#Erik my oc

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan Neighbor

(Ninth official post)

(Yan’s name is Erik)

Yan Neighbor who tries to ignore you, but finds that hard to do because you live right next to him, and constantly bombard him with greetings and gossip.

Yan neighbor who finds you annoying and tries to send you away anytime you talk to him. (It doesn’t work, of course)

Yan neighbor who has to put up with your rambles just so you’ll leave him be. 

Yan neighbor that finds himself becoming interested in the little stories you tell him and he can’t help but appreciate the sweets you bake him. 

Yan neighbor that reluctantly invites you over for the holidays, mainly because he has no other friends and doesn’t want to spend the holidays alone.

Yan neighbor that grows to like you and appreciate your constant interference in his life. 

Yan neighbor that can’t help the joy he feels whenever you cancel your plans just to hang out with him. (Especially when he’s pouting)

Yan neighbor that begins to invite you over and monopolize your time. (He adores you too much to let anyone else steal you away)

Yan neighbor that goes out of his way to cat he your attention, he’ll pull any stunt if it means having you near him.

Yan neighbor that begins to court you, giving you gifts, store bought sweets (because he can’t bake), he even cooks you dinner when you come over (surprisingly he’s a good cook).

Yan neighbor that becomes frustrated when you remain oblivious, treating him like any of your other friends (maybe he should scare them off) and even brushing off his romantic actions. 

Yan neighbor who becomes absolutely devastated when he confesses to you and you (politely) reject him. You say that you just want to be friends, that’s it.

Yan neighbor who can’t handle rejection and  tries to win you over, but you don’t fall for him. (Why won’t you fall for him? You were being so nice to him, didn’t that mean you loved him? All he needs is your love!)

Yan neighbor who contemplate giving you the cold shoulder, just to punish you. (But he can’t do that, you’re his only friend and he loves you too much to ignore you)

Yan neighbor who doesn’t know how to make you love him and so he does the only thing he knows how to do, he kidnaps you. 

Then he moves homes, takes you with him,  and tries to keep you with him. (Of course you struggle, no one wants to be locked away.)  somehow you manage to escape, he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know why. (He’s taken such great care of you, why did you run from him)

Yan neighbor that doesn’t know what to do, he tries to look for you, but he can’t find you and he knows you won’t come back. So, he’ll just have to be patient and hope you come back.

(This one wasn’t the very best of all my posts, I was distracted whilst writing this and didn’t do my best.)

[sp8ce-queen]

In my cherik era in 2025. Better late than never.

Some Charles sketches and OC x Magneto stuff too.

[kachinga12]

Erik the phantom of the opera! :D

[lobo-inu]

Cervynus, my Hircine demiprince. he's become the source of Rorikstead's most well known folklore, patrolling the outskirts of town as a deer that just looks a little too off. but nobody ever dares to get close enough to truly understand just what they're looking at.

his human form, which he only really takes on for more personal affairs, is meant to be very uncanny and animal-like. despite resembling a bosmer, there's just something about him even then that strikes others as extremely foreign.

in human form, he has massive pupils - something something giving the “doe eye” effect to deceive mortals before he'd show his actual form. they go from uncomfortably large with an ever-consuming gaze, to uncomfortably beady, focused and frenzied.

i love this fucking freak, you guys :,)

[theghostavocadoe]

A match made in heaven the scarlet forest

I love my bug boys

[rivers-oc]

I think tumblr might appreciate my X-Men evil cat ocs

[starspilli]

art block killing me sorry guys. oc stuff instead

[dr9com9ge-ix]

I was gonna animate these also for Mar 10 but… I kind of want to make sure these get seen so- Getting silly with it- My Blorbos (And Tenebrae/Black… ) in the SPM style. I like doing style replications c: !

