#I will get a heart attack if he interacts with anything. like I WILL die

[soluversworld]

You, Serial Killer - Ren/Redacted x G.N Reader part 1~

14 days with you! is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Genre: G.N Reader (Angst!)

Summary: You're the Corland Bay Butcher, The Serial Killer, you heard in the news, Bodies, dead, gone, You're nuts! What if, someone was helping ya back to keep you safe, Will you see through his act after all, You met him first. NOT HIM

Trigger Warnings (TWs):

Violence & Gore – Mentions of knives, blood, and killing.

Mental Instability – Implied unhinged thoughts, intrusive urges.

Obsession & Fixation – Thoughts circling around a past encounter.

Content Warnings (CWs):

Dark Poetic Themes – Romanticization of violence and chaos.

Self-Awareness of Morality – Internal conflict about killing/mercy.

Shakespearean-style Poetic Bullying – Intense self-deprecation with a dramatic, lyrical flair.

You're a killer.

Not just any killer—a serial killer.

Why? Could be justice. Could be fun. Could be nothing at all, just a way to kill time. Could be money—blood-soaked bills stacking up in your pocket like trophies. It’s on you. But no matter the reason—you’re a fucking serial killer.

A name whispered in alleys. A face nobody remembers. A shadow in the wrong places at the

You're a killer.

Not just any killer—a serial killer. The kind that gets headlines, Netflix docuseries, and edgy teenage fans who call you “misunderstood” while painting their nails black. Maybe you do it for justice (sure). Maybe for fun (closer). Maybe for nothing at all, because boredom is a worse death than whatever you dish out. Or maybe—just maybe—for money, ‘cause even murderers gotta eat.

You, though? You’re a special breed of fucked. You don’t just kill; you curate. A gallery of ruined bodies, each arranged with a shit bow and a shit-eating grin. You're the scum of the earth, and you know it. Flaunt it, really.

They’ll try to psychoanalyze you. Daddy issues, mommy issues, the whole trauma-riddled spiel. They’ll say you’re broken. That you snap at the world because the world snapped at you first. They’ll search for meaning where there is none. You don’t care to distinguish truth from the real—two entirely different beasts.

You probably fake-hate black holes because they’re cliché but would style yourself after one with a smile. Suck the light out of the room, leave nothing but a cold abyss.

And yet.

You are a fucking liar.

A cute little library assistant by morning, shelving books with a saccharine smile, whispering “shhh” to old ladies and college students. By night? You’re a fucking scary-ass serial killer in a raincoat, dripping something that ain’t just rain.

Crowbar, knives—hell, anything sharp enough to carve flesh from bone. Baby, it’s your choice of weapon. You love blood. Live it, breathe it, bathe in it like it’s a second skin. Your love language? JK, no. You don’t need love when you’ve got arteries splitting open like pages in a well-loved book.

Turn the page. Who’s next?

Also—sadly—an anime fan. A shit living show called Attack on Giant owns a piece of your rotten little heart. You know it’s bad. You don’t care.

And worse? You have a fictional husband. Haruki Haruko. The timid, sympathetic, air-headed (but in a good way), people-pleaser type. Cotton candy in human form. The kind of guy who’d apologize for bleeding on your knife.

How the fuck does a blood-soaked abomination like you love a walking pink marshmallow like him?

It’s fictional. STOP.

And it gets worse.

You and your online friend MOTH? Howling for Haruko like a couple of rabid fangirls. CAPS LOCK ON. ESSAYS IN THE GROUP CHAT. “HE DESERVES THE WORLD” “HIS LITTLE SMILE” “I WANNA PROTECT HIM” — all while your hands are still sticky with blood.

MOTH doesn’t know you’re a killer. Shut up. They think you’re normal. That you just have “dark humor” and a really convincing way of describing knife wounds.

“omg if haruko was real i’d die for him <3”

You? Staring at your body count. Thinking, buddy, I don’t even die for me.

Life was fine. Whatever fine means for someone like you.

Then two idiots fucked up. Bad dudes. Real pieces of shit. The kind that makes even God wanna look away. They got your eyes—metaphorically or literally, who cares—and suddenly, you had a reason. An excuse.

You were already a killer. Now you’re a haunting.

They go first. Before the others. Before the side quests and the casual bloodshed. You want them to know. To feel it. The way your presence clings, the way their shadows stretch too long at night.

They look over their shoulders. They see nothing. For now.

