#AND THEY TRIED TO LIVE AND ADAPT DESPITE NOT HAVING A CHANCE

[lunarrosette]

I’m rlly sad abt the kiddads rn like THEY WERE BASICALLY DOOMED FROM THE START THEY NEVER HAD A CHANCE THEYRE SO TRAGIC WHAT THE FUUUUUCCKKKKKK

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Tickle the Ivories

Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit / MDNI (smut, language); all characters are adults Words: 4,473 Tags: second person POV, reader insert, no y/n, smut, aged up characters, adult characters, post-Hogwarts, friends to lovers

Summary: Ominis Gaunt needs some inspiration to finish writing his novel. You suggest he play some piano for inspiration; instead, he plays you.

Notes: I've always headcanoned Ominis as being an excellent pianist, which is mainly what inspired this — as well as that scene in the 1990 film "Pretty Woman." This is literally just shameless, silly smut.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Ominis Gaunt didn’t miss his eyesight — at least not most days. 

He’d lived like this for years and, like most aspects of his grim childhood, he had learned to adapt. 

The only times he truly missed his vision was when you came around. 

You stirred something special and secretive in Ominis. You always had. In fact, the first time he met you — the morning you wandered into the Slytherin Common Room to meet your housemates on the first day of fifth year — Ominis could feel the air change. 

The common room was always cool, the windows casting shadows from the Black Lake’s frigid waters across the floors. Even the spot in front of the fireplace felt abnormal, as if the crackling flames were fake.

So when you approached Ominis near his favorite spot near the far windows, his guard went up. The air became oppressive; heavy like morning dew but warm like steam bursting from a kettle. But Ominis greeted you with kindness. Despite the polished, poised demeanor that often made him appear pretentious, he was a soft person. He only became hardened with life reminded him of its cruel capabilities. But in spite of his own arduous memories, he preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt. 

Of course, that nearly changed when you befriended Sebastian Sallow. At first, Ominis thought it might be good to welcome a new friend to their severed trio. Sebastian hadn’t been the same since Anne was forced to leave Hogwarts. Ominis was hopeful you might distract him from his relentless research for Anne’s cure. He didn’t realize you’d be the one to encourage it. 

Still, something about your presence intrigued Ominis. You made his porcelain cheeks flush and the milky whites of his eyes glimmer. You took that pale, ghost of a boy and breathed new life into him. 

So even after Sebastian initiated you to the Undercroft, even after you elected to allow Sebastian to use Crucio on you in the Scriptorium, and even after Sebastian’s downward spiral led to Solomon’s demise, Ominis couldn’t shake the feeling that he should appreciate you despite all the agony that occurred since your arrival. 

He wanted to hate you; wanted to blame you for the ways his fifth year unraveled. But you weren’t perfect. You tried your best to reason with Sebastian, and that was your common thread to Ominis — you were both too good to know how to stop something so sinister. 

So despite the devastating manner in which you failed Sebastian, Ominis understood, and he did not blame you. Especially once he saw your efforts to help Sebastian resurrect himself. 

When Ominis had wanted to turn Sebastian in, you thought of Anne. And you reminded Ominis that Sebastian was still good; he had acted out of love that manifested into desperation. Neither you nor Ominis understood that. Your family abandoned you as an infant. Ominis’ family robbed him of any chance for affection. You were both strangers to the pull of unconditional love. 

You stuck by Sebastian and helped your misguided friend remember the person he really was. You showed him empathy and understanding, but you also inflicted him with tough love when he needed it. You made it clear he’d lose everything if he dared to ever dabble in dark magic again. 

Since then, Sebastian had returned to his former self. He graduated from Hogwarts and became an Auror. You and Ominis could not have been more proud of him. 

Meanwhile, you were a Healer at St. Mungo’s and Ominis became a novelist. The two men moved into a townhome together while you shared a flat with Natsai Onai. You spent more time at Ominis and Sebastian’s than you did your own home. The three of you liked it that way.

That was the case this evening, as you stopped by their townhome and let yourself in. You hadn’t planned to stay long — you were tired from work — but you wanted to hear how Ominis’ latest story was coming along. 

“Evening,” you greeted as you tossed your coat and bag on the kitchen table. You kicked your shoes off and settled onto the sofa as your eyes lingered on Ominis, who was seated at a desk pushed against the wall. Parchment was scattered over the desktop while a charmed quill hovered over an ink pot. 

“Evening,” Ominis sighed. You frowned as you shifted deeper into the sofa cushions to make yourself comfortable, your legs tucked beneath yourself. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you took in Ominis’ appearance. His eyes looked cloudier than usual, and even his skin appeared dull and parched. This wasn’t the man whose beauty could only be described as striking. This was a man who had been drained by life’s unrelenting demands. 

Still, he was stunning to you. You’d always been painfully attracted to him. At first, it was because you found him distinguished, albeit intimidating. You knew very little about the Gaunt lineage or its nefarious history when you met him. You merely wanted to learn more about the dignified boy who wore elegant robes and whose eyes swarmed with a thousand mysterious stories. 

Then you came to know Ominis on a much deeper level, beneath the pomp and propriety. You lifted his veil of assimilation and unmasked a boy who merely wanted nothing more than the chance to be good.

It made you love him even more.

Most people would have caved under Ominis’ circumstances. The other Gaunt children gave in and became just like their parents – cruel, conniving and driven by hatred. It would have been easier for Ominis to do the same.

Instead, he defied his family, and on his eighteenth birthday, he set himself free. You were thrilled for him – so much so, you and Sebastian threw him a celebration. It wasn’t Ominis’ style to party, but you’d never seen him smile so much as that night.

But now, Ominis looked exhausted. 

“It’s this damn fifth chapter,” he sighed. “I just can’t work my way through it.”

“Oh, come on now,” you encouraged, your lips curving in a knowing smile. “You always sort it out.”

Ominis’ writing also left you in awe. Perhaps you were a tad bit biased, but his prose was perfect in your opinion. He weaved sentences that sang off their pages. Every thought, every word was crafted with careful precision that only someone as perfectionist as Ominis could conjure.

It’s why you’d often commiserate over his work with him. You didn’t know why Ominis stressed so much – he’d already penned two wildly successful novels that catapulted him to the top of the wizarding world’s pyramid of esteemed writers. But you also knew Ominis cared so damn much about his craft that anything short of spectacular would be deemed an utter failure by him.

“Tell me, where are you at now? Last time we chatted, the main character was about to reveal the story of how he survived the drowning,” you recalled.

“Now I need to convey how that experience has shaped him to this point,” Ominis explained. You blinked. 

“Well, I imagine surviving something like that would be quite traumatic,” you mused. “And I surmise it might alter one’s outlook on life. You and I both know how surviving a perilous situation plays out.”

Ominis’ lips thinned. It was a combination of a grimace and smile you’d come to recognize often. 

“I just don’t want to be cliche about it,” he explained. “Everyone suffers trauma. Everyone deals with it differently. I don’t want to write another story about a bloke who survived something awful and used it to overcome whatever internal agony eats away at him.”

“But Ominis,” you said carefully. “Isn’t that what tends to happen? People survive, and then they grow from it? It’s what happened to me, to Seb, to you.”

“But doesn’t that feel a bit expected?” Ominis asked. You shrugged as your fingers toyed with the edge of a sofa cushion. 

“Perhaps it does,” you answered honestly. “But perhaps that’s what people want to read, Ominis. Sometimes it’s nice to relate to a character.”

Ominis considered your words carefully, but it was clear his mind remained at war. He groaned and pushed himself away from the desk, standing to pace the living room in search of answers.

“Where is Seb anyway?” you asked curiously.

“Still on assignment in Belfast,” Ominis answered absently. His shoes clunked against the wood floor as he paced lines, back and forth, with his wand guiding him in one hand.

“Maybe you should take a break,” you suggested as you studied Ominis’ manic state. This happened more often than he’d ever admit. He’d become frantic over his work, spiral until he was struck by some brilliant idea, and then all would be right in his world again.

“I can’t take a break,” Ominis sighed. “I need to get this done.”

“You need to preserve your sanity,” you laughed. “And mine. And probably Seb’s.”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers as if he were trying to squeeze the tension from his head. You gazed around the room, your eyes falling on the black piano tucked away in the corner. 

It was always a comical contrast to you – the sight of Ominis’ opulent grand piano positioned next to the old shelves that held Sebastian’s collection of faded, grubby books, strewn haphazardly with no sense or order. It was a fitting reflection of the two men and how their differences managed to coincide comfortably.

“Maybe you should play some piano,” you suggested. “You’ve always said it inspires you.”

Ominis stopped his pacing and turned toward the corner. His brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Yes, alright,” he sighed in agreement. “Perhaps that will help clear my head.”

You nodded in approval as Ominis paced to the piano bench to sit. Though he could not see them, your eyes sparkled with excitement.

You watched in silence as Ominis’ fingers hovered over the keys. He seemed to be quietly deciding on what to play until finally, the quiet ping of the first note rang throughout the room.

If writing didn’t work out for Ominis, you were certain a career in music would. He played beautifully, with a stunning command over the keys. They became an extension of his spirit; steadfast and smooth, yet peppered with intriguing obscurity. The notes started as slow chirps before they ascended toward a brisk pitter-patter that preceded a sweeping symphony that soared around you. 

Ominis sat at the edge of the bench, his back straight as a board, a sign of his classical training. But the piano portrayed his emotion with much more livelihood than someone merely moving in scripted patterns. The keys felt his every pulse and danced in response. 

Ominis played with his eyes closed. You typically listened to him with your own squeezed shut to savor the sound, but this time, you couldn't help but watch him.

The crescendo was clean and crisp, a dazzling declaration of drama that surged with rich power. Each note seemed to emphasize Ominis’ heartbeat. It raised goosebumps over your skin, and you wished he’d touch you with the same mastery as those piano keys.

When the song ended, the room stilled again. You smiled. Ominis remained stoic.

“That was beautiful,” you breathed softly. 

“Thank you.”

“What was it? I didn’t recognize it.”

“Just something that came to mind,” Ominis said quietly.

Maybe it was the way Ominis’ song had made your pulse race. Maybe it was the way he looked next to the piano – so handsome and refined – or maybe it was merely your waning self-control. Something made you rise to your feet and pace toward Ominis.

You slid carefully onto the bench next to him. It was built for one person, meaning you were far too close, the sides of your thighs pressing against his. Ominis inhaled sharply. You pretended you didn’t notice.

“Will you teach me to play?” you asked innocently. Ominis straightened as if he was holding his breath. 

“Of- of course,” he answered. You smiled at him, though he couldn’t detect it as his wand rested atop the piano. 

You reached for the keys, the pads of your fingers tracing gently over their cool, slick surface. “Show me,” you said softly. Ominis nodded and you were almost certain you could see the muscles of his throat constrict.

“Start here,” Ominis instructed, his fingers resting atop the keys at one end of the piano. He pressed down, drawing a faint clink. You reached across him to repeat the pattern and smirked as you felt him shift beside you. It triggered something much more sportive within you. 

“And what about this one?” you asked innocently, using your hand to guide Ominis’ over the ivory planks. You pressed his hand downward over a series of keys, though you couldn’t care less about the notes. Your palm was warm as it rested atop his. 

The contrast was nearly comical. Your hand was delicate, but covered in scars from the scrapes and scratches of your past; nails bitten down to the skin; cuticles dry and cracked from washing your hands so much at work. Ominis’ hands were smooth and elegant, unblemished except for ink stains on the pads of his fingertips.

Your hand controlled Ominis’ as you dragged it slowly across the key tops so that the piano sang an erratic scale. When you realized his hand was trembling, you released it. It clanged against the keys as you dipped your head.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your eyes cast downward. A flush surged from the back of your neck to your cheeks as you contemplated a million different ways you could die. Your heart continued its assault inside your chest while your muscles seized in shame. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright,” Ominis said gently. “I just… you just…” He trailed off, leaving you both unsure what he intended to say. So you said nothing.

The silence seared within your skull and you scolded yourself for daring to believe Ominis might reciprocate even the faintest feelings for you. There was no mutual sexual tension, no unspoken declarations of desire. This delicate dance you dreamed up was exactly that – a figment of your own personal fantasies.

You rested your hands in your lap and remained rigid. 

“I’m sorry.” Ominis finally broke the silence and his flustered tone caught you off guard.

“No, it was my fault-” you started. 

“I didn’t mean for you to stop,” Ominis continued. 

You froze. Your fingertips pressed into the tops of your thighs while the temperature in the room spiked. Your brain began to fail you, all vocabulary vacating its Broca’s area.

“Oh,” was the best you could manage. You were desperate to look anywhere but at him. You couldn’t. This was your friend. This was Ominis Gaunt, the spitting image of virtue and sophistication. This was a man you admired and respected… and a man you wanted to ruin you.

When it became evident you were considering flinging yourself from the third-story window, Ominis sighed. 

“Give me your hand,” he said, holding out his own. 

You obliged, and your breath hitched as he guided it with a renewed quiet confidence. Once your hands were placed over the keys again, Ominis stood. You frowned in confusion until he shifted to stand behind you, his spine curving as he leaned over your right shoulder.

“Like this,” he said gently, his hands taking control of yours. The piano chirped beneath your hands, though it was clear Ominis had no particular song in mind. 

As he leaned in more to manipulate your hands over more keys, you could feel his breath against your neck. Your eyes fell shut at the warmth and your knees drifted closer together. Soon, you were clamping your thighs tight as you fought to steady your breathing. Your body was failing you.

“Ominis,” you breathed, your eyes still closed. His hands drifted slowly from yours, snaking their way over your forearms. His thumbs traced gentle circles across your skin as his lips brushed the notch between your neck and your collarbone. A traitorous whimper escaped your throat.

Ominis' hands were on you in an instant, pulling you to your feet. You spun around to face him and he knocked you backward against the piano. Its keys clanged against the backs of your thighs while Ominis stepped around the bench, moving past the remaining barrier – physical and metaphorical – between you.

You guided him toward yourself until you could wrangle your arms around him. It wasn’t the dignified first kiss you often envisioned with Ominis, but it was anything but ordinary. He didn’t seem to mind. 

His hands snapped to your waist like they were always meant to be there, and he kissed you until you had to crane your neck for air. He had you pinned against the piano, your ass pressed against the keys.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered as Ominis’ teeth grazed your earlobe. You screamed at yourself in silence, wondering how you could be stupid enough to say such things. This was all you wanted to be doing. 

Ominis left a trail of kisses down your neck to the exposed skin of your chest as he ignored your performative protest. Though he couldn’t see your breasts, you knew they were next.

His hands flattened across your back and edged their way upward to the hook and eye closures of your dress. He kissed you with composure as you felt his hands fiddle with every brass clasp until the fabric slackened around your torso. Your dress fell to the floor and you kicked it away impatiently. Ominis smiled at the sound.

His hands explored the curves of your waist, thumbs dragging over the ridge of your hip bones with care. He couldn’t see you, but my god, could he read you.

You squirmed beneath his touch as his palms drifted to your bare breasts, index fingers reading the braille of your nipples. He dipped his head to kiss your shoulder as his fingers peeled away the fabric of your panties. They floated to the floor, leaving you completely bare.

Though Ominis couldn’t see you, you’d never felt so exposed. He seemed to sense your vulnerable state, because he shushed you as he leaned in to circle his arms around you.

“Relax,” he murmured into your ear. “I’ll take good care of you.”

One submissive nod from you was all it took for Ominis to lift you backward, the piano banging beneath you as you became seated atop it. He sank into a seated position on the bench, his head between your thighs as he pressed a trail of kisses between them.

Your chest heaved and your core contracted in anticipation. This was a scene that far exceeded any expectation or reverie you could have imagined. No mirage could conjure the blazing ache between your legs.

Ominis’ fingertips skimmed the tops of your thighs, as if seeking confirmation to continue. You gnawed at your bottom lip and whined in response. 

The moment his tongue made contact with your clit, you unleashed the moan you’d been fighting to quell. Ominis would have deemed anything less a disappointment. Arms hooked around your thighs, he pulled you to the edge of the piano top, your legs dangling against the key fronts.

It didn’t take long for your heavy panting to become sharp gasps at the way Ominis’ tongue devoured your cunt. It flattened against your clit and rolled in brisk patterns until he was coaxing a climax from you. Your hands fisted his hair, making him a sinful paradox. You’d tamed the heir of Slytherin and turned him into your pet snake. But like most predators, he needed his prey.

He continued to feast on you until you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your hips bucking and feet fidgeting in response to his mouth’s every movement. When he sucked against your clit, you cried out, fingers tugging his hair taut while you threatened to fall apart. He hummed his praises for you, refusing to break contact with your salty, slick flesh.

And when you finally snapped, your back arching off the piano and your strangled shriek signaling the spasms coursing through your nerve endings, Ominis didn’t relent.

He left you a whimpering, sensitive mess as he stood, calmly loosening his tie while he allowed you to recover. Ever the gentleman – for now.

His tie gone and his shirt unbuttoned, Ominis offered you his hand. He eased you from the piano to your feet, where you stood with a hazy head. But the vision of Ominis looming over you, chest exposed and hair now a tousled mess, made you lick your lips with lust.

Your hands raked over his torso and chest as you slid his shirt from his arms to the floor. His skin was fair and pale, dabbled with a scattering of beauty marks. You wanted to study them, memorize them until you could point them out as easily as Orion in the night sky. But not now. Now was the time for a different kind of intimacy, one that was much more unchaste.

Ominis stirred quietly as you fiddled with his belt buckle. It had barely clinked apart before you were shoving his pants and undergarments to the floor in haste. His smile told you he was enjoying your frantic state.

You weren’t quite the epitome of composure like he was, but he certainly had never seen you like this. He didn’t seem to mind, judging from the erection that was presently aching in your hand. Ominis’ chest caved as you stroked him, your eyes studying his every expression.

“Fuck,” he moaned as your thumb rolled tiny circles across his tip. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

“Pretty sure I do,” you murmured into his ear.

“What kept you for so long then?” he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“You aren’t exactly the type to wear your heart on your sleeve,” you noted with a smirk, your hand pumping faster around his shaft.

“This house doesn’t need two emotional and impulsive men. One Sebastian is enough,” Ominis muttered. You grinned in response as you leaned in closer, your hand still tugging at his length. “You’re sure about this?” he asked gently.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“I’ve heard that too many times from you and Sebastian to be genuinely convinced,” Ominis noted. You smirked into his eyes, certain he could sense it.

“You know, with all this talking, you’re starting to sound like Seb.”

“You take that back right now.”

You laughed as you pulled Ominis into a long, slow kiss. His hands were everywhere, drinking in every bit of your skin available until his cock was twitching with greed. 

Soon, you were pinned against the piano again, this time with the keys digging into the fronts of your thighs. You gasped as Ominis fisted your hair with one hand, shoving your head forward. The piano clanked as you bent over, your hands catching your weight as they pressed against the piano top.

“I’ll show you what it means to really make some noise,” Ominis growled in your ear. Your arousal swelled instantly.

Ominis’ hands held your hips as you could feel the tip of his cock searching for your slick entrance. It nudged its way past your folds until Ominis sank his hips forward, filling you slowly as you held your breath.

“Shit,” Ominis hissed from behind you as he stretched you apart. Your eyes watered and your teeth clenched, your cunt already threatening to tremble at his mere intrusion. Once he reached the hilt, you could hear him sigh with satisfaction. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “You take me so perfectly.”

You bucked your hips backward in response. Ominis understood your message. His hips pulled back, drawing his cock from your passage until only its tip lingered in your entrance. When he rocked forward again, you moaned as he drove into your walls. 