[mutantontheloose]

Pffffft 🤣

@therealquicksilver

@sort-of-magneto

[nelcorecreations]

⭐️Seduce me the otome: Hold Me AU Redesigns!⭐️

First post here on tumblr with more thoughts then just “huhuhu look i art pretty?” Hoping to develop this AU for this old ass fandom I’ve been apart of for like AGES. This AU is called Hold Me Like I Matter. And follows the Twin sisters Rika and Mika. Rika is definitely more of the main character just for a different perspective and personality. But Mika is still here! Just more of a supporting character for the time being, but I do plan to write a fic dedicated to her as well. Hold me Like I Matter is focused on Rika though. So mostly you’ll see me talking about her. Another thing this is a full AU facts, lore and backstories ARE different if a little similar. But fundamentally this is a different world. Thus the visual novel aspect of the game is not present and is written as if it is a novel. So there are no multiple love interests only one. The main love interest for this story? Matthew!

Now onto the Boys and there redesigns! For the most part I’m happy with all of these so you won’t see many details change. But let’s talk about each redesign even if it’s only a little bit and why I choose the things I did. And as a general note! I added red/pink in there eyes and gave them all various levels of freckles to show they are related despite being half siblings. There dad has red eyes and freckles.

Erik

Pretty simple, just made him more fashionable and less like a James look alike. At least in his clothes. Gave him an undercut cuz I feel it just fits him somehow. I myself am not the best clothes designer so his clothes are simple. But I feel for casual comfort it still works. And still shows off his more dramatic side if more subdued.

James

Gave him a sweater instead, but still kept his book/proper aesthetic.

Sam

So Sams design is more close to his OG, just gave him cargo pants and got rid of his shirt. There is a lore reason for this! Because he is more brute demon he runs automatically hotter. The more angry brute demons are or the more rage they have festering the hotter there bodies get. Which can cause them ti set things on fire when they touch something or melt through walls. This heat is controllable but typically most brutes like to have little to no clothing since usually there skin is already rock hard. Sam is fine literally no matter what the weather is. He can go shirtless in the snow and it will be an average temp to him. So he needs clothes a lot less then his brothers due. Tho they all still have this same trait. The angrier they are the hotter they get.

Mathew

He hates shoes? No he wares flip flops or slides so he can take them off easier but still wares them when he goes out and about. Pretty much the same otherwise gave him black skeleton sweats instead of jeans. And some buttons on his hoodie to represent his brothers.

Damien

More or less the same, gave him a longer coat. Kept the white pants, his eyes are brown rather than purple-blue. And he has naturally black hair! A trait that I stole from @new-tella-us ‘s Damien design! He dyes his hair the same color as Erik’s to look more like his brother. For several traumatic reasons that I feel anyone reading this may understand.

Rika & Mika

They are Twins! But as they got older Rika got taller while Mika stayed more or less the same height she was in high school. Rika looks more tried for manny MANNY reasons. And tends to not ware makeup. Mika dose so she can easily hide any eyebags better then her sister. Rika keeps her hair long and simply shampooed and brushed while Mika curls her hair slightly. It’s still obvious they are twins. They sound the same just with different tones. And they have the same face and eye shape, just due to Rika tiredness her eyes are more half lidded looking.

And that’s everyone! I hope to share them more and there story! Feel free to ask me any questions you may have. ✨Ask Box is open✨

[ibrithir-was-here]

Was in a drawing slump again so did some self indulgent mood boards for my Next Gen Classic Lit OCs and their stories

Dracula

(Canon Timeline/The Solider and the Solicitor versions, since Blood of My Blood usually gets all the attention)

(I suppose Scott is technically next gen of a different book but he gets pulled into the Dracula sphere so it counts)

Frankenstein : The Wretched Family

The Picture of Dorian Gray : Rosemary is for Remembrance

The Phantom of the Opera : Second Stanza

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

(I should do more for Mira/come up with a story name for her stuff)

Anyway, enjoy!

[rose-margaritas]

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I can’t think of a better time to express my gratitude! First, a huge thank you to @nerdywriter36 for being the sweetest friend and for being the very first person in the Phandom to commission me. 💜 Working on this piece of Erik and her OC Charlotte back in August was such an amazing experience, and I thought it was the perfect time to share it here with you all.