You don’t just kill them. You ruin them.

The first one goes slow. Too slow. You take your time, peeling back skin like wrapping paper, watching them twitch, eyes rolling like marbles in their sockets. You laugh. You LAUGH. It bubbles out of you, high and breathless, like this is the funniest shit you’ve ever seen. Because it is. Because they thought they were untouchable, and now they’re meat.

The second one? Screaming. Begging. Doesn’t matter. You’re an artist, and their body is just another canvas. You make something beautiful—ugly—perfect. A mess of red and twitching limbs. Your hands are soaked, your raincoat is dripping, and you feel fucking alive.

And then.

Someone’s watching you.

The air shifts. The hairs on your neck rise.

What the fuck.

You pause. The feeling lingers—someone watching, something just out of sight. But you? You just shrug.

Eh.

Not your problem. If they saw, they saw. If they didn’t, they’ll wish they had. You wipe your crowbar off on what’s left of them, let the sticky warmth seep into your gloves, and turn on your heel like this was just another Tuesday.

Footsteps. Yours. Handprints. Also yours.

If the police are slick enough to find you? Good for them. You’ll make it fun.

You’re gone. Vanished into the night like the walking crime scene you are.

And then—he arrives.

A man, moving like he’s got all the time in the world. A black hoodie, mask pulled up just enough to hide what matters. Black hair, messy but intentional, like he ran his hands through it one too many times. And his eyes—blue. Too blue. Like the kind you’d see in angel paintings before they ruined you. Too bright. Too sweet.

If you were still there, you’d think, No fucking way.

But you’re not. And he? He’s got cleaning supplies.

Because it seems like you left.

He starts to clean. Like it’s routine. Like he’s done this before.

But you didn’t leave.

You grab him from behind—hard. Slam him down, pinning him with your weight, breath hot against his ear. He barely fights back.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” you snarl, pressing down harder. “What are you, some undercover cop? Finally found the killer? Corland Bay’s sweet psycho serial killer?”

His eyes—too fucking blue—widen. Stunned. Mouth slightly open, like he’s trying to form words but forgot how. And something about the way his face flushes—**soft pink, creeping up his neck—**is wrong.

You don’t notice. You press the knife against his throat. Harder.

“Talk.** Now.**”

You keep him pinned.

Knee digging into his ribs, knife pressed against his throat, eyes narrowed. "What kind of detective—police—whatever the fuck are you?" You hiss, pressing just a little harder, feeling the faint hitch in his breath beneath the blade.

But then—his breathing.

It changes. Too heavy. Too shaky.

Like... ahhhh???!?!!?

AH—????

Your grip tightens. "The fuck is wrong with you?" You growl.

And him? His pupils are blown, his cheeks are flushed, and his breath is ragged in a way that’s not fear.

Oh.

Oh, what the fuck.

You press the knife a little deeper. Not enough to kill, just enough to scare. Or maybe to feel the pulse beneath the blade—fast, uneven, a little too eager.

"You’re gonna die here, you know that?" you murmur. Cute. Like this is just conversation. Like you’re talking about the weather. Another collection. Another body. You grin, sharp and mean.

But he’s still fucking flustered.

Still breathing all wrong. Eyes shining. Like he wants to say something. You peel his mask up, slow, deliberate. His fingers twitch, reaching like he’s gonna stop you—no. You shove his head back down, hard.

Almost makes him faint. Almost does.

You glance around. The mess. The streaks of red. The bleach.

Oh.

What the hell was he trying to clean up?

You look back down, and his eyes—too blue, too bright—are glassy, struggling to focus. He tries again to speak. You don’t care. You push his head down again—too hard.

He goes limp.

You sigh, irritated. Tear the mask away.

And pause.

Tall. 6’5”, easy. Sleeper build—lean but solid. Hands covered in marks. Scratches, burns—old, deep, childhood scars. Piercings that gleam under the shitty streetlights.

And his face?

...Pretty.

Too pretty.

And somewhat familiar.

What the fuck.

He was trying to clean up the mess. Your mess. The blood, the gore, the little bits of art you left behind like a signature.

A serial killer fan? A wannabe? Some poor, mentally ill fuck who thought you were some kind of idol?

Hah.

Darlin’, he was being nice.

Nice enough to clean up after you, to make sure your ass stayed off the radar. And you knocked him out.

Killing him now? Sad. Kind of a waste. But it’s tempting. The way his throat is right there, the way his too-pretty face would look even prettier painted red.