The piano unleashed a barrage of scattered sound, an ode to the ongoing debauchery happening above. You paid no mind, your focus solely on the bliss that currently bewitched your body. Your fingertips pressed hard against the piano top, leaving fingerprints from your crime. 

Ominis’ cock found a steady rhythm that soon left the piano singing along with your sins. Its keys rang out with each slapping thrust while your moans provided the vocal component. Together, the two of you created a symphony for your seventh heaven. 

“Ominis,” you panted. “Ominis, please. Don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t dream of it. Not when you looked so fucking euphoric laid out before him, your bare backside curved over his precious piano while your skin rippled with its melodies. 

You squeezed yourself tight around his cock, the strain causing your walls to quake until you could feel your body reaching its own high note. You wailed Ominis’ name just before your rigid frame relaxed, your orgasm rolling within your walls until it left you flat across the piano top, your knees threatening to give out. 

Meanwhile, the surge from your core sent Ominis hurtling toward his own climax. He grunted as he slammed into you, spearing your core with his cock once more until he pulled your hips flush with his to fill you with his release. 

When it was over, he collapsed above you, his hands splayed against your back for support. 

“Alright?” he asked once he had the strength to straighten himself up. The moment he did, you missed the warmth of him pressed against your back. 

You nodded in confirmation and straightened, too. Your sweaty body left streaks on the dark piano top, one last imprint of what you’d done. As Ominis pulled himself from you to gather his clothes, your eyes lingered on the piano. 

A bashful blush crept across your cheeks as the reality of your act settled with clarity. You dressed in silence, averting your eyes from Ominis as you searched for the right words to fill the silence. 

Ominis appeared to be doing the same. Once you were both decent again, you decided the rug was the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen. 

But Ominis moved toward you, an act of reassurance and affection, one hand finding your waist as the other brushed your cheek with the backs of his knuckles. 

“Are you okay?” he asked so gently, you almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who had just defiled you on a piano. You smiled softly at him and reached for his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m fine,” you said reassuringly. “You?”

Ominis smiled, his eyes bright and clear now.

“Much better,” he said. “I’ve never been so inspired in my life.”

[rollinouttahere-writes-misc]

Delicious

Mr. Silvair x Reader

4.2k words

Summary: After finding yourself damned to being trapped in a terrifying ghost building, you do your best to adapt to it. The only thing you refuse to adapt to is the local cuisine, but how much longer can you truly avoid that? Reader is not the MC, and this does not take place during the time of the game.

Warnings: gore, violence, forced cannibalism, mind break/loss of self

The otherworld language is depicted bold and crossed out like this.

It’s good to be honest with yourself. There’s nothing to gain from deluding yourself into believing things that aren’t true, which is why you’re quick to admit that you are a coward. It saved you from plenty of situations and kept you from feeling the need to put on any sort of false bravado. 

For the most part, this was a flaw that you had come to accept. It wasn’t until recently that you wished you were at least a bit more courageous. If you had only braved out the heavy rain and lightning and kept walking home, you never would have tried to take cover in what you had thought was the lobby of an apartment complex. If you were less of a scaredy cat, you wouldn’t have dashed deeper into the building all because you saw an ominous looking man with an umbrella standing at the end of the hallway you had just walked down. 

But you did, and now you’re stuck suffering the consequences of that for the foreseeable future. Possibly for eternity. You were still unclear as to how the rules of this strange dimension worked. Honestly, you weren’t sure if there even were rules. Maybe this place was functioning off of wonderland-type logic where everything goes and nothing is consistent. You didn’t understand, but it would seem that you’re going to have plenty of time to at least try to.

Shortly after finding yourself lost here, you had made a terrifying discovery upon opening a door and finding a severed head dangling from a hook by its hair. You screamed out of shock, only to then scream louder when the head screamed back. 

Fortunately for the head, rather than running, you completely froze up. That gave him the chance to start talking. While you couldn’t understand a single thing coming out of his mouth, there was something about the obvious distress on his face that made you feel a pang of sympathy for him despite your abject terror.

Sure, you couldn’t understand whatever strange language he was speaking, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he wanted help. There was a bit of hesitation on your part. Picking up a living severed head was far from appealing… but you couldn’t just leave him hanging there. If you were in a similar situation, you would want someone to help you. So, you unhooked his hair and held his head that was mercifully at least not leaking blood or other bodily fluids.

The period right after rescuing him was extremely confusing. He kept speaking to you like you could understand him, but it really wasn’t helpful. You had no idea what he was trying to convey and just started wandering aimlessly, figuring it was in everyone’s best interest to get away from the room you found the head in before whoever did that could come back.

Eventually, you were at least able to establish what “yes” and “no” sounded like. Trying to turn down some hallways or open certain doors would result in an outburst from the head, who you eventually started referring to as Mr. Chopped, while others elicited a much more positive and encouraging reaction. Where he was leading you was a mystery, but you felt safe in assuming that a defenseless head wouldn’t lead you into danger. If you get incapacitated or worse, he’s going to be completely on his own again.

His reaction when you came upon a staircase with an ominous door at the bottom was particularly enthusiastic. You could only assume that this place was his end goal, though you weren’t sure what would be waiting at the other side of the door. Would you find an empty room that he just so happened to like staying in? A headless body that he would expect you to reattach him to? A friend? 

Was he leading you into a trap?

You didn’t know, but you chose to trust him as you slowly made your way down the stairs and towards the door with the creepy flickering light above it. After taking a steadying breath, you forced open the heavy door and stepped inside. Despite the eerie build up, you found the room to look shockingly normal. It was very bare bones, but seeing a relatively clean and furnished room was downright comforting after running around those barren, dilapidated halls for so long.

But then you heard footsteps and looked to the side only to find an absolutely massive man looming over you. Naturally, you screamed at the top of your lungs and tried to bolt back out the door, but he blocked it and grabbed your free arm to keep you in place. You thought for sure that you were about to die, but then Mr. Chopped started excitedly conversing with the man. Yet again, you were left completely in the dark about what was being said. All that you could do was stare at the tall man like a deer in headlights. You didn’t think it was possible for a person to be that tall, but then again, the head in your arms shouldn’t be alive either.

Once the silver haired man, who you dubbed Mr. Silvair, realized that you couldn’t understand their language, he guided you to sit down in what appeared to be a living room and started teaching you what various things were called. While you were absolutely still intimidated, it was hard to feel completely terrified of someone who was taking time out of his day to educate you. If he wanted to hurt you, he most certainly could have already. That, and what was the point of teaching you words if he was just going to kill you after?

While you still felt a little uneasy given the current situation, you felt like you were at least safe in this room and with these people.

… but then you went into his “research room”.

The horror you felt when you saw the contents of the room was indescribable. There was a blood stained operating table, a chair with restraints, a whole litany of tools that could rip you to shreds, and there were even hooks dangling from the ceiling. When the door behind you opened, you were rooted to your spot. That was it, you were sure of it. Mr. Silvair lulled you into a false sense of security just so he could lure you back here and do god know what to you.

Rather than forcing you into the chair like you had assumed, he simply entered the room and started tapping the things in there while slowly enunciating their names. Despite the absence of aggression, you couldn’t help but still be terrified. None of the words he was teaching you were being absorbed. All that your mind could focus on was trying to figure out how to escape with your life.

As soon as he finished telling you the names of the objects in the room, you bowed your head as a show of thanks- because you were NOT about to be rude to someone with a whole ass torture room at his disposal- and promptly excused yourself. You power walked out of the room and through the living area, not even sparing a second to look around for Mr. Chopped. He wanted to come here, so you figure that he’ll be fine. It’s not like he had much to him to torture anyway.

You were taking the steps two at a time when the main door opened behind you. Once again, your life flashed before your eyes and you were positive that this time he was actually going to kill you. You should have ran, but you froze just like you always do. All you could do was slowly look over your shoulder at Mr. Silvair’s figure. Much to your surprise, he was remaining by the door and was empty-handed. Rather than lunging at you, he simply waved and said a word that you guessed may have meant “goodbye”. You echoed the word back to him with a trembling voice, then promptly hurried up the stairs before he could change his mind and drag you back down.

However, your freedom from that room would be extremely short lived. Not even five minutes later, you found yourself walking down a dimly lit hall when you saw something at the end of it. You weren’t sure what you were looking at at first, thinking that maybe it was a pile of fabric or something. But then it moved. You froze again as the creature inched towards you until it was properly illuminated. 

It was a man with long, dark hair that covered his face, and he was crawling at you on all fours. He raised his head slightly as if he had just noticed you, which made you flinch. Then a wide grin split across his face and he let out a high pitched giggle before crawling towards you faster.

Naturally, seeing an ominous looking man speed-crawling at you was absolutely terrifying, so you sprinted away from him screaming and crying and ran all the way back to where you had just come from. You didn’t exactly trust Mr. Silvair, but at least he didn’t crawl at you like some sort of sleep paralysis demon.

When you burst back into the room that you’re assuming to be his home, borderline hysteric, you weren’t sure what you were expecting to happen. He had every right to be annoyed by your presence and throw your sorry ass out, or worse. Much to your surprise, neither Mr. Silvair nor Mr. Chopped appeared to be upset by your intrusion. If the quiet chuckles coming from Silvair were anything to go off of, they were amused by your terror more than anything.

Most shocking of all, they let you stay. Even now, after all this time, you couldn’t believe they let you in so easily, but they did. Sure, there were some strings attached, but it felt more than worth it to have the protection and safety of having someone like Mr. Silvair around. You learned quickly that the other residents of this strange world did their best to not get on his bad side. Or intrigue him too much and end up in his research room. Ignoring the screams was difficult at times… but better them than you. All that he ever asked for from you were blood draws and periodic examinations, both things that you could live with providing.

The main way that you earned your keep around here was by helping Mr. Chopped. Mostly by taking him wherever he wanted to go; which became much easier thanks to Mr. Silvair teaching you the words for directions. It was scary at first, venturing out into the unknown with nothing but your own wit to protect you, but you forced yourself to power through it lest you risk being deemed no longer useful and thrown out on your own.

As nerve wracking as your excursions were, they weren’t all bad. As you slowly met more and more of the residents down here, you learned that not all of them were bad. The hairdresser was one of the people you saw the most often since Mr. Chopped was very particular about his hair. While you wouldn’t exactly consider her a friend, you weren’t scared of her either. Unlike most of the stylists you’ve met before this, she really wasn’t much for conversation, but at least she wasn’t hostile.

And then there was the extremely unlikely friend you made in the form of Mr. Crawling, the man that had sent you running the first time you saw him. In hindsight, your reaction to him felt ridiculous. While he was scary to look at, you came to realize that he was possibly the nicest person here. You didn’t always see him when you went out with Mr. Chopped, but when you did encounter him, he would take the time to accompany you two to wherever you were going and keep the less than friendly residents away from you. He was easily the person you were closest to next to the ones you lived with.

All of that brought you to where you are today. You don’t know how long you’ve been down here- the concept of time didn’t even seem to be a thing in this place- but if you had to make a guess, you would think it’s been around three months. A lot has happened in these “months”. You’ve learned quite a bit of the mercifully simplistic language, established positive relationships with some of the spirits here, and… you’ve changed. Physically.

When your skin tone became ashy, you thought it was an issue with the piss poor lighting in this damned building or the effects of a vitamin D deficiency. But even when there was genuinely decent light, your skin color was completely off to a very unnatural extent. Your hair went through a similar transformation. Like with your skin, you didn’t think much of it at first. Given the stress you’re under, it wasn’t weird that you were getting gray hairs. But it changed so quickly that you doubted it was just the stress getting to you.

Then you found that you could reach things that you previously couldn’t. When you mentioned this oddity to Mr. Silvair, he very nonchalantly confirmed that you had grown taller, saying it as if this was completely normal and like he was surprised that you hadn’t already noticed it. It was impossible to ignore by that point. Your body was changing. You were evolving into a new form, one similar to that of the other people here.

That, and you didn’t miss the fact that everyone here had stopped referring to you with the word human. Now they just call you you. 

You weren’t happy with this development by any means. You didn’t want to be trapped here forever. You had been holding out hope from day one that you would stumble upon an exit while walking around with Mr. Chopped, but you never did. And now you don’t think you ever will. This was your existence now, and you were trying to force yourself to accept it. But there was one thing you refused to adapt to.

The food.

Much to your horror, the only thing the people here ate was flesh. Human flesh, ideally. Though you have also witnessed residents attacking and cannibalizing each other at times. There weren’t any grocery stores down here, and you haven’t really had any luck scavenging for normal food. The most that you’ve found up to this point has been the rare piece of hard candy, though they always tasted gross and stale.

Mr. Silvair has offered you flesh before. After he was done experimenting on his latest victim, he would carve up whatever was left of them and divy up the meat between himself and Mr. Chopped. He also tried to give some to you, but you’ve always refused his offers, though they were getting more and more insistent as time went on. You could tell that he was starting to get annoyed with your stubbornness, and you couldn’t blame him. You weren’t oblivious to the state you were in.

Yet another unclear aspect to this world- or more specifically, its residents- was how the need for sustenance worked. Even in the early days, you noticed how your body reacted to not getting food. Or, more accurately, the lack of a reaction. There was an underlying feeling of hunger there, but it felt much more muted than you know it should be. You should be starving. The gnawing hunger pains should be ripping you apart, but there was none of that. The most prominent symptom of your unintentional hunger strike was exhaustion. You were lethargic more than anything, and it was getting harder and harder to cope with it, but you refused to cave. This was a line that you weren’t willing to cross. This was your last remaining bastion of humanity, and you couldn’t live with losing it.

Just today, you had to go chasing after Mr. Chopped thanks to that damned kid running off with him again. You understood that they were a child and likely have suffered a lot just by being here, but in your current state, you genuinely couldn’t tolerate their bullshit anymore. You were in a perpetual state of being hangry, and you don’t think it’s going to be much longer before you snap and dropkick that little shit down a flight of stairs. But, lucky for them, they disappeared before you could make today the day.

By the time you trekked back home, you were dead on your feet. You all but collapsed onto the couch and curled up on it with Mr. Chopped nestled between you and the back of the couch in hopes that it would make it harder for that kid to run off with him again. Mr. Chopped asked repeatedly if you were okay, but you were too out of it to give him anything more than one word responses, and you fell asleep not long after laying down.

There was no way of knowing how long you were asleep for. When you awoke, it was to the sensation of something cold on your neck. You pry your eyes open blearily and look over your shoulder to see Mr. Silvair looming over you. Your eyes follow his arm and you realize that the coldness is coming from his fingers on your pulsepoint. You dropped your head back down and relaxed again. He was just doing his usual examination of you. The transformation you were going through seemed to greatly interest him, and he’d begun doing this more often as a result. You don’t mind. You’re just glad that he’s letting you stay on the couch rather than making you get up and go into his research room.

Just as you’re about to fall back to sleep, he speaks quietly, “you not healthy.”

Ah. This conversation again. You sigh softly and keep your eyes closed, “sorry.” The word is hushed and croaked out. Even the simple act of speaking felt like a herculean task. 

Mr. Silvair sighs as well, then pulls his hand away and stands up, “rest.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Within seconds, you had slipped back into a peaceful slumber. The next time that you woke, it was again from a feeling of discomfort. You were no longer on the soft, albeit lumpy, couch, and you could feel something cold on both your wrists. You groan quietly as you open your eyes and look down to assess what’s going on. It takes a few moments for your foggy mind to process what it’s looking at, but when it does…

What you see makes your blood run cold.

You’re shackled to a chair. Not just any chair. This is the one in the research room.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, making you more alert than you have been in a long time. Your head snaps up and you look around, confirming your worst fears. You’re in Mr. Silvair’s research room, and this time it definitely wasn’t for a simple exam. Tears sting at your eyes as the implications of your situation hit you all at once. It finally happened. He’s grown sick of you, and now he’s going to get out of you whatever is left that he wants. And then he’ll kill you.

The door opens, forcing you to whip your head around to see who came in. It was exactly who you thought it would be. Mr. Silvair enters, his head not even turning to face you. He stops in front of you and sets a bucket that you hadn’t even noticed he was carrying until now onto the table.

Panic fills your mind as you scramble to find the right words to convince him not to do this, “please research not me!”

Mr. Silvair regards you for a moment, then smiles at you. It brings you no comfort, of course, and you flinch when he reaches out and pats your head. He speaks in a calm voice, “not research. not now.”

You stare at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to elaborate. You didn’t understand what he was getting at. If he wasn’t going to experiment on you, then why were you restrained? You didn’t understand. You thought… You thought that everything was okay. That you were all friends. And now he’s turning on you like this out of nowhere?!

He firmly grabs your chin and forces you to look at him as he kneels down to be closer to eye level with you. He speaks slowly, seemingly wanting to make sure that you understand every word, “you not eat, you die.”

No… He wouldn’t…

“we not want you dead.” Mr. Silvair stands up and reaches into the bucket. “me take care you.” You can hear his hand close around something wet and malleable, then he pulls it out. A small portion of human flesh is in his hand. Organ meat from the looks of it.

All rationality leaves your mind in an instant. Your frantic mind can’t even begin to try and translate your thoughts into words that Silvair would understand. A flurry of words spews out, “Wait, wait, wait! You don’t have to do this! Please don’t do this! You can’t do this to me! I’m begging you!”

The words are unintelligible to him and obviously have no effect. Rather than engaging with you, he brings the “food” to your mouth. That shuts you up. You clamp your mouth shut, clenching your teeth and pressing your lips together as hard as you can. Wet, viscous flesh rubs against your lips as Silvair attempts to force you to consume it. You hold your breath in a desperate attempt to keep yourself from gagging, which you’re certain you will if you smell it.

After a few more seconds, Mr. Silvair pulls his hand away with a huff. The meat is tossed back into the bucket as he returns to his full height and goes over to his medicine cabinet. You couldn’t be bothered to pay much mind to what he was doing. Instead, you frantically wiped your mouth off on your shoulder, desperate to not let even a drop of blood find its way onto your tongue.

A sob rips out of your throat as the betrayal stabs you through the heart. You never thought that Mr. Silvair would try to force this on you. You thought that he respected you enough to not make you do something that you don’t want to do, but apparently you’re a poor judge of character on top of being a coward. You try in vain to pull your arms and legs free from their restraints, but they hold strong. 

Mr. Silvair comes back to you, this time holding a syringe. His free hand grabs your face and presses it back against the chair, effectively holding you in place. You tried to squirm free, but he was far stronger than you. You can’t even plead with him to stop because his hand is over your mouth and muffling your words. One of your eyes can still see what’s going on through his fingers, but all you can do is watch helplessly as the needle is pressed into your neck and you’re injected with whatever was inside.

The drug is fast acting, and you find your muscles growing limp within seconds. Your mind remains sharp despite this, so you’re guessing that he injected you with some sort of muscle relaxer to keep you from fighting him. You try to force yourself to move, but your muscles aren’t responding the way you want them to. While you aren’t completely paralyzed, your limbs feel impossibly heavy. It takes everything you have just to curl your fingers.

A pathetic whimper leaves your throat as Mr. Silvair repositions his hand to be cradling your jaw. With a light squeeze, he forces your mouth open. All you can do is stare as he grabs the piece of previously refused meat again and brings it to your lips. You want to clamp your mouth shut. You want to stop this more than anything, but you can’t.

As the flesh passes the threshold of your mouth, the first thing that strikes you is how cold it is. You had assumed that it would be warm, but you suppose that any natural body heat it had once possessed had long since dissipated. Cooled, partially coagulated blood flows into your mouth, coating your tongue and running down your throat.