I’ll also take this chance to say how thankful I am for all the love and support you’ve shown for my bartender AU—it means the absolute world to me! I’m so excited to share what’s coming next for the series. Wishing you all a very Happy Thanksgiving! 🦃🍁

[achildsfirstsorrow]

Recent dump. I’ve not felt like drawing Erik much. (shocker! I know! Considering he’s my favourite one to draw.)

Also, I know y’all are here for my Erik art mostly, and not oc things, but my best skill is being a nuisance and I will continue to draw predominantly oc x canon until my brain forces me to do other things. 😅…

Unrelated but I’ve been listening to a LOT of Portishead and Björk, love em. I’m listening to Earth-Linger right now.

[goddessofthundathighs]

The Shape of Fire

Word Count: 3.2K

“All spells begin with silence.”

The city is quiet in that soft, honeyed way it only ever was before sunrise.

New Orleans breathed in pastel—lavender skies bleeding into blush-pink clouds, the last stars flickering out like candles as the streetlamps click off one by one. The air is thick with jasmine and yesterday’s rain, a warm humidity that kisses the skin like memory.

Though St. Solenne is just fifteen minutes from my apartment, I like to take the long way. Winding through the older neighborhoods where the ironwork balconies still bore ivy, and the sweet olive trees lean close like gossiping aunties.

This part of the city smells of powdered sugar and diesel, like fried dough and something ancient beneath the bricks.

It calms me.

Every step on the cracked sidewalk feels like a meditation. My sneakers scuff against stone, my satchel bumps rhythmically against my hip, and for a moment, I can pretend I am just another doctor heading in for an early shift. Not someone carrying lifetimes in her lungs. Not someone cursed to love a man who never remembers her name.

The river isn’t far. I can hear it sometimes between buildings— the slow, muddy churn of the Mississippi, ancient and unbothered.

It reminds me that time always moves forward, even when you don’t want it to.

I pass a street vendor setting up trays of fresh beignets, their golden edges peeking out from beneath a blizzard of powdered sugar. The smell is divine—deep-fried nostalgia laced with vanilla and cinnamon, a scent that wraps around me like an old lullaby. My stomach growls, loud and demanding, but I keep walking, hands stuffed into my coat pockets. I don't trust comfort this early in the day. Not when I still feel Bastet's voice echoing through my bones.

The streets begin to stir, trading their hush for the familiar thrum of New Orleans’ heartbeat. Buses hiss as they brake hard at intersections. Horns blare in chaotic harmony. A man leans out of a passing car window to shout something half-insult, half-flirt in a way only this city could make sound charming. I smile faintly, but my feet move on autopilot, carrying me past the iron gates of St. Solenne Children’s Hospital without stopping.

I should’ve turned left. Should’ve swiped my badge and walked into the waiting scent of disinfectant and bubblegum hand soap. But instead, I follow a tug in my chest. Something magnetic. Primal. Old.

I end up in the Voodoo District, where the air grows thicker and the city feels less like a place and more like a presence. A spirit. Here, the veils between worlds hang thinner than silk. Candles flicker in open windows. Dried herbs sway from door frames. There’s the sharp scent of sage and the faint copper tang of ritual in the wind. A woman hums to herself on a stoop, fingers dancing over bones laid out in a velvet-lined tray like chess pieces mid-game. Her eyes lift briefly to mine. They are the color of stormwater and secrets.

“You’re early,” she says without smiling.

I keep walking.

Shops pulse with energy I don’t remember asking for—tall, narrow doorways with symbols etched into the wood, painted windows that flash images when I’m not looking directly at them. My skin prickles. The mark on my back throbs once, sharp and sudden, like a nerve struck by lightning. I freeze.

There.

Down an alley smeared with shadows and old brick, something moves.

No—someone.

He steps from the dark like he was born from it. Cloaked in long black robes that ripple like oil, his figure is tall and unmistakably divine. There’s a pull to him, an imbalance in the air around his body—like gravity bending the wrong way. His face is obscured by a hood, but the energy is unmistakable. Wild. Crooked. Wrong in a way that makes my teeth ache.

Setekh.

God of Chaos. The Red Sand. The Forgotten Brother.

My breath catches in my throat.

He shouldn’t be here. Not this close. Not now.