Nah.

Life’s shit. He’ll grow out of it. Probably. Or he won’t.

And wouldn’t that be interesting?

Too hot to kill.

That’s the excuse you land on. Not the stupidest one you’ve made, not the worst, but damn if it isn’t pathetic. You. Showing mercy. Saint Y/N, patron of dumbasses who clean crime scenes.

You almost carry him—almost. He’s fucking heavy. Dead weight in every sense of the word, and your arms are not built for this. You drag him instead, yanking him into another alleyway, gritting your teeth at every awkward shuffle of his too-tall, too-pretty, too-stupid body.

He could wake up. Could see the sun. Could get scared, maybe. Maybe he’ll take the hint. Maybe he’ll run. Maybe he’ll get the fuck out of Corland Bay and out of your life.

Oh, Y/N.

You showed sympathy.

You’re a saint, aren’t you?

Why the fuck was he trying to clean the mess?

Weird-ass serial killer fan? Some freak with a savior complex? Someone worse?

You don’t care. You won’t care.

Your work here is done. Corland Bay sleeps. So should you.

You yawn, stretch, crack your neck. Good night, dumbass.

You need to sleep. For your work.

You had… a dream.

A little child. Small hands, soft voice. He tries to give you a ring.

Innocent. Loved you.

And you—you looked. You can’t remember your own expression, but your face felt warm, felt happy. Like he was everything. Like he was your darling. A sweet boy.

You can’t see his face.

"Do you wanna marry me…? Angel! I'll take good care of you…"

His voice—soft, bright, hopeful.

You don’t get to answer.

Because Leon, your ass of a friend, grabs your hand, pushes the boy’s away. The ring falls. The boy stumbles.

He’s crying.

"He's a freak! I told ya! Why did you hang out with him? Look!"

You couldn’t say anything.

You didn’t.

Leon—nah. He took your hand. You let him.

And you watched.

Watched the boy cry. Watched him pick up the ring.

Your older self watched.

Watched your kid self. Watched the way your little hands twitched, how your feet stayed planted, how your mouth—silent.

You felt something. Like you wanted to remember. Like if you just reached a little further—

Then—

A sound.

Loud. Jarring. A kick to the ribs of your dream.

Yeah. You woke up.

Congrats.

You’re the beauty of gore.

Coffee. Black, like your soul or whatever. Bitter, like your mornings.

You flip on the news. Same shit, different day.

"Yet another body was pulled from Bluemoss this morning. Authorities believe it was the work of the infamous Corland Bay Butcher—"

What a fucking name.

Hideous.

You hate it. If you were gonna be branded a legend, you’d at least give yourself a name with some style. But no. The public loves their sensationalist, overcooked horror movie bullshit.

And this case? This crime?

It’s years old.

What the fuck.

Maybe people are just dumb.

It’s like that one show, Dexter. The whole Bay Harbor Butcher thing. Lame. At least Dexter got a name with a little bite—this? This sounds like something a washed-up true crime podcaster would spit out between sips of pumpkin spice.

People should’ve named you something cool. Something with presence. Something that rolls off the tongue like a whispered threat.

You sip your coffee, scalding hot, burning the tip of your tongue. Whatever. You like the pain.

The news anchor drones on, their voice that usual mix of forced solemnity and thinly veiled excitement. Because that’s what this is, right? The public eats this shit up. Blood and bodies and mystery.

And the dumbest part? This case is years old.

They’re still talking about it, still digging up corpses like long-forgotten relics, still pretending they care.

But you know the truth.

People don’t care about the dead. They care about the thrill. The spectacle. The fear.

You roll your eyes and take another sip. Yeah, whatever.

You do like Dexter, though. Good show. But come on, at least his name had branding.

Moth texts. Buzz, buzz. Your phone screen lights up.

You flick open the keyboard, thumbs hovering. Moth is sweet. Thoughtful, even. Different time zones and all, but they still check in. You shoot back a quick "Thank you!" because you’re a saint.

Grey bubble. They’re typing.

Moth

"btwww! did u see the latest AoG ep?? i heard Haruko got an outfit change!!!!"

Moth

"spoil it for me. did he really change his hairstyle as well?"

You scoff. Baby stays the same.

You type back so fast your screen almost cracks.

"HHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

He didn’t. Still the same. Still cute. Still sweet. Still the most lovable little cutie to ever exist.