You should be retching and gagging. This should be the single most revolting experience of your life. But… But…

It tastes so good. It’s delectable. This raw, cold slab of organ meat tastes better than any fine dining dish or lovingly crafted home cooked meal could ever hope to. It’s so good. You want more. You need more.

more more more more mORE MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE-

Mr. Silvair begins to withdraw his hand as he sees you eagerly swallow the food, but the movement catches your attention. Before you can even think, you lunge forward, biting down onto his hand and easily severing multiple fingers.

delicious 

[weirdsht]

Volatile - Cale & Child! Reader

a/n: this is based on epic the musical's "the horse and the infant" and "just a man" as requested! I wanted to make this longer and write what happens after reader grew up a bit but i also want the focus to be in Cale's feelings and their reunion :<<<<

tags: male! reader, reincarnated! reader, child/baby! reader, spoilers about Cale's past life, set around the ending of book 1, fluff and angst, platonic relationships, hints of mentally unstable Cale (it's Cale what did you expect), yandere Cale if you squint very hard.

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

req by: @xjdjfbcuf

Kim Rok Soo does not know many things about life. Despite all those experiences, even with the combination of his ability “record“ and read many books he is not all-knowing. But that’s normal, expected. If there’s one thing the man had learned it’s accepting just how unpredictable life can be.

That's why, whatever life throws at him, he accepts and adapts with ease. It’s not easy, both mentally and physically. But what else can a hopeless man like Kim Rok Soo do? If he cannot adapt, then he dies.

This was why even when the most precious people around him died he moved forward. Represses his emotions so that the people under his care do not experience the same thing. Put others above his wellbeing for he is empathetic and compassionate like that despite the whirlwind of bullshit life has put him through.

But sometimes his efforts aren’t enough.

Kim Rok Soo poured more than blood, sweat, and tears just so you have the same as Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk. As a young child under his care — used to be under their care — Kim Rok Soo doesn’t want to lose you or abandon you. Hence why he tried his damnest just so his team would have a 0% mortality rate.

Not everything goes according to plan though. Kim Rok Soo can have several contingencies, and make plans a to z, but that would never stand a chance when the gears of fate turn against him.

And turn against him they did.

For not long after his brothers you also died.

Your death devastated him. You were so young, so little. He was supposed to protect you, shield you from the cruel and harsh outside world. 

But he failed to do just that.

And so his baby died.

Alone

Scared

Helpless

Just like how he is feeling now, Kim Rok Soo cannot take it upon himself to dwell on his feelings.

Once again the only thing the man named Kim Rok Soo could do was adapt and move on.

Ignore the pain.

Ignore the longing.

Ignore that empty feeling.

Other people are counting on him, he cannot let his flimsy mental state ruin their lives too.

He already ruined theirs, he cannot ruin anymore.

This kind of mentality continued as Cale Henituse. From picking up weapons to picking up bottles of booze. From warding off monsters to avoiding annoying nobles. Cale Henituse adapted seamlessly to this new life he was thrown into without any notice or manuals.

However, there is one thing that bothers him as he goes on his quest to get his slacker life.

When he first woke up in this world there was a small note in his pant pocket and all it said was:

[The heir shall await for the day you relieve it from its fate.]

This kind of thing was never mentioned in the novel. In the first place, Cale Henituse never had a major overarching role. He was just there as a small obstacle course for the main hero, Choi Han.

So what exactly did that note mean?

Why was it in his pocket?

Why did it feel divine?

Is that note for him or the original Cale?

Questions he had no way of answering kept piling up each time he took out the small, yet sturdy piece of paper. Hence why he decided that he has more pressing matters to deal with, like preparing for his slacker life, and that note can wait later. 

True enough the answer unveiled itself when the time was right. And that time was when White Star was finally defeated. 

Cale Henituse should be resting. He wasn’t gravely injured or anything but everyone kept giving him scary glares when he tried to move around too much. Cale knows his weak, but seriously? Just how much of a weakling do the kids imagine him to be?

Usually, he would be more than happy to do nothing. Relish in the short lavish lifestyle of doing nothing but eating, reading, sleeping, and repeating it all over again. But this isn’t his usual situation. Despite the White Star and the Seal God being defeated another annoying thing has popped up.

[The heir awaits at the temple.]

Another note slipped in his pocket. At first, he tried to ignore it, his too tired and weary, surely it could wait for another day?

[You must go now before it becomes a bigger threat.]

Another hour, another note. Cale continues to pretend that it didn’t exist.

[Defeat her while he is not ready yet.]

Okay, that’s it Cale has had enough. His pocket and mind feel too heavy to the point he cannot sleep without those notes haunting him.

Which brings him to his current predicament. Sneaking out at night to go back to that blasted temple to kill whatever heir White Star — or so he assumes — left behind. Throughout Cale’s walk notes kept popping, guiding him where he needed to go.

Finally, after 5 minutes of walking Cale Henituse comes across a closed door where that heir is supposed to be. As he opens the door he readies himself for any possible attack that might come. However, none came. Instead, a lone crib draped by a canopy sits in the middle of the room.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

Cale spoke for the first time that night as he approached the crib.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me..!”

He cursed as he looked at the baby inside the crib.

At just one glance he instinctively knew who that baby was… Cale– no, Kim Rok Soo instinctively knew that this baby was you, or at least a reincarnation of you.

This is not White Star’s baby.

This is his baby.

He cannot kill the baby he already failed to protect once.

“I’m not gonna do it. I’m going to take this baby under my roof.”

Cale spoke with finality, if he were speaking to his people they would know that this decision was absolute. That no amount of convincing can change his mind.

Unfortunately, this unknown god doesn’t seem to be aware of that fact.

[That child is the White Star’s heir. If you don’t end him now he’ll come back to avenge his father.]

“His father that is incapable of loving? His father that he won’t even remember because his a literal baby right now?”

[It does not matter, end this baby now or this baby will end everything you have worked for in the future.]

Cale crumpled that last note, but another one appeared almost immediately. 

[You already have blood smeared on your hands. You cannot avoid smearing more, you can only choose whose.]

“Bullshit.”

The commander spoke as he scooped the baby— his baby, not White Star’s— from his crib. His voice sounded strong and nonchalant, but the tremor in his hands betrayed the facade he was putting on.

Deep inside, despair and agony wash over his entire being. Crashing against his heart like tidal waves that cannot be controlled. Visions of his people dying reel over his head like a broken record desperately begging to be destroyed. 

“I’ll raise him as my own— no he is my own. He doesn’t need to know who the White Star is.”

And yet he is resolute.

[The other gods will make it known how much of a sinner his father is.]

“Try that and see what will happen.”

Cale Henituse is ready to take that risk. More than that he is ready to go against literal gods just to not lose you once again. He cannot take going through that whole ordeal a second time, he doesn’t think he can handle it.

And so he leaves the temple as silently as he entered it. Leaving no trace except for the crumpled notes that littered your crib.

Silence lingered in his temporary room as Cale closed the window after entering through it. Everyone else was asleep— well the assassins probably know he snuck out but trust him enough to not follow him— and the kids decided to leave him alone and sleep in another room as he is still “recovering” according to them.

With only you and the moon accompanying him, the commander silently arranged his bed to be baby-friendly so that you could rest. There are so many logistics and care that go into taking in a baby, but he can think of all of that later. For now, he’ll relish in the fact that he has reunited with his estranged. A supposed miracle sent by the gods, if it wasn’t for the fact that those very beings want you dead.

As Cale settles the both of you on the bed you use your tiny hand to grab onto one of his fingers. It was as if you were aware of your past life and knew just how much he cared for you. His heart swells with pride and love, his feelings are so strong that he cannot help himself but let out a small smile as you squeeze his finger before falling back asleep.

Just like that the two of you fell asleep, unaware of the inevitable chaos your presence is bound to cause in the morning.

“This old man let you sneak out last night because he trusted that you know what you’re doing. But it seems like I overestimated my puppy young master.”

It looks like this is going to be a long morning…

[bunji-enthusiast]

ahhhhh, im.not the one who requested it buy I love the oneshot about catnap with the child he took care of after the hour of joy because of the kitty thing. Even though I'm not the one who requested it, is it possible I can request something in the same premise of it. Where catnap after taking care of the child for a long time is starting to run out of the food reserves the factory had, and he has to find other ways to feed them. Through feeding them like how he feeds the smiling critters in the playhouse on "meat" from you know who, or forcing the child to leave so they have a chance to find food. But catnap being catnap wants to keep her there despite so decides on the first choice, even though he had let the child get attached to dogday.

(I'm sorry this may show up on your ask box twice I ment to not send this anonymously but I did by accident so I wanted to correct that, anyways thank you for your absolutely amazing writing remember to take breaks when you need to and stay amazing❤️)

Seeker

Note || awe, no worries. Happy to see you in!

WC || 1,034

Sypnosis || emotions are scarce, food is too. It seems factory is getting to everyone, CatNap is left with unprecedented levels of risks.

The conditions of the environment were no doubt not very liveable ones, so he had tried his best to adapt to the conditions so that you may be able to live in his room comfortably or even walk anywhere else in Playcare. Even beyond the whole place in any case, he just wasn’t sure what to do anymore. CatNap was at an odds end within himself at deciding what to do, what would be best for you.

Should he force you to leave the factory in hopes you find food? No, you’d just get lost and scared, no doubt manhandled by an incompetent people that may pass you by in the process. You were just a kid, lonely and in need of companionship and being surrounded by people you could truly trust.

Though the colorful disposition and creepy toys in this place far proved the idea he needed to keep you safer more often. Knowing that you may as well get attached to some of the other toys you come across, CatNap was admittedly worried. 

You were often inquisitive, curious to find everything your attention was captured by. That wasn’t of any good in his honest opinion, but he had to remain with a steady and cool head. So that when it may be, he can take care of you more properly.

CatNap didn’t want you to leave, he had become far too accustomed to your presence. Hearing your joyful laughs and giggles, staying so hopeful and strong in your own unique way. You certainly brought on a joyful aspect to his lonely life, even with all the others he had punished for being heretics. 

DogDay, oh yes, he had to take some chunks from him. That was the last thing he wanted to do with all that has been said and done. But he truly had no other option, but his worst thought being as how you began to get attached to DogDay.

In retrospect however, he will admit that you can be cute and quite charming for just being a child at most. 

“Mr…” You began, the crayon stilling to a stop. DogDay perked his head up, though the effort to move is indeed extraneous on his war-torn body (both literally and figuratively). “Hm, sweetheart?” He spoke out, his voice spooking you a little bit as he hadn’t spoken very often. You didn’t expect him to actually answer you or at all for that matter, but DogDay seemed kind to you. You wanted to get to know him at least, but to him, he was slight afraid – on your behalf, you didn’t know better on a lot of things. Especially the vying point is how his legs had been taken from him, most of it being fed to the smaller toy versions of the smiling critters and you too. Did you even know what you were eating?

You hesitantly stood up, leaving your paper and crayon to abandon. “Why are you chained up like that?” You asked with a tinge of nervousness, almost afraid as if you were going to incur some sort of angry emotion from the large dog. If he could truly move his own gaping black mouth, he would’ve been frowning right now. DogDay was concerned for you, as to why you were put in this situation. 

“I am… just not a very good person, sweetheart.” His gentle tone carried an aura reminiscent of a father if you ever heard one. Your eyes were wide with curiosity, knowing it was okay to continue speaking with him the way you were. “But, you don’t look bad to me. You're even nice to me!” Your innocent tone had brought back a fragmented memory for DogDay, he chuckled with a warm spell about the air.

DogDay let out an audible sigh, “Not all things are as they seem, CatNap included.” His words incited a bout of curiosity in the flames of your stomach. Now this was something you needed to understand, “Stretchy kitty?” DogDay nodded, a chuckle escaping him once more. You simply were the cutest thing he had seen in a long while. 

“I.. would say he’s not, kind or gentle as you would think him to be.” DogDay was nervous, irradiated by a different presence he had quickly taken notice of, but had continued on anyway. “CatNap, had uh, punished me Sweetheart. Wasn’t nice to his god.” 

‘God?’ you thought, “what is that Mr?” You spoke out in reply, sitting down and closer next to him then you were previously. You were rather oblivious to the presence of such an omniscient aura, menacing enough to be sure. DogDay wasn’t sure how to explain the term finely, but you were curious, wanting to satiate that curiosity by always asking questions. 

You deserved to have every single one of them answered, no matter how silly they may seem. DogDay had hoped the best for you, he had gotten rather attached to you. In spite of CatNap’s many warnings to not talk to you or even glance in your direction, not wanting him to bore your head with lies and spiteful attempts to turn you against him in any way possible. Well, DogDay had felt quite an intense hatred against CatNap right at this very moment, and found the courage to move on forward with his words. No matter what may happen to him, “God is uh, let’s say a very inspirational person… powerful even. But he can be a hypocrite too.” He nodded, tilting his head as if he was speaking through his movements.

“Sweetheart, you follow your own heart alright?” DogDay spoke hopefully, hoping to see that his words had gotten to you a little bit. “Never let anyone tell you otherwise.” You nodded with a fire in your eyes he hadn’t expected from you, but this a youthful you, easily impressionable and inspired. DogDay will forever be hopeful for you, and grateful he ever had gotten to speak to you in the past few days anyway.

A distant crying was unheard of, a lonely digressable cat, heart heavy and hurt. He began to cry silently, tears are there yet there are none.

I’ll shelter and adore you more than anything.

[clairdelunelove]

call me

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (rescue drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, mentions of motorcyclist!ghost, protective!ghost

synopsis: the downtime after missions was rarely a time that ghost looked forward to. everyone's aware to leave him alone during this period. that is, until he gets a call from you asking for his help to rescue you from an awkward situation!

a.n. wOW! hi lovelies, it's been a while! I was inspired to write this because something similar happened to me at an anime convention! and yes it was with a mw 2019 jawbone ghost cosplayer hehe (¬‿¬) oh, here's my kofi! and pls enjoy! <3

-

-

-

obsessed with the idea that ghost would drop everything and come running to you if you called him. 

-

the conclusion of an operation was, albeit, a bit bittersweet for ghost. sure, he benefited from the downtime of not being in an environment that constantly triggered his fight or flight response and a small break was necessary for his well-being to avoid pushing past his physical limitations. yet, those were the only beneficial factors he could conjure up. most operators took advantage of the intermission to catch up with friends at pubs or visit family for a couple days– a luxury he never allowed himself to have. thus, he spent the days of rest endlessly secluded. trapped within the barren walls of his flat. choosing to occupy his time thumbing through a nonfiction novel or finishing some exterior maintenance. he referred to his living space as a place to rest his chaos. to ease his hardships into a lasting slumber– that is, until he’d receive intel about a new operation. and his home was an enigma of great strength accompanied with struggle, providing a solitude that ghost was well acquainted with. he preferred it that way. no one reaches out to him during this time of isolation. which is why he doesn’t expect your name to flash on his phone’s screen and it’s even more astounding that he chooses to pick up the call. 

ghost who leans low enough that his leg almost touches the smooth asphalt when he cruises down the road. the sleek, pitch-black motorcycle adapts easily when he wrenches the steel handlebars. after adjusting in his seat, his gloved hands rev to intensify the speed while his mind recalls the conversation he had with you. approximately two minutes ago. the way you quietly pleaded, “could you please come and get me?” and immediately, the lack of context backed with the sticky hoarseness in your voice awakened unease within him. “you hurt?” his instinctive question is followed with a gruff, “who do I need to talk to.” and the sheer seriousness of his threat forces a minor giggle to leave your lips. the sound encourages him to mull over possibilities. where were you? where could you be right now? think, damn it, think. he drags a heavy hand across his face while vaguely remembering the lighthearted conversation you had earlier in the week. a pair of squad members had politely asked about your weekend plans to which you shared that you planned to get some grocery shopping out of the way. a mundane answer that pulled a couple laughs. but now, the rather ordinary task seemed to evolve into a nightmare as he hears you suck in a wobbly breath. “you still in town, sweetheart?” ghost forces his voice steady despite the crazed way he’s tugging on his shoes and shoving away stray papers to retrieve his keys. you instantly respond that you are and he tries not to dwell on the chance that his presence might’ve helped calm your nervousness. compels himself to solve the blatant issue before figuring out why his decision-making is so sudden. why he’s swiftly weaving through traffic in hopes of finding you when he should be relaxing at his flat. but his voice rumbles out of your phone’s speaker when he instructs, “stay put. I’ll come get you.” 

ghost who visibly tenses up when he spots you from the crowd of shoppers. most are occupied in their own business; choosing from a variety of commodities or paying for their groceries at the checkout line. but that’s not what he’s here for. treading through aisles, his appearance manages to raise curiosity from a couple onlookers before they tactfully glance away from the massive man. having one’s identity partially hidden away by layers of clothing while clutching onto a motorcycle helmet tends to facilitate that reaction from the average citizen. it works in his favor. his heavy-lidded eyes scan the room and before long he recognizes a tuft of your hair. he figured his first encounter with you would be under different circumstances, albeit more jovial and perhaps you’d grace him with one of those blinding smiles that you reserve solely for him. however, all he sees is vermillion flooding his vision. you’re backed into a secluded corner of the store by a sleazy man who’s testing his luck. unfortunately for the stranger, ghost was never a believer of good fortune. you venture to put more distance between you and the man but to no avail. he inches closer. “like I said earlier,” you strive to keep your tone of voice stable, “he’s on his way already. I don’t need a ride.” a courageous act but the guy is already responding. a shoddy decision, in ghost’s opinion, because upon hearing the stranger’s crude innuendo, ghost’s nails form crescents within his palms from how fiercely he’s balling his fists. sees you shrink from the words. and he’s a reaper with the sole mission to deliver punishment.

ghost who eases beside you and subtly reaches to touch your shoulder while murmuring, “I’ve got you.” his voice leaves his lips in a soothing drawl that has you inwardly crooning. safety is synonymous with him. always is. initially checks in with you before engaging in conversation with the stranger. you’re top priority. “simon?” his name is a relieved gasp from your plush lips. clearly you weren’t expecting him to step into the situation with hopes of diffusing it. he slowly tilts his head, “told ya I’d come.” mentions it like it’s a common occurrence that he spends his downtime shutting down harassment directed towards you. yet the first observation you make is that he’s dressed rather casually. clad in an ash-colored hoodie and denim jeans that always cause you to wonder whether he has them tailored because of how well they fit his physique. the homey outfit is a sight to behold considering you typically saw him in uniform; you ravished the domestic image. burnt it into your memory for safe keeping. apparently, so does ghost. “you look proper cozy today.” waving a gloved hand, he indicates your casual outfit and the sudden change of topic prompts a small grin to form on your face. which, ultimately, is his entire plan. dragging your eyes to a sudden motion, you watch as he rolls his sleeves up to reveal a swirl of veins and intricately tatted skin. he’s mystifying; everything about him is– which seemingly adds to his appeal and no matter how vigorously you fight against it, you can’t help but feel the inevitable pull. “don’t get any ideas, sweetheart.” of course the comment is meant to scold but the breathy rasp in his voice morphs it into pure sin. he shoots you an inquisitive glance when he regards your heated gaze and wordlessly chastises your behavior with a raise of his dark brows. 