His head turns slightly, as if sensing me. I take a cautious step back, my fingers brushing instinctively over the soulmark beneath my coat. It pulses again—like it recognizes him too. Like it remembers his role in the unraveling.

In the curse.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. Just watches.

And then—he vanishes.

Not in a puff of smoke or dramatic flash. Just… gone. As if he’d never been there at all.

Except he had been.

I stand frozen for a beat longer, heart hammering like a drumbeat for a war I didn’t know was starting. Something about his presence confirms what I’ve feared in quiet moments—this curse wasn't just divine punishment. It was orchestrated. Twisted into something deeper, more cruel. And Setekh… he played a part.

I swallow hard, breath unsteady. The sun creeps higher behind the rooftops, casting long shadows across the Voodoo District.

And like nothing happened, I turn and walk back toward the hospital, this time fast enough to leave my doubts behind—though I know they’ll catch up again by nightfall.

Whatever this is… It’s starting.

And I need to be ready.

St. Solenne’s spire comes into view, rising like a pale tooth above the rest of the skyline. It isn’t a beautiful building— too many renovations over too many decades— but it has heart. History. The kind of place that remembers you long after you left.

I pause at the staff entrance and take a breath.

The kind I’d been trained to take in witchcraft and medicine alike.

Mahari.

Still here.

Still whole.

Still fighting.

I exhale slowly and step inside. By the time I reach the audiology wing, the hospital is already humming with life.

The building itself is a softened version of the sterile giants uptown—warm-toned walls, colorful murals of storybook characters and jungle animals, twinkling lights in the hallways left over from the last holiday celebration. Somewhere on the first floor, a bubble machine is going off, filling the air with the faint smell of artificial grapes. The elevator chimes like a lullaby.

This is the kind of place where even the walls try to soothe you.

My office is tucked behind the audiology lab on the third floor, past the vestibular testing suite and two small sound booths. The sign on the door reads Dr. M. Wright, Pediatric Audiology, but most of the kids just call me Dr. Hari or the “ear doctor with the sparkly earrings.” I earned that last one with pride.

The space is functional, but I was allowed to make it my own. Soft pink walls. A vintage chart of the inner ear framed beside a painting of a Bastet statue perched on a crescent moon. Noise-cancelling curtains in a soft gold damask. A velvet armchair in the corner for parents. A plush manatee on the exam table for nervous toddlers to cling to. The diffuser runs a constant stream of sweet orange and peppermint to keep the air from smelling of antiseptic and nerves.

I slip off my jacket, set my bag down, and scan my schedule:

Mahari’s Day – Thursday

8:00 AM – Follow-up hearing assessment for twins (age 3)Routine tympanometry + behavioral testing. One parent extremely anxious, probably has questions about speech delays.

9:15 AM – Vestibular consult for Noah R. (age 8)Referred by neurology for dizziness. Rule out vestibular dysfunction vs. auditory processing disorder.

10:30 AM – Team meeting w/ ENT and speech pathology Discuss new cochlear implant protocols, upcoming surgeries, and progress tracking.

12:00 PM – Quick lunch in the garden courtyard (hopefully)Ten minutes of peace if no one finds me.

12:30 PM – ABR (Auditory Brainstem Response) testing for NICU referral Newborn, three weeks old, high risk. Must be sedated—handle with care.

2:00 PM – New intake: Zora S. (age 5)Referral from Baton Rouge. Sudden hearing loss post-viral infection. Flagged as high-priority. Father requests additional emotional support during intake.

3:30 PM – Chart reviews + parent callback marathon Return calls, adjust care plans, and update files. (Will not finish. Never finish.)

I exhale softly and let the stillness of the morning settle in my bones.

Some days are louder than others— filled with crying toddlers, tangled insurance calls, and anxious parents. But today, for now, there is a lull. A gentle hush between storms.

Outside my door, I hear the whirring beep of a toy truck speeding by— probably one of the oncology kids on a joyride. A nurse laughs. Someone calls out for more juice boxes.

And beneath it all, that still, steady hope that lives in the bones of this hospital.