You hammer it into the keyboard like it’s gospel.

Moth

"LMAOOO bless. also. shouldn’t u be at work rn."

…Oh. Oh, shit.

FUCK.

You throw the phone. You bolt. Clothes? Shitty. Aesthetic? Somewhere between 2018 emo-core and 'I let a Tumblr gremlin dress me in the dark.'

WHY?

Fuck it. You’re emo.

You catch yourself in the mirror. Oh. Oh damn.

You look hot. Like feral raccoon meets 2018 Hot Topic cashier meets 'I definitely bite.'

Self-confidence? SKYROCKETED. You are an icon. A menace. A walking, talking Tumblr sexyperson if Tumblr had any taste.

Oh shit.

Work.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

You can’t be feeling yourself this much and then drop a fucking uwu. That’s a war crime. That’s illegal. That’s—

…You wink at yourself in the mirror anyway.

"Time to cause problems."

Door swings open. The world outside assaults you with daylight. Gross.

"Oh! Hey there, Angel! Looking good!"

Violet’s standing there, all sunshine and soil-stained fingers, practically glowing in the morning light. Sickening. If it were anyone else, you’d gag. But it’s Violet. So you deal with it.

You flick your eyes to her hip, where yet another potted plant balances like a permanent attachment. Her whole apartment? Basically a jungle. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear she was growing a sentient vine army in there, plotting to take over the world with nothing but greenery and kindness.

You? Not complaining. The air always smells fresh, floral, and earthy as hell whenever she’s around—a perfect mask for the lingering traces of smoke and death clinging to you.

"New plant?" you ask, because duh.

Violet grins, fishing for her keys. "Mm-hmm! This one’s a rosemary bush! Thought it’d be nice to have something useful."

Useful? You know fifty different ways to kill someone with rosemary. You smile.

"Nice."

Violet eyes you up and down, her expression turning downright delighted.

"Loving the look today, Angel! Very... 2018 Tumblr emo."

You snort. "You wound me."

"No, seriously! I kinda wanna raid your closet one day." She nudges you playfully, still grinning like she’s just discovered a hidden treasure trove of goth fashion secrets. If only she knew.

You laugh, all teeth and mischief. "Sure, sure. One day."

One day. Which means never. Because the only thing your closet is full of? Knives. Knives, crowbars, and the occasional bloodstained hoodie. Hardly the wardrobe of an alt-fashion influencer.

Then she dropped a bomb.

You blink. "Nope. Nada. Never heard of him."

Violet narrows her eyes, lips pursing. "You sure? "'Cause he seemed real familiar with you.""

Your stomach does this weird little flip, like your instincts are tapping at your ribs, whispering, Hey, maybe pay attention to this one. But you shut that feeling down real fast.

"Violet, babe, I think you dreamed this one up." You flash a grin, all casual confidence, even as your mind works overtime, flipping through the mental Rolodex of potential problems.

Tall guy? Dark hoodie? Alternative fashion? Too many belts? Jesus, what is he, a Final Fantasy character?

"No clue who that is," you repeat, a little slower this time, letting the lie settle.

Violet hums, unconvinced. "Weird. "

You shrug, pretending your skin isn't crawling just a little. "Sounds like a him problem."

But in the back of your mind, you know damn well this is gonna be a you problem real soon.

"No worries, Vi. I got work now, I'll check later." You wave a dismissive hand, already stepping away.

Check later? Lmao, no. You didn’t give a shit. Who the hell would stalk you?

…Unless—

Oh.

If it was a stalker, then they were bold. And if they were bold, that meant either two things:

They were stupid. In which case, easy kill.

They were a detective.

And ohhhh, baby, wouldn’t that be fun?

You bite your lip, suppressing the grin creeping up. A detective? Hunting you? Now that was hot.

Hell, maybe you'd let them catch up just for the thrill. Let them get close, real close—close enough to think they had you—before you turned the tables.

Oooooh. Fuck.

Yeah. That’d be fun.

You hit send before you can second-guess yourself. Maybe it’s better to leave it at that. Maybe it’s better to pretend you don’t care. Maybe, maybe, maybe. You can stack those maybes like a house of cards, but it won’t stop the wind from blowing.

You’ve got bigger things to deal with. A shitty apartment. A shittier job. The nagging feeling that something off is creeping up behind you, but you? You walk faster.

You breathe deep, step through the library doors, and let the scent of old paper settle the static under your skin. It’s grounding. Familiar. The only thing that stays still in a world that never does.