ghost who absolutely resents whenever someone interrupts you. the act itself is rude beyond doubt but it’s especially ignorant when it concerns you. and the tacky stranger had the audacity to do it in front of ghost. from beneath his mask, he clenches his jaw when the other man decides to open his mouth to continue conversing with you. again. ghost shifts, positioning himself between the two of you, and spits out the words, “you’re doing me ‘ead in. do one, will ya?” his tone is level, devoid of any expletives in his question yet his manchester accent is gravelly enough for his words to border a threat. the manifestation of trouble. he pushes up his sleeves for good measure. truth be told, ghost would’ve simply told the other man to ‘piss off.’ perhaps give him the finger. but you were around and he favored appearing posh. 

ghost who basks in the gratifying burn of watching the stranger scurry away from just his words. runs like a scruffy dog getting caught going through a trash bin and he bites back a snicker. but who wouldn’t run from ghost? dressed as the embodiment of shadows and danger. probably his physique too, if he was being honest. towering at six feet and some more. he states, “don’t think the bloke was fond of me.” can’t refrain from the mockery that lines his words. perhaps the possessiveness was corrupting him more than he imagined. he glances at you, paying special regard to the way the corners of your lips curl at his remark, “suppose you’re right. I appreciate you coming, by the way.” isn’t quite sure why you’re thanking him. he’d rush to you whenever you needed him. but he dismisses it with a throaty, “not a problem.” and it dawns on him that the two of you are alone. away from the prying eyes of the task force members. surrounded by the normalcy of civilian life. and the motorcycle gear that he’s adorned with seems obvious that there’s more to him than he lets on. like the fact that he rushed here without a second doubt. there’s a glimmer in your eyes and he’s aware that your mind is racing with possibilities. “I wonder,” there’s a playfulness in your tone as you shift closer to him, “what was lieutenant riley up to before coming to my rescue?”  

ghost who exhibits the duality of man when he’s with you. his voice gets caught in his throat and he promptly answers, “nothin'.” because you’re placing a gentle hand on his forearm. vanquishes him to a robot that can only utter a single word from a single touch. this wasn’t what he was like before; the esteemed protector with a jealous streak. no, he’s reduced to a pining jumble of tenderness for you. even through the layers of clothing he recognizes your warmth and yearns for it. you gaze up at him through your lashes, a telltale sign that his lack of plans served as an invitation to propose more. he knows that look. “you’re quite a secretive man, simon,” you teasingly narrow your eyes, “has anyone ever told you that?” your fingertips trace the swirls of ink on his arm and he desperately tries to fight against the way his eyes drop into a half-lidded stare. your touch always reduces him to a puddle of adoration. “no,” he breathes out and hopes to convey his ardor in irony, “never.” knows you’re grinning at his automatic responses and heat bubbles within him. 

ghost who allows your caress to dip down to his wrist which, conveniently, was the hand that held onto his motorcycle helmet. watches as you draw delicate patterns on the helmet’s shell. recognizes that you’re working up courage. for what, he's not sure. maybe you’ll ask him how long he’s been a motorcyclist. that’s typically the first question that’s settled. but nothing could prepare him for your honeyed voice that asks, “can I ride?” and how you use him as leverage to push up on your tiptoes and pleadingly whisper, “please?” he's pretty certain that you mean getting a ride on his motorcycle. yet, with the way your lips are practically pressing against his neck and how the heat of your breath forces him to stifle a groan of satisfaction, all logic flies out the window. pure, unadulterated hunger for you seizes ghost in an unexplainable grasp. he needs you. wishes he could whisk you away to someplace else. perhaps to his place. gosh, he appreciated the downtime after a mission. “bloody vixen,” he murmurs lowly while slipping the helmet into your hands, “it’s all yours, sweetheart.” on his motorcycle it typically takes 10 minutes flat to get to his place or 7 minutes if he turns a blind eye to the speed limit– which is an act he’s willingly committed before. 

[fantasy-relax]

Sweet Alpha, Dangerous Omega

Part 17

When you closed your eyes, the only thing you could see was the expression of terror on the face of that poor maid, the blood covering your feet, and in your ears the echo of that man's cries resonated.

You cried for two days, silencing your screams and moans out of habit, hurting your throat as a result.

When your free days were over you moved automatically, nodding and shaking your head as was appropriate.

Your mind kept going over the scene and every day it gave you a new detail, the shadows took the form of hands trying to catch you and the puddles grew in size until you could feel the liquid through your shoes.

When you slept you relived the memory over and over again, every part, every second trapped until Cassandra came to free you from the cycle, Cassandra with her face covered in blood and a smile that showed her sharp fangs.

Your feelings of disgust and horror that the cruel scene caused you disappeared when you saw the Omega, speaking to you in a soft tone trying to give you relief.

“Blood and human flesh are our sustenance”

You had ignored the rumors surrounding the castle and the Dimitrescu because you knew firsthand how they could be twisted for someone else's benefit.

“We need it to live”

Every being needs sustenance to continue, plants, fungi, animals and humans.

And this could be different, adapted to the needs of each being.

“You understand, right?”

Of course.

“It's part of me”

Cassandra was not human.

“You love me, right?”

Did you?

Was it love you felt? You had never felt it before, all your life you have focused on surviving, and no one tried to get close to you unless it was to hurt you.

Was it love? The day you found Cassandra you acted on instinct, an Alpha protecting an Omega from danger, an Alpha attracted to an Omega in Heat.

Was it love? What enticed you was the fact that someone wanted you, desired you, needed you. For once you felt that your life was worth something.

Was it love? Cassandra was beautiful, more than once your gaze fell on her biceps observing even the smallest detail when she threw the easels.

Was it love? You were attracted to Cassandra's attitude, demanding and firm not letting anyone walk all over her, strong and stubborn pursuing what she wants without fear, gentle and sentimental, a side that you had seen during her Heat and in the stories her sisters told you.

You didn't know if it was love, but you knew it wouldn't take long to become that.

What should you do?

You turned to see the fur beside your bed, covered to the fiber of your scent.

The next step in courtship was to provide sustenance, food.

Providing your Omega with everything she needed and asked for was your duty as Alpha.

Your Omega needed human flesh for sustenance.

And it was your duty to provide it.

Hunting, killing another human, ending someone else's life for the chance at a Mate was selfish, cruel and depraved…

And so damn tempting.

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

Despite your silence Dorothea could get an idea of ​​what had happened, after all gossiping was the servants' source of entertainment.

A few days ago, some prisoners escaped and their pieces ended up scattered in the hallway, her team salvaged as much as they could, after all wasting it meant someone else would take its place.

It was a grotesque scene, but over the years Dorothea has adapted to many things and made sure her team did too.

You, on the other hand, were gentler than you seemed to be at first look, despite the horrendous treatment you had experienced, witnessing such a scene surely was a tremendous shock for you.

However, if you wanted to court a Dimitrescu, even more so to Mate with one, you had to understand and accept their inhumanity.

When Dorothea found out about you, she didn't give it much importance, one more face walking on the edge of her knife.

She never thought she would become fond of you, she blames her wife for that, when it comes to Relia the barriers of her heart crumble easily as wet paper.

She never dreams that she would get to see Cassandra in harmony with her subgenre. For the new maids it wasn't much of a difference, but for the older ones the change in the young mistress's behavior was obvious.

Even though Miss Cassandra groaned in annoyance and Lady Dimitrescu turned a blind eye at her pup behavior, there was no doubt that the young mistress acted like a high-class Omega challenging her chosen one to see if she met her standards, if she was worthy of being her mate.

It was adorable and hilarious to watch.

So, Dorothea had faith in you, letting you process things in your own time despite Relia's whining was the best thing to do.

- "What is Cassandra's favorite food? Her preferences?"-

Your voice sounded hoarse from disuse, your face was pale, and your hands were shaking, yet you kept your gaze in her eyes, determined to get answers.

And Dorotthea gave them to you.

You have finally made your decision.

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

Dorothea gave you information about Cassandra's preferences and your butchering skills were more than enough to prepare the meat.

You just had to choose the prey.

The inhabitants of the castle were off limits due to the rules imposed by Lady Dimitrescu and Bela, out of respect you did not want to disobey them. Besides, you don’t want to ruin the good atmosphere you had with your workshop colleagues and the kitchen team.

In the village there are drunks everywhere, being prey to the Lycans is common, no one would care if one disappeared.

"How dare you even think of giving meat of such a disgusting level to our Omega?"

Your Alpha was right.

Cassandra deserved the best and your duty was to give it to her or die trying.

You had to hunt healthy prey, with enough meat to be nutritious and fat to give flavor.

Drunks were off the table.

You needed meat to offer Cassandra as food.

You needed quality meat, not too old, not too young, not too fat, not too thin, free of vices and with a healthy diet.

And while you had made your decision, snatching a child from its parents or parents from their child weighed on your conscience, you would stain your hands with blood anyway, but at least you wanted to sleep without dreaming about empty cribs and children crying.

You closed your eyes reviewing the faces of the village that you could remember, who met your requirements?

Image after image crossed your mind until you found the answer.

A couple at the peak of their age.

A couple with a balanced diet.

A couple with a life free of alcohol and cigarettes.

A couple whose parents have already died.

A couple without brothers or cousins.

A couple whose offspring is cursed.

When you opened your eyes the heaviness on your shoulders disappeared.

You have already made your decision.

Your two free days were close, you would use one to confirm the routine of your prey and on the second you would attack.

You would not let doubt consume you; you would take the next step as soon as possible.

Cassandra had waited more than enough.

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

You couldn't find Greta anywhere, you needed to tell her about your temporary departure, it was either her or Bela but considering that neither of the Dimitrescu had approached you it was easy to assume that the blonde was not an option.

“Omega must be furious at our uncertainty and cowardice”

The shame of having run without looking at her burned you and the only thing that could extinguish it was to demonstrate your devotion and acceptance towards her.

Through the offering of fresh meat.

You couldn't waste any more time, so you took the risk.

- “A trip outside the castle?” - The maid was someone you had seen working close to Greta and held a higher rank than you, Olivia.

- “I’ll be back before nightfall on the second day.”- Leaving the castle temporarily wasn't that strange, as long as you had permission from the Dimitrescu or the Head Maid and returned on time, you were safe.

However, Greta had chosen the perfect day to take a vacation because you couldn't find any trace of her and time was passing.

- “Ok, as long as you arrive on time, there won't be a problem. I'll let her know your whereabouts.”-

You breathed a sigh of relief and offered her a grateful smile.

- “Thank you.”-

She smiled back at you.

- “My pleasure.” –

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

After making sure your backpack was hidden, you covered your body in mud to hide your scent and set off on a path you knew by heart.

The house where your prey lived was somewhat far from the town, it wasn't on the edge like your cabin, but the distance was enough so that the neighbors couldn't hear screams.

It's not like you were planning on making a scene, being in better shape didn't mean you could fight a mob by hand.

Hiding among the branches of a sturdy tree your vigil began.

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

After confirming the routine your prey followed, you prepared for the hunt. While attacking at night was perfect to avoid drawing attention, the darkness would be a disadvantage to you too and would cause trouble, plus the Lycans tended to be active at those hours.

Your plan was to enter the house just as the woman was cooking, as she used too many spices they would hide whatever leftover of your scent, you would finish her off quickly and hide her body in a closed room. When the man came home you would make noise to draw his attention and the moment he entered you would pierce his throat with an arrow to prevent him from screaming and then finish him off. With your two preys caught you would proceed to bleed them into two buckets and then dismember the bodies, focusing on taking only Cassandra's favorite pieces because you couldn't carry both bodies at once and making a double trip increased the chances of being discovered by the others more inhabitants or the Lycans. So, you would put everything you could in the backpack, cover the buckets to avoid spills and then start your way back to the castle.

After taking a bath, you would take your gifts and go to Cassandra's room to deliver them. You would apologize for your delay and depending on her answer...

Whether yes, or no, there is no turning back.

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

You have to be fast and discreet.

Entering the house without being seen,  went to the kitchen where the woman was.

Alone.

Her attention was focused on the stew on the stove, the smell of the spices was strong enough to impregnate the kitchen and the entire house.

You approached her slowly.

And with quick hands in a precise movement, you broke her neck.

The body fell at your feet writhing unable to scream, her gaze fell on you which made you lower your head and maintain a submissive posture.

Mother detested your rebellion.

“She is not a mother, she is prey”

Prey, yes, the woman was prey.

When you turned to see her, her eyes were already empty of life.

She would never look at you with contempt again.

You would never hear her insults again.

You would never feel the pain of the whip against your back for looking at her wrong, for speaking to her wrong, for breathing wrong, for existing wrong.

Never.

You took a deep breath and, taking her legs, you dragged her to the closet.

Before closing the door, you looked at the lifeless body once more.

- “Goodbye Mother” -

Your next prey had to be caught off guard.

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

You kept your eyes on the kitchen door.

The soup was still burning to keep the smell of the spices, your prey was a veteran hunter, even covered in mud, he could detect your scent.

You heard the footsteps approaching and prepared your bow.

A shot to the throat to stop him from screaming and then you would finish him off with your knife.

That was the plan.

However, the arrow missed its target, nailing itself centimeters above the man's head, who immediately turned to look at you.

You froze.

- “What the fuck?” – The man's confusion soon turned to anger, before you could prepare another arrow, he lunged at you.

- “What are you doing here?!” -

- “Where's my wife?!”-

- “What have you done?!”-

Each question was punctuated with a blow.

“Stop being so defensive! Attack!”

- “I should have blown your brains out a long time ago” –

“Fight!”

- “Damn aberration” –

“Fight!”

He got up from your beaten body to take out his gun.

- “I'll end your miserable life once and for all” –

“Don't you dare to leave our Omega alone!”

You kicked his crotch before he could take off the safety, the man dropped the gun in pain, but you didn't grab it. You tackled him, knocking him to the ground and threw punch after punch.

In these three months you gained weight and the work in the workshop helped you build muscle.

The man was an old Beta, and you were a healthy young Alpha.

Unlike you he could not coordinate because he was not used to being the one receiving the beating.

- “No more” – No more punches, no more kicks, no more insults, no more begging, no more pleading.

The man's movements were weak and slow

- “Never” – You would never allow him to put his hands on your Mate.

The movement ceased.

You looked at the bloody face of the man and instead of feeling guilty for killing him you felt guilty for having wasted blood.

In the end they were right…

- “Goodbye Father”-

…the blood in your veins meant nothing.

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

You tied two ropes to different ceiling beams and hung the bodies, placed the buckets and proceeded to cut their necks.

You sharpened your knives while you waited, when not a drop more fell you lowered them and laid them on the floor.

*THUMP*

You proceeded to cut so you could take the pieces that Dorotthea confirmed were Cassandra's favorites.

“Omega will be happy with our gift”

Blood covered the walls, the floor, your face, your clothes and your hands.

*THUMP*

You had killed your parents.

*THUMP*

They raised you.

*THUMP*

They fed you.

*THUMP*

They punished you.

*THUMP*

They tortured you.

*THUMP*

They never defended you.

*THUMP*

They abandoned you.

*THUMP*

And you killed them.

*THUMP*

It was your decision

*SLASH*

No one forced you; no one ordered you.

*SLASH*

It was your choice

*SLASH*

You are a murderer.

*SLASH*

A traitor to humanity.

*SLASH*

They betrayed you first.

*SLASH*

They attacked you first

*SLASH*

They abandoned you first.

*SLASH*

In the castle there are people who care about you, who appreciate you and take care of you.

*SLASH*

In the castle there is your pack.

*SLASH*

In the castle there is the woman who sought you out, who chose you.

*THUMP*

Your actions are breaking you

You are falling piece by piece.

*Drip*

And from the pieces that fall you will create a Mate worthy of her.

*Drip*

But you can't help but fear that it will all be in vain and all that awaits you is another rejection.

*Drip, drip, drip*

How much longer can you keep persevering?

*Sniff*

How much longer?

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

- “The Alpha is gone!” –

No…

Bela trusted you, had faith in you and this is how you repay her?

… is it her fault? Did you keep your resentment close to your chest until the opportunity to escape presented itself?

Did she ruin her little sister's chance because of her recklessness?

- “Cassandra!” - Daniela's scream brought her back to the present and she could finally notice the scent that fluttered around the room like a hurricane.

Anger and determination

Cassandra had gone from sadness and self-pity to anger.

- “Fuck this” -

How much she had missed seeing that flame.

- “Alpha is mine” - A statement that no one dared to deny.

Your fate was sealed from the moment Mother brought you, no, from the moment Cassandra trusted you in her most vulnerable state.

You belonged to Cassandra and Bela refused to fail her little sister again.

But… if Bela found you first, she would give you the chance to explain yourself and she would listen to you until the end before punching you.

She owed you after all.

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

- “The Alpha is gone!” –

Daniela blinked, trying to dispel the hallucination in front of her.

Because it has to be a hallucination, you would never abandon them, you would never abandon Cassandra, the Omega you courted with fervent adoration.

… right?

But when she turned to see the stupefied faces of her family, she knew it was not an illusion.

You were gone, the moment she stopped watching you, the moment she placed her complete trust was the moment you decided to escape.

How could you live like that? They had given you their full blessing to court Cassandra and not counting the accident with Lucia they had been more than kind to you.

Didn't you love her sister?

Daniela looked at Cassandra and relief coursed through her veins as she noticed that the emptiness in her eyes had been replaced with the fury that characterized her.

Her sister stood up from Mother's lap, her scent intensifying with each passing second.

Anger and determination

The relief quickly turned to fear.

What was Cassandra going to do to you?

- "Cassandra!" - As much as your betrayal hurt, she couldn't let you die, they could still fix it, they could still convince you.

- "Fuck this" - Did she decide to end the courtship? End you? No, her sister would never give up.

- "Alpha is mine" - Cassandra growled the words, her eyes shining with the intensity of the sun itself and Daniela knew that her sister was finally in harmony with her Omega.

And they were ready to capture their escapist Alpha.

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

Mother had stayed in the castle to prepare Cassandra's room.

- "You would need a comfortable collar to wear and long chains"-

See? Mother had finally accepted you, she gave you permission to be in Cassandra's room outside of her heat.

Chained, but those are minor details.

According to the information they obtained, only Olivia had seen you leave; after what happened with Lucia, all the maids avoided you, the only ones who didn't were Dorothea's pack and Relia's group; but because it was your two days off, they didn't know your whereabouts because for them you were locked in your room as you always did.

Cassandra caught your scent without difficulty and without wasting time she followed the trail until she lost it a few meters before reaching the town.

An admirable feat because Cassandra's sense of smell was the best in the pack. They decided to split up to search for the town, Cassandra would cover the north starting from your cabin, Bela would cover the south and she would patrol the surroundings.

Being the fastest she could cover the perimeter of the village in minutes and her eyesight was far superior to her sisters, even in complete darkness she could see for miles there was no way you could escape from her.

On her third lap she saw it, a figure covered in blood walking with difficulty through the forest. Focusing more she could recognize its features.

Your features.

She found you.

* “I found her” *

* “On my way” *

* “Don’t let her escape Daniela” *

In less than a minute she was standing in front of you

- “I can’t believe you did this, after everything we’ve been through together, I gave you my friendship and you spit in my face, com-

*THUMP*

You dropped the buckets you were carrying to soon vomit on a poor bush.

Oh, shit she forgot you were covered in blood.

She came over and checked you over as you continued to expel your guts.

You were covered in bruises and the occasional scrape, but you had no wounds that could cause bleeding.

The blood wasn't yours.

The smell of blood was stronger in the buckets, bending down she took the lid off one.

Blood.

Fresh blood.

Fresh man's blood.

She moved her hand to taste it, but stopped when she heard you scream and notice the threat in your scent.

-“NO!”- You had never spoken to her like that - “It's not for you”-

Your posture and your scent made it clear that if she decided to ignore your words you were going to attack her.

