4)] [Shang Tsung’s commentary] [Just one more take! + bonus] [Bi-Han, NO! - Cat on film set] [Bi-Han, NO! - Purrfected] [Bi-Han, Sektor & Cyrax - Scenography (5)] [Bi-Han, NO! - Madam Bo’s “help” during filming scene] [Dark Sub-Zero, p.2] [Saibot’s hug] [I SAID I’M SORRY!] [Shang Tsung and Kuai Liang for once agreeing on something] [Reassurance] [Ketchup & Mustard, p. 1] [The Dating Issues] [Ketchup & Mustard, p. 2] [Cyrax’s brother] [Gathering the actors] [“LIN KUEI”] [Bi-Han's complaint] [This is what we cryomancers call a fun!] [Lin Kuei Life - when duty calls, p. 1] [Lin Kuei Life - when duty calls, p. 2]

[d4rk-x-w0lf-17]

@starlightshadowsworld

god your 'makoto befriends the 77th class' au forever haunts me cuz of all the potential pain it can cause

we both know that hajime would suffer the most cuz he has to spend the entire killing game with fuzzy memories of someone important to him but he doesn't remember who they are. he keeps grasping at them cuz while vague at best, they give him a sense of normalcy. it helps dull the pain after each trial

......but then the memory start to become more and more clear and the very real realization that this important person was left behind and he doesn't even know if they're alive