The kind that says: We will help you hear the world again.

I glance at the schedule once more, before glancing at the chart for Zora S. Something tugs at me— familiar, electric. Like the buzz of a storm rolling in just beyond the horizon.

I don’t know it yet.

But my newest patient will change everything.

–

Erik’s POV

The soulmark never stops burning.

It isn’t constant, thank the gods, but it is frequent enough to piss me off. Like now, as I sit in the back of the pediatric clinic, pacing tight circles while my daughter’s chart sits untouched in the crook of my arm.

“You’re making sparks again,” Zora quips from the exam table, her little legs swinging back and forth.

I pause. “What?”

She points to my hands, where faint embers dance between my fingers. Nothing dangerous—yet. Just a flicker of heat. A warning.

I clench my fists and shove them into the pockets of my hoodie. “Sorry, baby girl. You know Daddy’s just… stressed.”

She tilts her head in that way she does when she doesn’t believe me. “Is it the glowing tattoo again?”

The soulmark. A jagged crescent shape under an ankh, right over my ribs. It’s been there since I was nineteen, burned into my skin like lightning had kissed me and left its mark.

“I told you, it’s not a tattoo.”

“But it glows.”

“Only sometimes.”

“And only when you’re being weird.”

I smile despite myself. “I am not being weird.”

“You are. You always get weird when the mark starts glowing. Or when you’re near that bookstore on Canal. Or when people talk about soulmates.”

I laugh under my breath and run a hand over her head. “You’re too smart.”

“Just like my daddy,” she chides proudly.

Before I can respond, the door creaks open.

And the world shifts.

Not violently, not all at once. But like the slow draw of the tide, pulling something loose inside my chest.

She walks in wearing navy scrubs, the fluffy curls from the cafe were now pulled into a tired bun. She has a tablet in hand, badge clipped to her chest, and a golden ankh necklace around her neck.

Her eyes meet mine and I feel it.

That searing pain across my ribs, the mark roaring to life like it had been doused in gasoline. My vision blurs at the edges. Not from panic, but recognition. Bone-deep and ancient.

But she doesn’t flinch.

“Nice to see you again, doc,” I say with a smile that she returns before turning her gaze to Zora.

“Hey there, pretty girl. I’m Mahari, one of the audiologists here at St. Solenne. What’s your name?”

“Zora,” she chips.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

I can’t speak. I should say something about the mark, about the weird buzzing in the air or the way the temperature in the room seems to have spiked.

But all I can do is stare.

She turns to me finally, cracking a joke I didn’t hear about white chocolate raspberry bundt cakes. Something flickers behind her eyes. Barely there. But it’s enough to tell me she felt it too.

I don’t know what it is. Just that it had been waiting.

Lurking.

Building.

“Zora’s been experiencing some issues with balance and hearing,” I say quickly, needing to ground myself in facts. “Her school noticed she’s been struggling in noisy classrooms.”

Mahari nods, tapping notes into her tablet with elegant, fluid motions. “We’ll run a few quick tests. Nothing invasive. She might be a little annoyed with the headphones, though.”

Zora groans. “Are they the clunky ones?”

Mahari winked. “Afraid so. But you get sunflower stickers afterward.”

“Deal.”

I stay quiet as they go through the exam, watching Mahari move with the ease of someone who belongs exactly where she is. She kneels to Zora’s level when speaking. She explains everything before touching a single piece of equipment. Gentle. Kind.

But there is something else under her skin.

Magic.

Not mine—hers. I don’t know how I know that, but it’s like my soulmark is reading hers, calling out in some foreign dialect of the divine.

My powers always come in anger. Fire. Fury. When things spiral beyond control. But this… this is the opposite. Mahari moves with a calmness that soothes everything inside of me. The fire stills. The mark quiets.

And I hate how much I notice.

Because I don’t believe in soulmates.

Not really.

They are myths. Fairytales. Shiny lies we tell ourselves to make suffering more poetic.

And yet…

When Mahari touches Zora’s shoulder and whispers something in a tongue I didn’t recognize—something soft and melodic—Zora smiles. The tension in her frame eases. Like magic had wrapped around her, gentle and protective.