She slowly covered the bucket and with the same care stood up, at no time did you stop watching her.

You were alert, tense and covered in blood.

What had you done?

The sound of a swarm arriving caught the attention of both of you.

-“Who do you think you are, Little Alpha?” – Bela growled.

Cassandra would not take long to arrive.

Her sister checked you from head to toe, approached you and flicked you on the forehead with a finger.

- “Didn’t I tell you to let me know if you needed anything?”- She said, quickly taking your face and wiping it with the rag she always carried in her pocket – “Leaving the castle without permission or notice warrants punishment, what’s your excuse?”-

- “I couldn’t find you nor Greta, but I told Olivia that I would be back in two days at most, being Greta’s second in command I thought there would be no problem”- Huh, it seems that the dungeon will have a new guest.

- “What was so important that you couldn’t wait?” - Daniela had an idea and from the sidelong glance of her older sister she had also drawn her conclusions.

- “I-” – You opened your eyes and hurriedly walked away from Bela to take off the backpack you were carrying on your back.

*BUZZ*

Cassandra had finally arrived.

Both Bela and her walked away from you, however Daniela remained alert to protect you in case Cassandra’s fury was unleashed.

But Cassandra reformed silently, without screaming and without attacking, walking towards you with an indifferent face that was betrayed by the scent fluttering around her.

Anger

Despite that, the one who shortened the distance between the two of you was you.

You knelt at Cassandra's feet to place the backpack in front of you and the two buckets flanking it.

- "Omega" - Your voice was firm, but Daniela could notice the slight tremor in it, - "My behavior the previous nights was regrettable and I understand if you wish to end the courtship," - You raised your head and she was sure that in your eyes there was only that perpetual adoration - "Even so, I dare to beg for another chance and as an apology for my horrible behavior I give you sustenance from prey that I hunted with my hands" -

You opened the backpack and Daniela gulped because the wrappers were useless, only the smell gave away its contents.

Fresh meat.

Fresh human meat.

Of man and woman.

You bowed your head in reverence as you bumped your bloody and wounded fists together, a courtship posture that she had only read about in her books.

- “I promise you that you will never be cold because I will give you shelter, you will never go hungry because I will bring you food, you will never be alone because I will be by your side until the day I breathe my last breath; dear Omega, beloved Cassandra, could you forgive this pathetic Alpha?”-

Daniela bit her hand hard to silence her excited cry while with the other she shook Bela's shoulder until her sister slapped her without looking at her because just like her, she was focused on the scene in front of her.

Cassandra took one of the pieces of the backpack and when she opened it two pairs of eyes in perfect condition were in the palm of her hand, Daniela licked her lips hungrily, after all eyes are the favorite snack of the three and for which they are always competing.

Her sister took one and examined it in detail and then set her gaze on you.

- "Alpha, look at me" - You obeyed in seconds like a trained dog.

Cassandra placed the eye between her teeth and chewed it without closing her mouth, she did it slowly without looking away from you.

While Daniela could not see your face your scent revealed the disgust you felt towards the action.

Her sister took another and repeated the process, always staring at you.

Despite your clear displeasure you did not look away for even a second.

When you finished Cassandra smiled and that was enough for your displeasure to be replaced by pure and absolute euphoria.

Her sister's smile faded, and she leaned down to held your face, her gloved hands stained with the blood from her snack but you didn't seem to care as a content rumble came from your chest.

- "Did you leave the castle just to hunt?" –

- "Yes, I used my two days off and told Olivia I'd be back before nightfall on the second day." –

- "Why didn't you look for Greta to inform her directly?" –

- "I looked for her, but I didn't find her neither I find B-" You flinched and hissed in pain before continuing – "L-Lady Bela and I didn't want to waste any more time."

- "Why in such a hurry?" –

- "I've made you wait too long." –

Cassandra brought her face closer to yours and her whisper was clear to her superior ears.

- "I think the same." –

And she kissed you.

Cassandra, out of her Heat, totally in control of her actions, kissed you.

SHE KISSED YOU.

Daniela screamed without a voice and proceeded to do three backflips before kneeling and raising her hands to the sky.

- “Praise the Dark God”- She whispered with all the gratitude and happiness her body could generate.

[hoo-n-i-ki]

Cold One. (Chapter 2)

Anyone but her.

PAIRING - Volturi!Riki x Cullen!fem!reader

GENRE - Twilight AU

CHAPTER WC - 7801 (I got carried away)

WARNINGS - Vampires, graphic violence, blood, death (like a lot of it). Very plot heavy. Morally grey Riki (this is a complete work of fiction and is in no way a representation of him).

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

The throne room is silent, save for the footsteps of a messenger approaching the dais. The hooded figure kneels before the three kings. Aro, perched on his throne, eagerly extends a cold hand for the messenger to press his own against.

Excitement flickers in Aro’s eyes—then, he laughs.

“Well, well,” he muses. “Carlisle has turned another for the first time nearly a century.”

Riki, leaning against the carved stone walls with his arms crossed, finally looks up. Very little intrigues him after exactly 200 years of this life, but hopefully this is something as rousing as the Cullens’ hybrid debacle from 18 years ago.

Caius scoffs in distaste. “I assume this one will be another vegetarian?”

“If Carlisle turned them, he must believe they’ll adapt to his way of life,” Jane says simply from the side, youthful face as stony as ever.

“Pity. Setting up yet another for an eternity of insatiability.” Marcus shakes his head.

Aro hums. “What do you think, Mind Stealer?”

Riki’s crimson gaze meets the ancient ones. “He’s sired several, before.” He shrugs.

“Such apathy,” Caius sneers.

“Someone has to keep an eye on the bigger picture.”

Through his several altercations with them, Riki knows that this coven doesn’t seek trouble, but they’re always at the center of it, and it always finds its way to Volterra.

They are a family of honor. As honorable as he once was.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Present day.

The crack of thunder drowns out the sound of the victim’s screams.

You finish feasting on the redhead, and toss her corpse into a nearby dumpster like she’s nothing but an empty sack.

To be fair, that is true.

Let the cops find her. Even on the off chance that they could trace this back to you, then what? You can now take 20 of their strongest in a heartbeat.

As you saunter out of the alleyway, a lone car drifts by, music playing in the dead of night.

“Ooh, you set my soul alight,” you sing along to the familiar tune beneath your breath, off-key.

This is what sets your soul alight. The hunt. The taste running down your throat like no expensive champagne ever has.

Your heart? A different story. Perhaps it’s your human self’s dedication to saving lives rather than ending them trying to peek through.

But your heart stopped a month ago—so it certainly does not win this battle. It is merely a symbol, just like your humanity altogether.

You are now certain of three things.

First is that you are now a vampire.

Second is that your parents were murdered by vampires.

And third is that you are now a murderer.

You strut without a care in the world. Even if someone were to discern your features despite the dark, Vancouver is full of interesting characters. No one would bat an eye at some messy hair, and you could easily play off your blood-stained lips and red eyes as some new goth makeup trend.

You consider chasing the car’s driver, but you’re full.

For now.

So why you ended up finding yourself at your aunt and uncle’s neighborhood? You can’t really tell—you’re just going off on the instincts that have carried you thus far.

There weren’t any street cameras back when you lived here, but just in case there are now, you use your speed to move so fast they wouldn’t even be able to catch a single glimpse of you, and you enter the damned house without a sound.

The only problem, probably, with being a newborn is how heightened your emotions are. This isn’t you, (Y/N), you have to endure, Carlisle tried to tell you the last time you saw him.

But he doesn’t know a single thing about you.

He doesn’t understand the bitterness you carry.

You’re 11 years old, standing in this same doorway, clutching your school bag that’s soaked from the rain because they conveniently forgot to pick you up.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so pitiful,” your aunt sneers, “if you weren’t so ungrateful, perhaps we’d actually want to help you.”

She wipes imaginary sweat from her brow as she flicks through primetime channels. “Do you know how hard it is to take care of a child that isn’t even ours? We had plans, (Y/N). You ruined them. We should’ve sent you to a foster home.”

You’d scrub the floors until your fingers ached, only for her to find some invisible speck of dirt and make you do it all over again. You remember how they’d lock the fridge at night, how they’d turn off the hot water before you could shower, how they always reminded you that you don’t belong there.

And your uncle’s attention would only come in the form of disappointment. “The chores aren’t done? Didn’t we feed you last night? Maybe you need to start earning your keep before you start demanding so much.”

But the chores were always done—just not in his wife’s eyes. Demanding so much? The only thing they give you is a roof over your head—and even that comes with strings attached.

You never forget.

And now you truly don’t belong in this house, so let’s see if they recognize you.

Your lips curl into something between a grin and a snarl in preparation as you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“(Y/N?)” Your uncle gasps as he rounds the entryway.

You can only imagine what he’s seeing. It’s what you saw that first time you looked in a mirror after you woke up. You, but not really you. A version so polished it almost gives off the uncanny valley effect.

You wonder if he noticed your eyes. If they’re unsettling him as much as the dreaded man’s did to you.

“Hi, uncle!” You chirp.

He gulps. “Um. How did you get in? We had the locks changed years ago.”

You inwardly scoff. Of course they did. Surely, the second your 16-year-old self left, they decided that you’ll never be welcome here again. It was probably your aunt’s idea—he’s always been her puppet.

You’re glad you’re seeing him first. That way, you can save the best for last.

“Hm? Aren’t you happy to see me?” You ask, faux confusion dripping from your voice.

Your uncle takes a step back, bumping into the console table behind him. The lamp wobbles, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are locked onto yours.

Then—her voice.

“Who the hell are you talking to?”

Right on cue.

You hear her heels clicking as she approaches, the sound triggering something deep in your bones. An old instinct, long since buried. But that fear isn’t yours anymore.

She steps into view, arms crossed, annoyance painted across her face. “Oh, it’s you.” Her gaze flicks over your bloodstained clothes, your too-perfect features, your red eyes. She scoffs. “God, you look ridiculous.”

You grin. She has no idea.

Your uncle makes a noise—half gasp, half whimper. She turns to him, irritated. “What is your problem?”

That’s when you strike.

You’re on him in an instant, fingers wrapping around his throat, lifting him clean off the ground. His feet kick uselessly.

“You should’ve been nicer to me. I would’ve spared you.” You fake-pout.

A choked gurgle escapes him, cut short when your teeth sink into his flesh.

The first time you were forced to scrub wine stains out of the carpet, you cried. You scrubbed and scrubbed, but the red wouldn’t come out.

Now, you don’t care if the stains never fade.

Your aunt screams.

You drop his lifeless body and turn to her, licking the blood off your lips.

She stumbles back, trembling, clutching the silk of her robe as if it’ll protect her. “What—what are you—”

You mimic her earlier words, tilting your head. “God, you look ridiculous.”

She turns to run. You let her. For just a second.

She barely makes it three steps before you cut her off, slamming the door shut with one hand.

She gasps, spinning around, eyes wide with terror. “Please—”

“Please?” You chuckle. “Please?” You lean in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You never listened when I pleaded.”

Then, you take what’s yours.

Afterwards, you finally step outside, not caring enough to hide the bodies the way your parents’ killers did.

The night air is cold and crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked pavement and something else—something vaguely familiar. You stiffen.

“Newborns. Always so messy.”

The voice is warm, teasing. You turn just as a towering figure steps out of the shadows, arms crossed over his chest, dimples flashing.

“Hey, little sis.”

Your jaw clenches. “Emmett.”

From behind him, Rosalie emerges, golden hair cascading over her shoulder, arms folded like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her sharp eyes flick to the bodies inside the window, then back to you.

“I see subtlety isn’t your thing,” she remarks dryly.

Your lip curls. “What are you two doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Emmett answers. “Carlisle was hoping you’d come back on your own, but…” He gestures vaguely at the crime scene. “Yeah. That wasn’t happening.”

You scoff. “And what, you’re here to convince me? Because I’m not interested.”

Rosalie rolls her eyes. “You’re barely over a month old, and you’re already acting like you know everything.”

“I know enough,” you snap.

Emmett sighs, stepping closer. “Look, I get it. You’re angry. You think we don’t understand, but we do. We’ve been there.” He gestures between himself and Rosalie. “But this isn’t the way.”

You bark out a laugh. “And what is? Playing house with a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites?”

Emmett doesn’t flinch, but there’s something softer in his gaze now. Something that makes your throat tighten.

“Come back with us,” he says. “Just for a little while. Hear Carlisle out.”

Your eyes flick between them. Rosalie’s expression is unreadable, but Emmett… Emmett is genuine.

You glance back at the house, at the bodies cooling inside.

Then, after a long beat, you sigh. “…Fine.”

You follow the couple as they run to Victoria, your feet taking you faster than a helicopter could have. The ocean breeze whips against your face as you make the leap from the mainland to Vancouver Island, landing on the rocky shore with grace.

Within moments, the Cullen house is in sight, nestled in the trees, glowing softly against the dark night. Emmett and Rosalie lead you inside, not a word spoken, but the tension in the air thick enough to taste. You cross the threshold into a house that doesn’t feel like home but feels oddly familiar all the same.

Carlisle is the first to greet you. He’s calm, even in the face of your obvious disdain. “(Y/N),” he says with a warm tone. “We’re glad you’re here. Let’s sit down, please.”

You look around at the family, noting their stiff postures, their eyes full of… concern. Each couple stands off to a side, watching you, even the dhampir girl with brown eyes with her werewolf—now human—mate, who has long since healed from the tiger shifter attack since the last time you saw him.

Carlisle gestures for you to sit, and you do so reluctantly, crossing your arms. “We need to talk.”

You don’t respond at first, your eyes narrowing as you keep your attention on him. Carlisle continues, his voice steady. “There were questions about you at the hospital. They asked if we had seen you. I told them you had to leave suddenly. Your uncle fell ill, so you went to take care of him.”

You freeze for a second, a bitter laugh slipping from your lips. He did indeed fall.

“Does Dr. Park know?” Not that it matters. It’s not like you’ll be returning to that open buffet of death.

Carlisle nods. “He knows, but he can’t say anything without directly implicating himself. It’s why he just… let us go.”

“Our chief convinced the tigers to make a treaty with the Cullens—with you—to leave them be as long as they no longer turn anybody else or drink from locals,” Jacob, the wolf, speaks up.

Which drags your eyes once more to Renesmee, next to him. There is blood coursing through her veins, and her scent is very sweet. It doesn’t beckon you as strongly as human blood does, but it doesn’t stop you from looking.

Bella follows your eyes, and her head whips toward you instantly, eyes narrowing. “Stay away from her,” she warns, voice low and dangerous.

You raise an eyebrow and lean back in your seat with an exaggerated casualness. “Relax, Bella,” your voice drips with amusement as Renesmee rolls her eyes, her vampiric side giving her enough courage to not be phased by your red gaze. “She smells good like perfume, not like food.”

She’s still tense, growling ever so quietly, but her shoulders relax a bit.

You roll your eyes and turn to Carlisle. “I’m obviously not welcome here. Can I go now?”

He sighs. “You are always welcome here, (Y/N). You’re one of us now—this can be your home. We really needed to make sure that you were safe.”

“Safe?” You echo with an incredulous laugh. “I am safe. You want to weaken me with your animal blood.”

Carlisle’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he waits for you to continue, and you do, your emotions swelling as the words slip out without thought.

“Do you know what my entire life has been about, doctor?” you ask, the last word bleeding with mockery. “It’s been about studying so I could get away from my aunt and uncle, or wondering what happened to my parents—why they were murdered, why I was left behind, and working on how I could be the savior I couldn’t be as a three-year-old. But now? Now I know, and now I can live.”

The room goes silent. The family watches you, each of them processing what you’ve said. You don’t look at them as they exchange glances. You don’t need to. Your mind is already made up.

You stand to leave, but Carlisle doesn’t back down. “I understand you’re angry. But what happened to your family… it doesn’t have to define who you are now.

“What you call weakness, is actually anything but. It’s the strength to endure, to be able to live publicly. You can learn to temper the cravings, if you would just allow yourself to try—you’d thank yourself for it, in the long run. And you’ll never have to be alone.”

You can feel the anger rising within you again. You’ve heard this speech before. The right way. The safe way. You’re done listening to those words.

“I don’t feel alone,” you growl, eyes locking with Carlisle’s, and your voice comes out cold, controlled. “And don’t treat me like I’m broken, because I’m not. I’m free.”

You’re not sure if you’re convincing them or yourself. If this is true freedom, or if you’re letting yourself into a new cage, one barred by thirst.

The Cullens are silent, watching you carefully, but you don’t let your voice waver. Every single one of your senses is telling you what you want, so no one is going to take that from you.

“Don’t worry.” You turn to them one last time. “For saving me, I’ll respect you enough to not drink from locals.”

You step outside, where the only sound accompanying you is the crunch of leaves and snaps of twigs beneath your feet.

Until another set of footsteps catches up to you, and you groan.

“I know what it’s like.”

You turn around to see the quiet one—Jasper.

“The hunger. It’s like an intrinsic part of you that you can’t outrun. And I didn’t. When I first turned, I couldn’t fathom living without it. Every human scent, every drop of blood, it felt like I was drowning in it… and I enjoyed that drowning.”

You quirk an eyebrow.

He groans, as though remembering his red-eyed days pains him. Whether out of temptation or guilt, though, you can’t tell.

“It wasn’t like I decided to become vegetarian overnight,” he continues. “At first, I kept giving in. I slipped up, again and again. But I needed to learn that I’m now different, and that I can’t spend an eternity surviving instead of living.”

You cross your arms, but it feels like your armor is starting to crack.

“It was about progress. Day by day, it’d get easier. Of course, I had Alice through it all.” He smiles fondly at the ground at the thought of the pixie girl. “She was my anchor.”

You don’t respond right away. You feel your jaw tighten as you scoff inwardly. An anchor. Right. How nice for him. Alice might have been there to hold him steady, but you? Nada. Romance, connection, it all seems so… impossible with your current circumstances. You’ll never have someone like Alice, and you sure as hell won’t let yourself rely on anyone else. Not now.

Jasper watches you closely, sensing your hesitation, but he doesn’t push. He simply waits.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” you say, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. The idea of controlling the thirst, figuring out a whole other way to live this life that still feels so foreign, it’s completely overwhelming.

Jasper gives a quiet, knowing smile. “I can train you, if you want, because I didn’t know if I could, either. But I didn’t let myself give up. And neither should you. Not if you want to be more than just alive.”

For a moment, silence hangs between you, and then, finally, you nod. “Okay. I’ll let you train me. But don’t expect me to be easy to work with.”

His grin widens just slightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from a newborn.”

A week.

Two weeks into this stupid training.

And it’s not getting any better.

You’ve always tried to be someone who dealt with things head-on, but this… this is something else. The thirst is an ever-present beast, gnawing at your insides, and yet, no matter how hard you try, the animal blood just doesn’t sit right with you.

Jasper’s patience is a constant, though. Every time you fail to control your desire for human blood, he’s there, offering gentle guidance, but it feels like you’re fighting a losing battle. And you hate it.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Jasper urges, his voice calm but persistent. “You’ve got this. Just focus on the hunt.”

You growl, fangs flashing as you push through the motion, trying to force yourself to focus on the deer in front of you. But every time you go in for the kill, the blood is just… wrong. The taste is foreign and metallic, the warmth lacking. This hunt isn’t the same.

“I don’t get it,” you mutter under your breath, stepping back from the animal. “Why can’t I just do it my way?”

Jasper sighs. “Because, (Y/N), that way isn’t sustainable. You’re a doctor, for fuck’s sake. You will have to live with the guilt for eternity once the newborn frenzy passes.”