My throat tightens.

I gotta call Mama about this one.

She finishes the exam and turns to me. “She’s got mild sensorineural hearing loss in one ear. It’s manageable, but I’d like to refer her for a follow-up with our ENT just to be safe.”

I nod, managing a hoarse “Thank you.”

Mahari hesitates.

For a breath, I think she is going to say something more. Something about the soulmark. The way we both look at each other like we are remembering a story someone else had written.

But she just smiles again. Soft. Unreadable.

“Take care of her,” she says.

Then, she is gone.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Everything is still and calm until I feel Zora tugging on my sleeve. “Told you. Weird.”

I exhale slowly.

Yeah. Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it.

–

I walk into the room, navy scrubs and tired bun, the usual mask of professionalism firmly in place. But the moment my eyes lock on him, Erik, everything inside me freezes.

It shouldn’t have happened that way. I had prepared myself. I knew what to expect. But the instant our gazes met, the world shifted—time stretched in a way I couldn’t explain.

It felt like déjà vu wrapped in thunder. And it was familiar. So achingly familiar.

I know who he is. Just like I do in every lifetime. I know that I had loved him before. I know that my soulmark had recognized him the moment he stepped into my orbit, and I know that this was no coincidence.

Erik Stevens. The man who has been my soul's counterpart through lifetimes. But now... now he is just a single father, sitting next to his daughter, eyes focused on her with such tenderness that it made my heart ache. He has no idea.

Not yet.

But I know. And that is the problem. I know exactly what this connection is, what it means, and I have no idea how to deal with it.

I turn to Zora, forcing myself to take control. “Hey there, pretty girl. I’m Mahari, one of the audiologists here at St. Solenne. What’s your name?”

Zora chirps her name with the kind of joy that only children possess. “Zora.”

I can’t help but smile at her. “Beautiful name.”

But then my gaze drifts back to Erik.

The mark on my back burns to life. A searing, soul-deep pain that roars through me like fire. I don’t flinch. I can’t. But inside, every part of me screams. My vision blurs, and I have to steady myself, my breath coming in uneven gasps as if I were drowning in recognition.

The temperature in the room seems to spike, a strange energy thickening the air between us. The magic that I can never fully suppress claws at the edges of my control. And Erik… Erik isn’t helping. He isn’t aware of the bond between us—not yet—but I can see the way his eyes track me, studying me as if he could sense something too. Something I’m not ready to face.

I swallow hard and force myself to speak, to focus on Zora again. I kneel down to her level, doing everything I can to stay grounded in the moment. “We’ll run a few quick tests, Zora. Nothing invasive, I promise. But you might not love the headphones.”

Her eyes widen. “Are they the clunky ones?”

I manage to smile. “Afraid so. But you get sunflower stickers afterward.”

She smiles back, and just like that, the weight of the moment lifts, if only slightly. I put the headphones over her ears, working through the exam with practiced efficiency. But even as I move, my mind keeps drifting back to Erik. The pull between us is undeniable, and it is becoming harder and harder to focus.

Bastet’s voice comes again, more insistent now.

"It is fate, Mahari. You cannot escape it."

I grit my teeth. I don’t want to believe it. Soulmates. Fated partners. It all sounds like fantasy, like something out of a fairytale. And yet, here I am, standing in front of the man who was supposed to be everything to me. The man whom I had already shared so many lives.

It’s too much.

But I can’t let it show. Not now. Not here.

I look at Zora as I complete the exam. I can feel Erik’s gaze on me, even though I don’t dare look at him. Not directly. It’s too dangerous. I’m losing my grip on everything already.

When I finish, I turn to him with as much professionalism as I can muster. “Zora’s got mild sensorineural hearing loss in one ear. It’s manageable, but I’d like to refer her to our ENT for a follow-up. Just to be safe.”

Erik’s expression softens, and for a second, I see something in his eyes that makes my heart flutter. Something tender, something distant. But then he nods, his voice low and hoarse. “Thank you.”