You were a doctor.

You’ve been trying, for weeks now, to make the animal blood work, but it’s just not you—not the current you, at least, and to hell with that meek, old version. It’s too bland, too unsatisfying. Like trying to replace a steak with a bowl of cereal.

“This isn’t living.” You shake your head. “This is sacrifice.”

Before Jasper can respond, a smooth voice breaks through the tension.

“What a nice surprise!”

You both turn to see a black-haired girl leaning lazily against a shadowed tree, arms crossed, watching you intently with a smirk playing at her lips. You catch the now-familiar smell of immortality. A vampire with the relaxed air of someone who’s seen a lot and doesn’t care to hide it.

Jasper’s eyes narrow slightly, recognizing her. “Misora.”

“Jasper.” She nods coolly, pushing herself off the tree and taking a few steps forward, her gaze shifting to you. “And who’s this? A new recruit?”

You glare but say nothing.

“Carlisle turned her a couple months ago, and I’m trying to teach her how to hunt animals.” He turns to you. “Misora is a nomad. We traveled with the Mexican coven around the same time, over a century ago.”

“Still not fond of animal blood, huh?” Her smirk widens, voice dripping with casual amusement. “You know,” she continues, her voice low and thoughtful, “forcing yourself to drink from animals is never going to feel right. It’s unnatural. But that doesn’t mean you have to give in to the bloodlust completely. You just need to learn how to control it in moderation.”

Jasper stiffens at her words, but Misora doesn’t seem to care. Her gaze never leaves yours, her confidence only growing as she speaks. “You’ve got that thirst in you. I can see it in your eyes. But the trick is not to drown in it. You can learn to kill subtly. Take what you need, don’t waste. You’d be surprised how much you can get from a little. You’re a predator, after all. You just have to think like one.”

She walks by close enough for her red eyes to shine beneath the afternoon sun, and for her skin to sparkle as brightly as you and Jasper’s.

You look at her, stunned. “You… drink from humans.”

“Of course I do,” she responds with a chuckle. “Why would I waste time hunting animals? Humans are far more interesting. And, let’s face it, they’re a lot more filling.”

Jasper steps between the two of you, his eyes flashing with warning. “I don’t think this is the kind of training (Y/N) needs.”

Misora raises a brow, clearly not intimidated. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve taught her all about controlling her impulses, Jasper. But there’s a world out there beyond your little rules. She needs to learn how to survive in it. You can’t live in a bubble forever.”

She is speaking your language.

“You’ll never feel alive if you’re constantly fighting yourself. Live for what makes you feel whole,” she says with a knowing look.

You feel the pull of her words, and for a moment, you’re caught between the two very different perspectives: the Cullens’ careful, controlled existence and Misora’s unapologetic freedom.

You turn your eyes to Jasper. “Well. I already gave your way a try.”

The girl grins as you walk over to where she stands in the clearing.

“I’m gonna teach her the Nishimura way,” she laughs in Jasper’s direction and drapes a hand over your shoulder as she leaves, and without a second look, you choose to follow.

Your life is too long for you to not explore every option.

Over the span of just a week, the girl helps you adapt to the art of subtleties—of doing what you want, but having the peace of mind that you did not cause a ruckus.

Not that you’d ever felt guilt at your messiness, but you’ll take the Cullens’ word for it that you’ll be hit with more sense after the newborn frenzy passes.

See? You did gain something from the righteousness they spewed.

“So where are you from?” You ask your new mentor.

“Japan.”

“A long way from home, huh?”

She remains quiet for a second, jaw clenched, not turning to you. “There is nothing that makes it a home for me there, anymore. Hasn’t been in over 150 years. It’s why I travel all over, except Japan.”

“How did you turn?”

Misora doesn’t speak right away, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve overstepped.

“I was sick,” she finally says. “I knew I didn’t have long.”

Something tightens in your frozen chest. “What kind of sick?”

“Didn’t have a name for it, back then, but it was the same thing my father had. My body was weak. My bones ached, my breath was short. Healers tried, but I always knew.” She shrugs. “So I lived as much as I could. Climbed mountains, even when my lungs burned. Ate what I wanted, danced even when I was coughing blood.” She pauses. “I wasn’t afraid. I made my peace with dying. I was surrounded by my mother, my sister, my friends, and if I’d died, I would’ve been with my late father and brother.”

Her smile is all sorrow, but you can do nothing but listen with furrowed brows.

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “But I woke up, and I was this.”

You don’t have to ask what this means. The blood-red of her eyes, the effortless grace in her every movement, the unnatural stillness that clings to her. The inescapable weight of eternity.

“I don’t even know who did it,” she admits, voice bitter. “One moment, I was dying, and then… I wasn’t. Instead, I was forced to live long enough to be the one watching everyone I love die.”

You don’t know what to say. You think you should say something, offer some kind of condolence, but what would that even be worth? Misora doesn’t seem like she’d appreciate it anyway.

“I hate this,” she says, her voice raw, but her expression carefully blank. “I hate this immortality. It’s a curse. A joke. But I have to make the most of it, I guess.”

You glance down for a second, before deciding to ask the question you’ve been wondering for a while. “So why do you bother being discrete? Fuck this world and its rules. It’s not like anybody could harm you, anyways.”

“Oh, but there are people who can.”

You frown. The Cullens—Carlisle, especially—always made it sound like it’s morality.

“If we’re that powerful, we should be able to handle it.”

Misora laughs—actually laughs—but it’s sharp-edged. “Tell that to the Volturi.”

“The who?”

“The leeches who think they’re kings,” she says dryly. “They’re the reason we hide. The moment a vampire gets too flashy, too ambitious, too noticeable—” she drags her thumb across her throat. “Gone.”

You tilt your head. “And they’re strong enough to make everyone listen?”

“They have numbers. And power.” Her pale fingers flex at her sides. “There are vampires in their ranks who can do more than just be strong and fast. They can blind you, torture you, there’s even one they call the Mind Stealer, or the Puppeteer—very few people actually knows his name, but he can make you do whatever he wants with a single thought. If he wanted, he could make you kill yourself, and you’d do it with a smile.”

A chill runs down your spine, remembering the moments you behaved quite noticeably. Did Emmett and Rosalie clean up after you?

Misora scoffs. “Cowards, all of them. They hide behind their pretty little powers, thinking they’re gods.” Her lip curls. “Aro, their dear leader, is the worst of them all. Slimy little bastard.”

You smirk at her words. “Not a fan, I take it?”

She laughs, sharp and cold. “Not in the slightest.” There’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “If I was able to, I’d rip those smug assholes apart, just to watch the dust settle.”

So you follow in the cynical, but lively vampire’s footsteps.

In the span of another week, you feel more spirited than you did in the two months before. Hell, in the 22 years before.

Every night, you and Misora scour various cities, blending into the nightlife, finding your prey with ease. Her laughter is infectious, and her confidence bleeds into your own.

Tonight is no different.

You lay your lovely squad of victims near a warehouse deep in the city—somewhere no one should care to notice, but you’ll clean up after yourselves regardless.

Then you indulge.

Your movements are gradually growing more precise, with razor-sharp instincts. You sink your teeth in before the woman can scream, drinking deep, feeling the familiar rush flood your senses. The warm tang of fresh blood coats your tongue, leaving you buzzing with energy and satisfaction.

You wipe the corner of your mouth, chuckling at something Misora’s saying, but the laughter dies in your throat when moonlight casts a silvery glow over the woman crumpled at your feet.

A middle-aged woman. Her face is ashen, eyes wide open, unseeing, accusing. Your hands shake as you take her in. The faded scars along her limbs. The slight dent in her chest where a surgeon once worked to save her life.

Your hands worked to save her life.

The memory crashes into you like the most vicious wave. Around six months ago, your first week as an intern at Victoria General. A late-night car crash. Blood pooling on the gurney.

You’d stabilized her, alongside Dr. Cullen.

And now, you’ve killed her.

Your breath hitches, the remnants of her blood burning like acid in your throat. Memories flood back—the beeping monitors, the tense urgency as you prepped her for surgery, the relief that had filled you when it went well.

Something inside you breaks. Your knees buckle, hitting the cold, hard ground. The weight of your actions crashes over you, suffocating and heavy. This isn’t just a random victim. This is someone whose life you held in your hands—twice.

“(Y/N)?” Misora’s voice is sharp, alarmed. She crouches beside you, her hands gripping your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

You shove the body away like it burns. Your fingers tangle in your hair, pressing into your scalp, like you can dig into your own skull and tear this moment out.

But you were never able to do that.

“I—I knew her,” you choke out, eyes glued to the lifeless body. “I saved her. I saved her, and now she’s dead because of me.”

You were a doctor. You were supposed to save people. Not this.

The breaths you don’t even need, just taking them in because you need to feel human right now, rattle in your throat. The newborn instincts that have ruled you since your turning are drowned out by something deeper. A guilt so raw it feels like it’s killing you. The heightening of emotions makes your horror so unbearable, it’s sickening.

Misora’s expression shifts, her usual indifference faltering, shifting to worry, as she processes your turmoil. “Shit.”

The world tilts, spinning around you, and all you can see are the faces of the people you’ve drained. Were any of them people you saved, too? Are you undoing all the good you did in your human life?

Misora tugs at your arm, desperation seeping into her voice. “We need to get you out of here.”

You don’t resist as she hauls you to your feet, your body numb as she practically drags you away, leaving the carnage behind.

The night blurs past you.

And suddenly, you’re at the Cullens’ doorstep. The house is quiet, lights dim against the backdrop of the dense woods. Misora pounds on the door, her urgency echoing through the trees.

Esme answers, her eyes widening at the sight of you. Blood on your trembling hands. Red eyes shattered. “What happened?”

“She’s breaking down,” Misora blurts, a rare tremor in her voice. “She needs help, and I’ve never dealt with this before.”

The Cullens are there in an instant, guiding you inside, their faces painted with concern. But your gaze remains fixed on the floor, unable to lift the crushing weight pressing down on your chest.

For two days.

You don’t hunt.

You don’t move.

Carlisle sits with you in quiet understanding. Esme’s soft voice tries to soothe. Jasper subtly tamps down your emotions when they get too overwhelming. But none of it fixes the gaping hole inside you.

You don’t know how to live with this. You can only sit with the haze of guilt and horror hanging over you like a storm cloud.

But then Alice gasps.

Your head snaps up, and find her with her fingers gripping the back of the chair, knuckles like stone. Her golden eyes are distant, unfocused.

She’s the one that can see the future.

“Alice?” Jasper’s voice is low, worried.

Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with dread. “The Volturi. They’re coming.” She turns to you, eyes shaking. “For you.”

The room falls into a suffocating silence, everyone’s eyes on Alice as the reality of your actions settles over them. You share a glance with Misora, and it hits you.

You didn’t clean up after yourselves.

Now you’re gonna be the prey.

You brace yourself for the fallout. For Carlisle’s disappointment, for Esme’s soft but inevitable grief. Maybe even for Bella to suggest running and get her own little family away from everything, or for Rosalie to outwardly scoff that this isn’t her problem.

But Carlisle steps forward, his expression calm, steady. Decisive.

“Then we prepare.”

You blink. “What?”

His voice is firm, without hesitation. “We stand with you.”

Your chest tightens.

Esme nods, her warm, unyielding presence wrapping around you like a shield. “You’re family now,” she says softly, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “And family doesn’t abandon each other.”

Alice finally blinks, the vision fading, and when she refocuses, there’s something sharp in her gaze. “They’re not here yet. We have time.”

Jasper crosses his arms, his posture shifting into something subtly protective. “Not much, though.”

Emmett grins, cracking his knuckles. “Doesn’t matter. Let them come.”

Rosalie exhales sharply through her nose, but there’s no venom in it. “You’re a reckless idiot,” she mutters, but then, after a long pause— “And if you die, it’ll reflect badly on us.”

The words are sharp, but the meaning underneath them is clear.

She’s in.

A lump forms in your throat. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve their loyalty. Not after what you’ve done.

But they’re giving it to you anyway.

“I’m staying too.”

You snap your head toward Misora.

She leans against the wall, arms crossed, but her usual smirk is gone. There’s no amusement in her eyes, no mischief. Only something cold. Determined.

“You don’t have to—”

“Oh, shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “I messed up right there with you. Do you think I’d let you die alone?” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “You’re annoying as hell, but you’re my friend, now. And besides, the Cullens are gonna need someone on their side who actually knows how to fight dirty.“

Jasper arches a brow but doesn’t argue.

Night shifts to dawn. Saturday shifts to Thursday, and the air isn’t any less thick with anticipation.

A suffocating stillness settles over the clearing outside the Cullens’ house. As the sun starts to rise, your skins begin to glimmer, a show of beauty despite being braced for a fight. With bodies coiled like springs, golden, crimson, and even two pairs of brown eyes lock onto the shadowy figures emerging from the trees.

A group of five. No fanfare, no grand entrance—just the soft rustling of their cloaks as they step forward, but the air of authority that radiates from them is unmistakable.

“Why is it always your family, Carlisle?” A blonde girl, barely a teenager, starts.

“Lovely to see you again, Jane.” He responds with a curt smile at her.

There’s a guy who’s identical to her, another guy who’s insanely tall. But it’s the fourth one that steals your breath away.

The moment you see him, something in you stops.

He is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Of course, all vampires have an unnatural allure, but him? It’s something else entirely. Sharp jawline, full, rosy lips, hair as dark as the midnight sky. His presence is quiet, effortless, but every movement is precise, lethal in a way that doesn’t need to be flaunted. And his eyes—deep crimson, glinting like polished rubies beneath his hood—fix on you, unreadable.

Jewels. Not the bloodstains that are your eyes, that are the eyes of the vampire from your childhood, but rubies.

You should be afraid. You are afraid.

But a part of you can’t look away.

Until Misora gasps. A choked, disbelieving noise.

She’s staring at him, wide-eyed, something breaking across her face.

Edward stiffens beside you, his eyes flicking between them as he reads her thoughts. “Riki is your brother?” He murmurs.

Your gaze snaps to Edward, then back to Misora.

Misora, whose lips part soundlessly, whose expression is stuck somewhere between recognition and denial.

“Riki?” she echoes, like the name is foreign in her own mouth.

You whip back to her, confusion knotting in your chest. “I thought you told me your brother was dead.”

Her hands clench at her sides, voice barely above a heartbroken whisper, “My brother is dead.”

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

For the first time since Riki became the Volturi’s most valuable weapon, he is distracted.

He doesn’t get distracted. It’s not possible. His gift demands complete control. His mind is a fortress—impenetrable, untouchable, locked into his duty like an ironclad machine. He does not waver. He does not hesitate.

And yet.

When his eyes land on her, something fractures.

She is standing among the Cullens, body tensed. She’s afraid, but she’s hiding behind the bravado of a newborn. But all he can see is her eyes. They aren’t golden like the rest of the coven. But it’s not just the color that pulls him in—it’s the weight behind them, the quiet storm she carries in her gaze.

She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

A foolish thought. A human thought. One that shouldn’t exist in his mind.

But it lingers.

Then, he sees the other pair of red eyes—a stranger vampire who didn’t stand with the Cullens 18 years ago.

At first, he doesn’t register who she is. Because this girl—no, this woman—is not Misora. Misora was fifteen. Misora was still human, still soft around the edges, still warm. This person standing before him is none of those things. She is tall, fully grown, her limbs no longer awkward with adolescence but poised, sharp. She does not have a heartbeat.

And yet—

He knows.

Knows in the way an older brother knows his little sister, no matter how many centuries, how much distance has warped them apart.

For the first time in decades, something cold and dangerous slides under Riki’s ribs. An emotion he was never supposed to feel again.

What have they done to you?

Jane is saying something. Bringing up all of the newborn’s victims.

Riki isn’t hearing her.

The words slip past him, distant and irrelevant. Even the steady presence of the guard beside him is background noise.

His focus is fixed entirely on his baby sister, except she’s not.

He takes a step forward, the movement small but purposeful. The Cullens tense. The girl with the beautifully scarred eyes watches him with something unreadable in her expression, but he barely registers it.

He does the only thing he knows how to do.

“Step forward.”

The words are soft. Deceptively calm.

Misora flinches.

And something inside Riki wrenches.

The command had been soft—barely more than a breath—but the moment the words leave his lips, he sees the exact second she realizes what’s happening.

She knows.

She knows what he’s doing. Who he is. What he is.

A flicker of resistance shudders through her, instinctive and useless. His grip is too strong. His gift—so carefully honed, so ruthlessly wielded—is absolute.

And still, she fights.

Misora has always been stubborn.

Even now, as her body jerks forward against her will, her jaw locks tight, her eyes burning with defiance. The others react immediately—a low growl from the golden-haired one, a blur of movement—protection, Riki realizes, they’re protecting her—but before anyone can intervene, Misora lifts a hand. Wait.

Riki swallows against something thick in his throat.

He tightens his hold, his gift slithering into her nervous system like an iron vice, seizing control of her vocal cords, pressing against her prefrontal cortex. His voice, when he speaks, is measured. “What is your name?”

Misora’s jaw locks.

But against her own will, against every ounce of resistance in her body, the truth gets wrung from her throat. “Misora Nishimura.”

The sound of her voice, of the name he hasn’t heard in centuries, his name, hits him like a stake to the heart.

“This isn’t the newborn we were sent to kill,” Demetri leans in to whisper, “this is her accomplice.”

But Riki knows, and he doesn’t care. Not anymore. He holds up a hand to silence the guard—his peer in title, but Demetri knows which one of them is truly in charge.

“When and by whom were you turned?” He forces his expression to remain neutral.

Her teeth clench. She’s fighting so hard.

Something curdles in his chest. This is the girl that used to play fight with him, when he’d come home from a long, painful day with the Yakuza. She didn’t fight against him. She’d tug on the sleeves of his kimono, demanding his attention.

“1832. I don’t know who turned me, I was sick.” A tremor runs through her limbs. Her eyes burn with fury, with desperation, with something pleading.

And for the first time in 200 years, his hands start to shake.

And he lets her go, taking a second to steady himself.

He turns to the other girl—the one who isn’t his sister, the one he should’ve questioned first. The one who, for a split second, had stolen his breath before the rest of the world fell away.

But now, he hesitates.

It’s a minuscule thing, barely a fraction of a second, but in his line of work, in his particular skillset, a fraction of a second is an eternity. It’s the difference between absolute dominance and doubt. Between control and chaos.

“You’re working with her?” He asks Misora, voice quieter than before, almost contemplative.

He shouldn’t have asked. He should’ve commanded. He should’ve taken the answer like he always does, forced his will into her bones the way he’s done with so many others.

But he doesn’t.

And Misora—now free, her limbs shaking, her breathing ragged—fixes him with a glare that’s both razor-sharp and filled with something wounded, something raw.

And then she scoffs, a harsh, humorless sound. “Eat shit, Riki Volturi. Or should I say Mind Stealer? Or Puppeteer?”

The name lands like a strike of lightning, coming from her mouth.

Not Nishimura. Volturi.

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t let himself react. Doesn’t let himself acknowledge the way it burns. But she’s staring at him like he’s nothing, like he’s a stranger, like he’s already long gone.

He remains silent as he sorts his mind for what to do. A side of him that has long been dormant is now resurrected, and he doesn’t know what to sacrifice.

“You hesitated.”

The other girl with red eyes.

The girl with eyes like his. Maybe his eyes are even as broken as hers, right now.

One whose voice sounds like music to his ears.

Carlisle and Esme try to tug her backwards, but she’s already caught his attention.

A scoff from the guard behind him. “Hesitated?” the vampire sneers, like the very idea is laughable. “The Mind Stealer doesn’t hesitate. Don’t delude yourself, newborn.”

Riki doesn’t react.

Alec takes a step forward, eyes gleaming with malice. “She’s wasting our time. They’re wasting our time. Kill the two girls and be done with it.”

Kill them?

Anyone but her.

Misora stiffens beside (Y/N). The Cullens brace themselves, prepared to strike.

And Riki exhales his first breath in two centuries.

Slowly, deliberately.

“No.”

Silence.

Absolute silence. Like the Earth has stopped rotating.

“What?”

Riki doesn’t look at Alec. He doesn’t need to. His focus is elsewhere.

He takes a step forward. Towards Misora. Towards her.

The Cullens shift instantly, poised for defense, but he doesn’t stop.

He’s barely taken another step, when he’s met with white-hot agony.

The force of it is instant, an explosion of suffering detonating inside his skull. He crumbles to his knees before he can stop himself, hands clawing at the cold ground.

A curse tears from his lips.

Jane. He doesn’t have to see her to know. He can feel her amusement, her punishment from here.

“You dare defy an order?” Her voice is sweet. Delighted. “How strange. Have we gotten soft, Mind Stealer?”

Another wave of pain. It burns. He grits his teeth, locks his jaw, and endures.

Through the ringing in his ears, he hears something. Murmuring. The Cullens. Something fast.

Then the pain stops.

It’s not gradual. It doesn’t fade. It just… ceases.

Riki gasps, shuddering. He blinks up at the sky, disoriented, reeling, and realizes he’s standing.

Not collapsed. Not writhing.

Standing.

He turns, dazed, and then he sees it.

The translucent shimmer of a shield encasing him.

Bella Cullen’s eyes are locked on him, jaw set, hands clenched at her sides. And the shield he found his way around 19 years ago is protecting him.

The murmurs behind him are hushed, but Riki hears everything.

“This shouldn’t be possible.” Felix’s voice is low, urgent. “Chelsea’s gift, she’s supposed to bind us. Our loyalty. Our devotion.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Demetri exhales sharply. “She does. But her ties don’t work when opposed by true love.”

True love.

There was a time when he would’ve mocked such things—love, feelings as a whole, even—after spending a century with the Volturi, and forgetting how to feel them, to begin with. He would’ve thought they were a liability.

But Misora is not a liability. She is his sister. And he truly loves her.

The realization settles into him like fire in his veins. Steady. Absolute. And love—true, unbreakable love—frees him.

So he does what would’ve once been unthinkable.

In a flash, he turns faster than any vampire could expect.

His power surges outward, deadly and precise. He seizes two minds at once—Jane and Alec, the Volturi’s twin nightmares, their most precious weapons besides him.

Their limbs jerk violently against their own will. Jane’s eyes widen in shock, and Alec lets out a strangled sound of protest.

Let them scream. He isn’t focusing on their vocal cords, right now.

They reach for one another.

Gasps ring out, but he doesn’t stop to relish in the astonishment. Jane’s shriek is cut short as her own hands grasp Alec’s throat. Alec’s arms move like a puppet’s, seizing her head in turn.

With their own hands, they rip each other’s heads off.

Silence.

Horrified, disbelieving silence.

The twin blades are reduced to nothing but limp, severed bodies.

The Cullens stare. The newborn stares. Misora stares.

Even Felix and Demetri are frozen. The two guards—once his comrades, witnesses of centuries of executions—stagger backward, fear flashing through their crimson eyes.

And then they run.

They don’t fight. They don’t look back.

They flee, blurring into the trees, retreating to Volterra. To Aro, Caius, and Marcus. To report the unthinkable.

Riki doesn’t stop them. His hands are still shaking, but he doesn’t care to.

Because for the first time in centuries—

He is free.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Ok tbf I really could’ve cut this into two chapters and I do think we have lost the plot slightly BUT DO YOU SEE THE VISION

Comment if you’d like to be tagged on the next one (where the romance starts) :)

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Finale

@angelengene3011 @wrldhypen @opheliaas-stuff

[kitconnor]

2025 predictions:

- paul mescal comes out as bi and gracie abrams does not like this

- jd vance either suspiciously disappears or suspiciously dies. elon takes his place

- they try to sell tumblr but it doesn’t work because no one wants to buy it for the price they ask

- american class revolution (about time)

- sabrina carpenter and marcello hernandez dating rumours

- chappell roan drops her new album with no warning

- lorde releases an album before june and it’s a cross between pure heroine and melodrama. new era of angst ushered in (released what was that april 24th and IS a mix of pure heroine and melodrama, album tba)

- drake releases another song in response to kendrick a year after his beef with him. it flops ✅

- drake then starts an only fans

- stranger things press tour ends in tears. and not because it’s ending

- colleen hoover also gets sued in the baldoni-blakely case

- prince charles cancer is terminal and it’s a matter of time before he dies

- joe biden is immediately in a hospice after he leaves office

- another assassination attempt on trump, more successful than other attempts but he doesn’t die

- doechii goes big, similar to how chappell did, despite already having a solid career ✅

- tiktok doesn’t get banned in the us but then trump changes his mind and bans it anyway. american youth left in despair

- someone tries to break luigi mangione free to avoid him going to trial. semi successful

- lana del rey is pregnant with twins

- pjo press tour also goes shit and someone in the main cast gets fired because of it

- another disney live action casting goes downhill, leaving the actress without defense from disney against online trolls

- kylie and timothee have a baby (unplanned)

- doja new pop album. goes absolutely viral and she hates it

- billie eilish hard launches with a girl (finally)

- ariana grande gets engaged to ethan slater. she then gets cancelled for it

- sweat tour returns but they only do every part of europe and no where else

- chatgpt gains awareness in a new update

- nasa finds more about the planet that sent out the radio signal and has artificial lights that indicate almost certainty of life (i forgot the planet name)

- major natural disaster in asia, killing thousands ✅

- one of these pairs - rachel zegler and tom blyth or corey mylchreest and india amarteifio - are found to be dating after the press tour speculations

- dua lipa is engaged to callum turner and has the 2020s version of ariana’s wedding. breaks the internet and becomes most liked ig post but mainly because it’s really aesthetic

- hailee steinfeld is pregnant

- shameik moore absolutely crashes out and gets fired from spiderverse.

- online campaign then calls for reed shannon to replace shameik and it works

- a book adaptation for something iconic released from around 2012-2014 is announced and actually gets to go ahead with great anticipation

-tom and zendaya are engaged. small chance (5%) they also have a baby (it's zendaya's off year for press i think) ✅

- new: benson boone comes out as something

[jayzioxx]

Cuz i cant sleep... some slight angst following up this and this fic isn't the follow up from the poll im just sleep deprived and sad

Also WARNINGGG ooc soft emotionally ✨️mature✨️ wanderer~

Wanderer who tries to atone for his past sins realized how much he's broken [name] throughout the years. [Name] who was undeniably loyal and trustworthy, [name] who nearly gave his life away to help him reach godhood.

"You..." Wanderer muttered as he looked at [name] who was fast asleep on the sofa in his living room. He wondered if he should bring a blanket to cover that scrawny, malnourished body resting so peacefully, but he couldn't take his eyes off the bruises, cuts, and old battle scars littering the skin of those once strong limbs.

"Idiot. Nothing would have changed even if you died for me." He thought. And he was so glad that didn't happen. He couldn't have lived with himself if he caused pain for another he loved.

Wanderer's cold fingers traced around a healing wounds on [name]'s face, which was one of the many he'd gained during his final battle fought as the right-hand man of a fatui harbinger, likely from when he foolishly intercepted the rough attacks from the traveler just to buy some more time for Scaramouche.

Wanderer absentmindedly continued to carass his scarred skin, not noticing how [name] was waking from his afternoon nap.

"Sorry." He croaked, bringing a thin hand up to rub his tired eyes. "It was warm. I didn't mean to fall asleep here."

Wanderer felt a pang through his heart (despite not having one). He'd gained a lot of emotions and grew to feel things during the months he spent under Nahida and at the akademia, but [name] had only spent 3 days in this new setting after roaming around homeless for so long.

Wanderer didn't realize how lucky he was in that aspect, for being given a chance to overcome his past when his counterpart was suffering the entire time.

"Lord Scaramou- Forgi- Sorry, Wanderer." [Name] spoke, stuttering to correct his words as he was still struggling to adapt to his new life. "You were zoning out."

He was. He only noticed how much he had been thinking over things when [name] pointed it out.

[Name] was still laying on his side on the sofa with Wanderer's hand on his cheek, staring at Wanderer's face with his sleepy eyes.

The puppet moved his hand from [name]'s face to his back to gently help him sit up. Truth be told, Wanderer was scared. The man in front of him was far too thin and far too weak. Almost to the point he would fracture at a light breeze.

Without a word, Wanderer got up and went to make some tea, and the other sat perfectly still, eyes unmoving, not even turning his head. He almost seemed like a porcelain doll.

When Wanderer got back, [name] sat in the same position he had been, faced the same direction, with only his eyes following the one who had just come back from the kitched and placed a warm cup of tea in his hands.

"He's like a doll." Thought Wanderer, which only made him feel more upset. He knew he shouldn't be frustrated, that he was the one responsible, but he just wished that [name] would at least move his head a bit more, or maybe shift in his seat. Act a bit more alive.

Or, at the very least, not act like he was living dead.

"Hey." Wanderer said, carefully choosing his words and speaking as gently as he could. [Name] had a slightly uncomfortable look on his face, seemingly confused with how to respond.

"You can respond however you'd like to. Or dont if you don't feel like it." Wanderer spoke softly, noting [name]'s discomfort. [Name] just smiled, a bit relieved. He found it a bit strange to see Scaramouche so... kind.

"I'm not Scaramouche." Wanderer said. He looked apologetic.

"I won't be either." He felt like his words didn't get through to [name], but the sunken look on [name]'s face told him how much impact his words had.

"I'm sorry." He finally apologized. He didn't exactly understand why he was apologizing, all he knew was that there was a lot to say sorry for.

"If you're not him, then why are you apologizing."

[Name]'s words stung like salt on a fresh wound.

"Because I stopped being him without considering you."

Wanderer couldn't stop the bitter tears falling from the other's eyes. He seemed to have a knack for making him cry. Scaramouche's strongest general and the broken human marionette wanderer picked up.

"I'm sorry for how I used you."

...

"I'm sorry for how it broke you."

...

"I'm-" Wanderer choked."...I'm sorry for not telling you I loved you when it mattered the most."

He wasn't crying. He had much better control over his feelings than [name]. But being unable to stop [name]'s tears made him feel as helpless as he felt when he was first abandoned.

The tea had become cold and untouched, and Wanderer gently took the teacup from the other one's hands and placed it aside, engulfing him in as warm a hug he could provide. [Name] too allowed his skinny frame to be held as he quietly sniffled.

For the first time in a long, long time, both Wanderer and [name] felt as normal and human as the rest.

Meanwhile nahida accidentally spying on then through whatever weird magic she's got crying her eyes out with kaveh who's crying cuz he saw nahida crying so now the two of them dont know why the other is crying and they're crying togerther because of that.

Al haitham in the back wondering what the 🦆is going on...

[mariacallous]

February 24th, 2025

Just writing that down feels weird. 

It feels impossible that it has been 3 years since I watched Putin announce Russia’s full scale invasion on TV, and saw the missiles starting to hit, as tanks and troops crossed the border.

On one hand, it feels like it’s been much, much longer and on the other hand, it feels like the blink of an eye. I remember that when this full scale invasion started, no one gave Ukraine a chance. Virtually everyone, especially the analysts, thought it was a foregone conclusion that Ukraine’s military would be defeated, and it would happen quickly.

And the early minutes, hours and days were pure chaos.

I remember the video from Hostomel, where the CNN reporter Matthew Chance found himself in the midst of a russian VDV assault on the airport.

I remember the stories of territorial defense units consisting of teachers, mechanics and other ordinary men taking on russia’s “best” soldiers and battling them out of their towns, like Voznesensk.

I remember seeing videos of Ukrainians courageously standing up to the invaders, throwing sunflowers at them, or literally standing in front of their tanks. 

Ukrainians did everything they could to keep the russians out. Those who could fight, they fought like hell, and those who couldn’t did everything else they could to stop the russian invasion like it was a cancer trying to take over their body.

And the world’s opinion quickly changed. The bravery of the Ukrainian people inspired leader after leader to shift their perspective, adjust their policy and start aggressively supporting Ukraine. Even countries like Germany, which was staunchly against providing weapons, opened their stocks and started to help the Ukrainian Army do the things they needed to do so that ordinary people could exist. 

Ukraine began to beat back the russians and even drove them out in some circumstances, like in Kyiv.

Of course, the russians could not acknowledge that they were losing, and made idiotic statements saying that they did not retreat from Kyiv, but it was a gesture of goodwill. Yes, a gesture of goodwill while they bombed children’s hospitals in other parts of Ukraine, and destroyed entire cities like Mariupol.

I remember thinking, you can see a pathway towards victory. I remember even thinking about how incredible it would be to see the streets across Ukraine filled with people, celebrating the total capitulation of the russian military as it moved back into its own borders.

But then, the pace of aid to Ukraine began stalling, and the russians took advantage of those delays. As Ukrainian troops waited for simple things like artillery shells, the russians used their overwhelming manpower and firepower advantage to make gains. 

They captured important cities like Avdiivka simply because the Ukrainian military did not have what it needed to hold them back. They tried to do it with whatever they had, and countless people gave their lives, but at some point, the sheer number of shells the russians had dictated the results. 

Still the Ukrainian troops fought on. They adapted. They introduced new systems like FPV’s that are now everywhere, bridging the gap, and slowing the pace of russian gains. 

Throughout this war, the Ukrainians have persisted for one reason.

There is no other choice. It’s either fight, or no longer exist. It is not a choice. They are relentless.

Unfortunately, despite all their superhuman work, the ebbs and flows of geopolitics are not on their side right now.

It is honestly unbelievable to write this, but the American President has shown himself to be nothing but pro-russian. His administration is openly working against Ukraine right now, and lying to the American people, as well as the whole world, about the facts of this war. For his part, Elon Musk has shown himself to be one of the worst promoters of fake news on the planet. Through his platform, he is engaging in an ongoing campaign of relentless attacks against Ukraine, galvanizing his followers to hate Ukrainians more everyday. 

But the truth is simple.

Ukraine did not want this war. 

Ukraine did not start this war. 

Ukraine is simply trying to exist, and Vladimir Putin hates that simple fact.

Trump has told us he will not be an ally to Ukraine, or NATO, or anyone that America has built long standing relationships with, even to countries like Canada. He is quickly shaping up to become a dictator, while shamelessly accusing President Zelenskyy of being one.

I don’t think we can underestimate how dangerous his administration’s overtures towards Putin can be for Ukraine (and for all of us eventually) but most importantly for Ukraine right now. 

In the face of this, I encourage you to let your leaders, whoever they may be, know that you are a concerned citizen. Let them know that Ukraine is important to you, and you want to support Ukraine. 

Your single letter, email or phone call may not seem like much, but when there are hundreds, or  thousands, or millions of you doing it together, they can’t ignore it. 

And if you feel discouraged, or you feel like it’s hopeless, I want to leave you with this.

I was messaging one Ukrainain soldier yesterday to ask how he is feeling in the face of all this…

And here was his message.

“I hope we can support those who have lost faith or feel disappointed because our motivation hasn’t changed. We’re fine and we absolutely don’t care. It’s all happened before, it won’t get worse, it’s a new challenge.”

These people will never give up, and neither should we. 

- Christian Borys Founder of Saint Javelin

[leiflitter]

Nosferatu Spoilers, you have been warned!

Having watched Nosferatu yesterday and having time to ruminate on it, I think one of the most interesting themes in the film is about agency.

Nosferatu is an adaptation of Dracula, and I haven't seen the original film, but Eggers' adaptation does a canny little reversal.

In Dracula, the agency- as is expected, from something published in 1897- primarily is the remit of men. Mina is initially the facilitator behind the hunt for Dracula, but is targeted by him and becomes a vampire guinea pig for Van Helsing, enabling Dracula's defeat but not as an active participant. She isn't in the group; it's the traditional man-with-torch-and-stake, triumphantly saving the innocent from the curse of the vampire.

In Nosferatu, the men- on the whole- have no agency. They've given it up, traded it to be part of a wider system.

Thomas gives up his agency when he leaves his new bride for a job. One he's apprehensive about, but soon becomes his chance to live up to the expectations of manhood. Expectations that are illustrated by...

Frederick, who is- as he says- a ship man. He has given his agency to industry and rationality, been rewarded with wealth and a house full of love... But he cannot suspend his disbelief to potentially save them.

Anna, as befits a woman of that time, has given her agency to her husband.

Herr Knock has given himself over to Count Orlok, expecting something in return. Eternal life, maybe, or power, but when he finally kneels at the feet of his new god he is dismissed. Thrown aside.

Doctor Sievers is less affected. He has an open mind- he has clearly learned a lesson from his allegiance with Von Franz, which is...

If you give your agency to something else, you do not guarantee it will treat you kindly.

Von Franz was once a highly regarded, learned man, but his obsession with the occult led to him being cast aside. He is discredited, living far below his station, and yet he is the most effective. His studies are fuelled by passion- he is, ultimately, the true definition of a scholar. He gains nothing from his work save his own satisfaction.

And this is why Von Franz is the only one who can understand Ellen, and he gives her the power to make her own choice.

Ellen, initially, is without agency.

In the first sequence, she is lifted and moved like a doll, her pleas for comfort and companionship corrupted.

Her husband makes decisions that are "for the good of their marriage," yet does not consult her.

She is put into the care of Frederick and Anna, despite not wanting Thomas to leave, and while she loves her friend... Anna coddles her, and Frederick indulges Anna. They do not take her seriously.

When Ellen begins sleepwalking and having fits, Frederick- following medical advice- binds her and has her drugged. Her agency has been given to him by Thomas as if she were a pet, rather than a person.

Von Franz' first meeting with her is a clear demonstration of how different he is to those around Ellen.

He has her untied. He talks to her. He takes her seriously.

Even in the scene where he speaks to her while she is in the trance state, he does not treat her as a delicate little kitten who needs a firm hand and more ether. That needle through her wrist was proof beyond a doubt that Ellen wasn't faking or in the grip of some fit of nerves, and Von Franz did it without hesitating. He respects Ellen from the get-go and has genuine sympathy for her.

Through Von Franz, Ellen is given agency, although she isn't sure how to use it at first. She tries standing up to Orlok, but that doesn't work- he is merciless, and shows that he will simply hurt those she loves. He, too, gave up his agency to become what he is now- and he is bound to Ellen, and expects her to give her agency to him...

But their bond goes both ways. She called him, he answered. She cannot deny him without harming those around her, but he equally cannot refuse her.

Ellen knows this. She is the only one who Orlok speaks to, reveals things to- Knock is little more than another rat to him, just a more useful one. She has told Von Franz of her childhood and her visions, and he believes her, and he sees the potential in her... And he is the one who, once again, frees her by distracting Thomas and encouraging her. He acknowledges her power, and he takes Thomas' agency with the false vampire hunt... To allow Ellen to make her choice.

Thomas loves Ellen, and Ellen loves him, but Thomas cannot allow Ellen agency. He wants her safe, but cannot understand that there is no safety. He means well, but he expects what most expect from a vampire story- good to prevail and a happy ever after. He would sacrifice the world for her, but cannot see that it would do no good. Both Ellen and Von Franz know this cannot happen, but they protect him from it- the way Thomas tries to protect Ellen from the harshness of the world. Von Franz lets Thomas believe he can be a hero until it's no longer possible, so Ellen can do what must be done.