I stand there for a moment longer than I should have, as if I was waiting for something to happen, for him to say something—anything—that would shatter the fragile barrier between us. But he doesn’t.

I can feel it. The tension, thick and unspoken, crackling between us.

I should say something. Anything. About the soulmark. About the magic. About the strange, impossible connection I feel pulsing through every fiber of my being.

But instead, I just smile—soft, neutral. Unreadable. “Take care of her.”

I turne to leave, every step heavier than the last. But just before I reach the door, I feel his gaze on my back, and I feel that burning weight. And, for just a moment, I let myself believe that maybe he could feel it too.

Maybe he isn’t as unaware as I thought.

The door clicks shut behind me.

And as I walk away, the weight of the world seems to press down on me.

Bastet’s voice follows.

"This is your last chance."

I don’t know what is coming, but I can feel it. The storm is building, and it isn’t going to be easy to weather. Especially if Setekh is involved.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Tags: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @thehomierobbstark @hearteyes-for-killmonger @iamrheaspeaks @mareethequeen @blktinkerbell @madamslayyy @thadelightfulone @dameshaemonique @soufcakmistress @uzumaki-rebellion @ghostfacekill-monger @youreadthatright @dashhoney25 @chaneajoyyy @blowmymbackout @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @heyauntieeee @thickemadame @theegoldenchild @nickidub718 @muse-of-mbaku @blackpinup22

[les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques]

The Roses of Yesterday: Chapter Six

Read here

You’re ugly. If only she knew just how correct she was. Maybe then she would understand and leave him to rot as he was destined. And all he had to do was turn around and face his hungry audience. The cage had never seemed smaller as it did in that moment, and its bars were now squeezing hot, painful tears from his sunken eyes. It was either choke on them entirely and die on the spot, or preserve what was left of the meager, frivolous life he had built for himself.

Off came the mask, his long fingers immediately digging into the flimsy excuse for skin beneath them, despite his back being turned against Augustine. He remembered how she agreed to never ask him about his face, and now—let us see how much a whore’s promise is worth. Let’s see what she makes of such hideous, volatile, and honest need.

Honesty. How he hated it.

“Leave,” he hissed, digging his bare feet into the carpet, praying that he might fall through the floor. “Leave before I find a reason to make you.”

“Erik. I’m trying to understand. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Ridiculous. Almost everyone in his life meant to hurt him—or worse. Why even bother lying with kindness, if she didn’t want to hurt him? Why ask him the same agonizing question, over and over again, if she didn’t want to tear him into pieces entirely? What he wanted was as impossible as heaven, and yet he still foolishly ached for it all the same. Just as much as he wished for a life where he could simply turn around and look Augustine in the face and give of himself completely.

Fuck her niceties. Fuck your hopes. You’re a monster, and she’s offering up her cunt to you on a silver platter.

His thoughts were jumbled, as ravenous and boundless as the hashish made him feel, and for a brief moment, he contemplated fleeing the house entirely. But the floorboards shifted again, and the soft padding sound of Augustine’s feet closing the distance between them was loud enough to pierce through his tears.

And trapped between her little act of contrition and the drumming of that relentless question—what do you want, Erik? What do you want—he was forced to fight his way out like the animal he was. If she asked him one more time, he would simply go mad.

“What do I want? What do I want?” Erik ran his fingers over his cratered cheeks, summoning that monstrous and desperate part he tried so hard to hide from pleasant society. Another half-truth eked out, and—fuck—wouldn’t they would drown each other in such notions. “I want you to turn around, close your eyes, and take off that god-damned robe. That is what I want.”

(Read the rest here.)

——-

A very difficult but super fun chapter to write! But hopefully a big, emotional turning point and one that changes the moment of the story up a little bit! You’d never know it from the excerpt, but we also get some real pharoga content here that I’m mad proud of! Shocked at myself for cranking out two chapters in roughly three months, but that’s 2025 thus far. Hopefully the streak will be continued.

Biggest thanks as always to @from-aldebaran for being the best beta reader a lady could ask for and making this story the best version of itself it could be. And a second thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story so far <3

[buccaneeering]

January(?) Last year vs. Most recent.