Ellen is the trolley problem, but she's tied to the tracks and is also the one by the lever. She knows the men around her, and how they think that all their problems can be solved if they gather their pitchforks and torches, but that is because they have given themselves up to science and rationality and a belief that good will prevail if it just hits evil hard enough.

Ellen, however, understands the nature of sacrifice, because she has been at the mercy of others for her whole life. Her father. Orlok. Her beloved Thomas. And is sacrificed again, one last time, but it is her choice. She offers herself willingly to the darkness she once invited to ease her loneliness, and she sees it through til dawn. And yes- it was under duress. Orlok was holding both her loved ones and an entire city hostage with his powers. She had a time limit and had already seen her best friend and her best friend's children destroyed. But that doesn't lessen her bravery or agency.

She could have tried to escape, even though she knew it would be hopeless. She could have denied Orlok and watched the world burn around her.

Instead, Ellen chose to pull the lever.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - It's 2024 & I'm talking about TayNew... really?

(They pretty much told us all to sit down and shut tf up, 'cause they got this. AND THEY DO.)

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Feb 2024 Wk 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube grey) ep 9 of 12 - I broke. In my defense, it was Monday, I needed comfort, and TayNew were right tf there. Ya know what? They are great in this show. It's a great adaptation. I might like it more than the JBL live action. You know why? Really, honestly WHY...?

That was a PHENOMENAL KISS. Those boys did Thailand fucking proud. They did fandom a solid. Thank you OGs for reminding us how it's done. I was getting used to SloppyHot. And SloppyHot has its place, but that TayNew rooftop kiss was a top tear class act. It was tender and sweet and respectful and joyful. It was eye work and breath work and years of practice. How very far BL has come while still staying so much the same. TayNew - I salute you!

(Read all about distribution issues here.)

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 12fin - we waiting, I guess? Bah.

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) ep 11 of 12 - The recipe book thing was so damn cute and I love a claiming. YOU KNOW I LOVE A CLAIMING!

In fact, I love OffGun.

I love food based BL.

I adored seeing a reboot of "the infamous dragging". 

But I don’t love anything else about this show. Sigh.

1000 Years Old ep 1 of 12 - Finally we get our gay vampire BL from Feel Good Bangkok. Stars Shane (My Engineer) and fresh face Opal, directed by Champ (2gether). It’s kind of odd but enjoyable. A group of teen UFO seekers find a vampire instead. Opal looks a bit like a mix between Newnu + Leo (VIXX) - so cute + edge. Also, nice to see Shane again on our screens after so long. 

Finally, I like the subtle (and sometimes not subtle) presence of ghosts permeating this show. Do the friends know she's there? Do they know she's dead? Is the existence of paranormal accepted but not that of aliens? Or are the two combined? Is this lazy writing or just fun world building? Who cares! It's enjoyable.

For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 12fin - the nail painting bit was very cutie queers and I've not seen it done in BL before, so that was nice. For some reason captions never dropped for me on this last episode, but it didn’t really matter. Not much happened and I understood everything anyway.

Quick pitch?

From the people who brought us Unforgotten Night based on a y-novel, about a young man nursing a heartbreak who has a one-night stand, but the other boy didn't want it to end. This turned out to be a pulp that wasn’t half as good as it should have been and even less memorable, but not terrible. 5/10 DON'T BOTHER unless you're v bored

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 3 of 12 - Oh it is such a pulp: the acting is not good and the script is terrible. Of course, I’m mildly enjoying it. Very good dream kissing. There's something appealing about these main characters - I think it's the moot crushes. We rarely get to see that. These days everything feels very one sided, this... isn't.

A Secretly Love (Thai WeTV) - Khonprot, a third-year hazer of the engineering faculty, has a secret crush on Pluem, a tsundere fourth-year head hazer. Over the years, he's seen Pluem cycle through girlfriends. Recently, after a public breakup, however, Khonprot thinks maybe a boy has a chance.

I tried but I can't get into my WeTV account anymore and I'm way too lazy to figure it out. I'll catch it grey if I can, since I've rebooted the bootlegging side of my BL life for Cherry Magic anyway.

So this show may stay in this section, or I may bump it down to "it's airing but..."

If anyone is watching it, let me know if it's good?

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Love For Love's Sake (Korea Weds iQIYI) 7-8fin - Ugh it was GREAT, despite some pretty telling flaws. I ended up feeling like some of the filming was amateurish (very overworked low angles - director's first feature, I assume), and the narrative is a little disjoined and on the nose, AND the subs are clumsy (which I don't expect from KBL) BUT I still loved it. (FYI - I wouldn't be so harsh on a BL for this kinda thing except one from Korea.)

Quick pitch:

This isekai-based KBL is about a man who must win a game by convincing a reserved teen outcast to fall in love with him. Of course, that teen represents himself and his own unhappiness. Like many queer narratives, this show is actually about self worth, trust, and found family, and it is VERY on the nose. But I don’t expect subtlety from my BL and I enjoyed it's truly lovely redemption arc and earnest performances. While I found the narrative a touch disjointed with overworked filming angles and poorer than average captions, this is certainly much better than early KBL in terms of consistency of tone, script, and immersion. Highly rewatchable and charming, which counts for a lot. 9/10

Trigger warning for suicide depicted.

Perfect Propose (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 4 of 6 - Gosh, it’s so lovely. But I do just constantly want to give them both hugs. 

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 4 of 10 - Oh look, Taiwan has created yet another BL where I spend most of the time watching it grinning like an idiot. Surprise surprise. The pet name thing was fucking adorable. Also Taiwan once more proving they come by their "kings of kissing" title honestly. I mean to say. In a week of good kisses this one was just... WOW.

On the other hand, some of the underpinning themes are starting to v worry me (ownership, consent, age), and we only just got started, and I don't trust this production company so... I have concerns.

But also... YAY KISSES!

(I'm made of weak moral fiber.)

Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - Like many other shows on this list. I just enjoy it the most when the two leads are on screen together. So this episode was kind of lacking because they were apart for most of it. I also am starting to agree with the tone of the plot, that maybe they ARE better off as friends not lovers. (And I'm sure I'm not supposed to want that.) Oh Japan, must you?

My Strawberry Film (Japan Gaga) ep 1 of 8 - Oh it’s good. In the arthouse lane so don’t expect sweetness & light or an HEA. If there’s no cartoon aspect to a JBL, there’s usually no joy. But it is certainly good. Teens uncover some old film and a mystery around a pretty girl. The background music is wildly annoying (and rarely in the background). 

It's Done

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - will binge when I have any spare time. 2024 is crazy busy for me so far.

The Servant and the Young Master - from Vietnam, it's on YouTube. I will give it a try when I have a window of time.

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) - A Burmese BL? @heretherebedork vouched for it, so I will give it a watch.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) - Gave me Luminous Solution vibes have decided not to watch.

It's Airing But...

Dead Friend Forever (Thai iQIYI) - rumors are it's interesting. I'm waiting to know how it ends.

Ossans Love Season 2 (Japan Gaga) - 5 years later, will anything have changed? This is Japan so… probubly not. I won't be watching this. I disliked Season one and actively hated the follow ups. No thank you.

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 14 eps - Dear Playboyy, it's not you, it’s me… I hate you. You’re about as deep (and as palatable) as a shot glass of cum. While I'm sure you’re someone’s kink, you're my weakest link. Goodbye. I DNFed this at ep 5. Frankly I'm impressed with myself for getting that far.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - dropped it at ep 4.

Next Week Looks Like This:

2/24 Unknown (Taiwan Youku) 12 eps - Older brother tough guy breadwinner looks after his sister and defacto adopted little brother. Little bother falls in love with him and is sent away after a stolen kiss. But when he comes back…

Sam Lin has a cameo so even if I wasn't already excited, I'm in. We should be on our guard though, Taiwan will occasionally go edgy, dark, and sad... this could go there.

One assumes GMMTV is filling in the BL time slot with something queer on their YT Channel after Cooking Crush ends, they gonna lose subs if they don't. But I've not been paying attention to the chatter so I don't know which of their line-up it will be. I think G4 are filming/off radar now, and Earth is in that het noona thing? Plus they gotta sort out the IP for MIx-Up and Ossen. So it won't be one of the announced adaptations. They'll hold My Golden Blood for the high season, so I think it'll be one of the lesser known lead-outs. Wandee or Only Boo maybe? But they only just started filming those. Are we getting our long awaited GL? Anything else left from 2023 that I forgot about?

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Two crawling kisses from Thailand this week. Now this is a fetish I didn't know I had. Turns out, we love this one! (*waves hand in air* I speak for all of us now.)

Cooking Crush

City of Stars

Possibly the best tsundere to cinnamon roll pivot we've had in a long time.

Also the best asshole to KING pivot. Could we have a whole drama staring this character now? Please?

And finally our sunshine learning to love himself.

SIGH. what a lovely show.

And a good SMILEY kiss from a KBL.

And then some cute cuddles? Korea is spoiling me these days. I'm catching expectations now. What's next? Japan learns to kiss in their light BLs? Ha! I kill me.

(All Love for Love's Sake).

(Last week)

[lilac-rose-writes]

do you guys ever think about how penny clings to her memories of innocence and childhood pre-accident to cope and finds so much comfort in simply acting her age, but she's withheld from doing so by her mother for so long that she physically cannot take it anymore, and the moment she breaks free from that, her life is cut so short that she's never able to grow and move past the childhood she lost? :)

there's a potential parallel to be called on with cindy here too. cindy also has the doll for a while, and we see that playing house is one of her favourite games. however, where penny is stripped of the chance to act like a child, cindy takes a child's game and integrates elements of adulthood into it. cindy wants to be mature, and to feel powerful. she likes to be a danger so she carries a knife, she copies the adults around her and tries to get on their level. penny just wants to feel safe. the doll could be some sort of metaphor for protecting their inner child. despite her own experiences, cindy treats her 'daughter' like a kid. penny 'plays' with the doll in a way that's undeniably innocent. but the world they live in doesn't give them time to act like kids, no matter how much they want to.

neither of them get to keep the doll, and if they hold onto it too long they get hurt- which could be representative of how acting their age is quite literally dangerous, and they have no way of holding onto that innocence without being injured or killed.

also- cindy's constant switching of boyfriends correlates with the impermanence of her other experiences. her dad stays and leaves and comes back again. her mom has boyfriend after boyfriend after boyfriend. biscuit's there and then she isn't. same goes for billy, then later for lily in kg2. she goes from school to school to school.

cindy adapts quickly, and doesn't linger on what's gone. she won't date the same person twice. however, there are elements of her life which stay steadfast because she forces them to. cindy doesn't want to be a vegan, but she doesn't give up the diet. nobody tells her to, but she bullies lily every chance she gets. she wears the same hairstyle every day. she clings to biscuit's disappearance because biscuit was hers and biscuit cared.

cindy never lets herself form a close bond with anyone, because the moment she does, they seem to disappear. it's easier to impress the boy of the day and drive away any attempted friendships than it is to deal with another loss, so that's what she does. cindy likes to pretend she has a family. the dolls can't run away. cindy likes to feel wanted, and to feel loved. even the victory of having a boyfriend listen to her is enough for her to feel a little more in control of her life. she's lonely, and refuses to let herself be anything but.

penny, however, wants friends. she tries to make them at every chance she gets, stashing bracelets in her pockets and offering a smile at every chance she gets. penny longs for a connection, to find someone who likes being around her. the other kids think it strange that she's so chirpy, so even aside from the android aspect, she's considered an outcase.

i think that the contrast between cindy being "popular" because she's mean to people and penny being a "weirdo" because she's nice is especially interesting considering that neither of their strategies actually work.

the accident caused by her mother prevents penny from having any chance at a normal childhood, and the subsequent roboticisation of her body makes her a threat to them. she wants to retain her innocence and have friends, but she can't because of outside influences.

cindy actively tries to get people to leave her be, only interested in the company of her latest boyfriend. buggs let himself get attached to her, but cindy refuses to entertain him for long. she's afraid of forming those sort of bonds, so doesn't want to.

penny's forced to shoot, cindy wields her own knife. both of them are alone.

cindy seeks stability and money in her relationship with felix, and he views her as a good investment for applesoft. both of them are mimicking their parents and putting their core beliefs into action. felix prioritises the company and familial expectations over his own desires, and cindy won't let herself form a connection until she's certain it'll last. felix seems like the epitome of stability. he's a billionaire, he likes her back, and he reciprocates her nicknames and sappiness.

penny doesn't mind who connects with her. when kid does, she's overjoyed. but even that still gets her hurt. if the female principal catches kid in the hallway, she says it's suspicious that he's been hanging out with penny, and has him sent to the principal's office. penny is forced to kill her only friend. and if the mission lasts until the end of the day, she's killed by the magnet kid fixed. there's no way for her to win.penny hurts people who get close to her. she's a minion for the person she loves most; her mother sees her as a weapon, so that's what she's made to be, regardless of her own feelings. cindy kills the janitor out of grieving rage after finding out he killed biscuit (biscuit, who meant more to her than any person could). she stabs kid when he doesn't play along, and sends him to the principal when she's mad at him. cindy doesn't care about getting others hurt, and will gladly do so if it means she's left to her own devices or gives her a way to enact vengeance on those who've forced her to be so alone.

neither of them can act their age, because doing so simply isn't safe enough. thank you for coming to my ted talk xx

[surroundedbypearls]

CLOSET PUN - MASTERPOST

Up on that totally normal-looking hill over there sits a house; Fay-Parker Hall. In that house, headmistress Rebecca Faulkner tries to teach her students to get their abilities (and their emotions) in check. We’ve got vampires, werewolves, witches, and more - this much chaos in one home is not in fact a recipe for disaster. It’s a recipe for the gayest student body around. And when a mysterious entity appears on the school grounds, it's time to play amateur detective.

CONTAINS: queer romantic relationships, queer friendships, miscommunication mishaps, ghostly summonings, spooky happenings

THE CHARACTERS

Jet Lawson. Halfling. Sour, but vulnerable.

Jet is a halfbreed vampire who’s lived at Fay-Parker Hall for years, since his human mother dumped him on the doorstep and knocked over the mailbox in her haste to drive away. He tends to keep to himself, trying to keep his halfling identity a secret. Jet feels like an outcast even in the safety of the manor; none of the other students can know he’s a halfling, driven by an unfortunate combination of vampiric bloodlust and human impulsiveness. Despite all that, Fay-Parker Hall is the closest to a real home he's ever known.

Juniper Chun. Witch. A talented witch (Eventually. Hopefully).

Juniper, often called Junie, arrived at Fay-Parker Hall with the sole purpose of becoming a better witch. There’s only so much her mother can teach her. Though she was never the most visible in her old school, she assumed the manor, surrounded by others like her, would be different. But making friends with the other witches is going to be harder than she thought.

Toby Somchai. Werewolf. A daydreamer.

Toby is a werewolf who’s just pulled up to Fay-Parker Hall, after an unfortunate full moon incident in which he destroyed his neighbour’s backyard and chased their car out onto the highway. Luckily, nobody got hurt, except for Toby. Though he misses his friends, he’s glad to have the chance to finally learn more about himself and the hidden world he’s a part of. 

Hazel Pierce. Changeling. Enchanting and intuitive.

Hazel was popular with the other changelings from the moment she arrived at Fay-Parker Hall; her ability to see people’s auras and emotions made her a celebrity among them. She’s adapted to living with the other changelings, teasing unwitting fellow students and causing mischief wherever they can. But she can’t hep longing for deeper friendships; the kind that her enchanting charisma have held her back from for most of her life.

Richie Hastings. Human. Amateur detective.

Richie is a human who’s become a little bit suspicious ever since his best friend Toby disappeared from school. His parents say he’s gone to study with his aunt out of town, but Richie’s not buying it. And decides to use his casual detective skills to track him down, uncovering a whole new world he never knew existed.

May Taggart. Vampire. Perpetual loner.

May has been alive for, while not as long as others of her kind - far too long. After watching her family die around her, while the bite kept her alive (and stuck at the age of sixteen), she has found it difficult to keep strong connections with people. When she found Fay-Parker Hall, it became a refuge, a place she could always go back to when travelling became too much. A solace.

OTHER LINKS

SETTING: Fay-Parker Hall, somewhere secret in Massachusetts.

Comic sans presentation

WIP playlist

WIP Tag

Leave a comment or an ask to be added to the taglist!

[vacz]

I thought it would be interesting to see how Wirt's character could be adapted in this trope, but it's important for people to know that this post is only made with the intention of entertainment, and NOT approving this type of behaviour in real life, without nothing to say, lets go

YANDERE WIRT HEADCANONS!

Wirt seemed like a reserved guy. He was one of the most intelligent kids in the class, and yet despite the interest people had on him, you never see him actually talking to someone else, at least not in the break. The only thing he seemed to do in his free time was just spending it reading a book of what you barely see it was poetry. Then, you thought he was just a nerd

Oh god, you were so wrong.

All this time Wirt has been holding a massive crush on you, but he never dared to take the first step, so he always stayed, watching you from a safe distance

Wirt has been following you as he could, it was a little bit hard with Greg always being around to take care of, he didn't want you to notice him at all. And so, every night he unlocked the window of your room, and entered into it so he could watched you sleep

Wirt may have taken one or two little things from you, like a brush or a pencil, maybe even a little bit of your trash but it is not like he is a stealer or something, he NEED IT

He also has recorded the sounds you make while you are asleep, so he could play them all night in his room and feel the dilusion that he is sleeping by your side

Wirt made sure that your presence won't leave him alone, even if you weren't really there. All the poems he has been writing were all about you, all the music he has been composing, he did it thinking about one day he'll show them all to you, you are his biggest inspiration.

And Wirt has a full collection of photos that he has taken of you without being noticed, entire wallpapers on his room, made with different pictures of your face, so every morning when he wakes up, the first thing he looks at is you, staring at him

But every night he dreams of you. Having a nice picnic together, dancing under the moonlighting, traveling in Paris, and some little other things he wished for them to be real one day

There is no moment you ever leave his mind. Wirt started to wear more clean clothes and bath more often in hopes you may notice and you came to him naturally, he started to study until exhausting so you would think he was very intelligent, he practiced his art more so you could have only the best made on your name

The simple idea of him messing everything up was a constant fear, and the simple idea of you getting interested in someone else made him so irrationally mad

According to him, Jason Funderberker seemed to like you a little bit too much, and he couldn't be allowed the chance to lose you for someone else

Wirt tried to explain he was going to let him live, he actually was giving up because there was no way he could compete with such a cool guy like Jason Funderberker... Unless, what happened

Wirt apologized and begged you for him to forgive his brutal act, but also trying to justify his action

But he didn't let you respond, he is not ready to hear it yet. So when you wake up, you were completely tied up to a chair, and in the middle of a attic

Wirt is clearly nervous about the situation, and tries to call you down, but he mostly says that for himself. He greets you with a warm welcome to your new temporary home, until something happens, and the only thing you need to do is not to make much sound

In the first days, Wirt is almost always shaking, as he always brings you food and feeds you with his own hands. He barely can look at you, he is so ashamed, Wirt knows what he is doing is terrible but doesn't seem another option, so he keeps going with that

Then with time, Wirt started to get used to your presence in the attic. Always asking if you feel comfortable, and even dared to show you some of his poems and clarinet melodies made especially for you

And after a while, he is getting a little too open with you. Talking about his day, and how things are going outside, then just staring at you, while calling you pet names