And then—

“Oh!”

Elanor.

Sweet, doting Elanor, with her scatterbrained ways and her insufferable meddling. She’s already smiling, head tilting, eyes flicking you over like she’s about to say something that’ll make you regret showing up today.

“Sooooo?” She hums, teasing. “How does it feel to no longer be the one in charge of stacking books all day long?”

Before you can answer, she keeps going, because of course she does.

“Although… you’ll still have to work the front desk from time to time, unfortunately.”

You shrug. Offer a smile—if it even counts. Make your way past her before she can wring you into another conversation that leaves you tired before noon.

The familiar chime of the library door rings. Someone’s entered. Not your problem. You duck down, slide your bag under the desk, start pulling out your things. You focus.

The hum of the library settles you, slow and steady, like an IV drip to an addict. Bookshelves, faint ink-and-paper perfume, the distant murmur of people who still think this place is a sanctuary.

And then—again.

Elanor.

Her voice drops into something light, airy, knowing. Fuck.

“Looks like he’s back again.”

Your fingers freeze on the paper in front of you.

“You know, that new guy? The one who always checks out the books you put on display?”

She’s got a grin in her voice. It makes your eye twitch.

“And if I didn’t know any better—” (you don’t, Elanor, you never do,) “I’d say he has a little crush on you.”

Pause.

“Because he was staring. A lot.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You shove her chair so it spins away from you, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

The universe, it seems, has chosen today to test your patience.

And now—because fate is cruel and Elanor is worse—

Aisle 8.

The red light above the shelves blinks. Someone needs help. Him.

Of course.

You sigh. Drag yourself up. Refuse to look at her. You don’t need to—her glee is practically a tangible thing, radiating off her in smug waves. You weave through the shelves, every step an exercise in reluctant inevitability.

And then—there he is.

A broad figure. Back turned. Wearing the comfiest cardigan you’ve ever seen. He hasn’t noticed you yet.

You clear your throat. “Ahem.”

Flinch.

He turns.

Stops.

And for the first time all day, so do you.

Pink.

Pink hair. Soft eyes. Tall—too tall. Looking at you like he’s just walked into a dream he wasn’t ready for.

You stare.

He stares.

Somewhere, distantly, reality stirs.

His jaw moves, something almost forming before it stumbles out clumsy and quiet:

“Woah… You look…”

A beat.

His eyes flick over you, unreadable, thoughtful, confused.

“But I thought you preferred softer clothing…? That’s why I…”

Why he what?

His voice dies. He clears his throat, face burning cherry-pink, matching his hair.

“Ahem! Um… S-Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you.”

And you—oh, you—

You don’t know what the fuck is going on.

How’s that?

Not about this. Not about him.

But his voice drags you back, an anchor to the present, and you scramble to piece together whatever sentence just left his cherry-stained lips. There’s a kind of innocence in the way he struggles for the right words, tripping over them like a nervous actor missing his cue. It’s almost endearing. Almost.

You give him a slow nod, a silent cue to keep going.

He takes a breath.

“…I need some help. I—I’m looking for a specific book, you see, but…”

And there it is. The sleeve-tugging hesitation. That stammer, that nervous shift, like a protagonist straight out of one of Moth’s favorite anime. They’re going to absolutely lose it when you tell them about this later.

The stranger tries again, steadier this time, his gaze catching yours with something just a little too sharp.

“…Do you have any books on native flora? The best I’ve found are on generic wildlife, but nothing on Corland Bay’s plants.”

Plants? Your first thought is to direct him to Violet—this is her territory—but instead, you let out a quiet chuckle and step a little closer, scanning the shelf beside him.

He twitches. Not away—closer. Just slightly. A shift so subtle it’s almost imperceptible, except for the way his breath hitches when your scent brushes past him.

“No, you’re in the right section,” you murmur. “They’re just… buried.”

Your fingers ghost along the book spines, slow, deliberate, until you find the one. You tug it free, turning it in your hands before offering it to him.

“This the one?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Not with words, at least. His gaze lingers—too long, too intense—before he finally reaches for it. His fingers brush yours, barely, but there’s a slight tremor in them.

Then he flips through the pages, scanning, searching—

And stops.

“Yes,” he breathes, triumphant. “This is perfect. Thank you…”

You barely have time to nod before he adds, almost too softly:

“Haha, you’re like an angel, you know that? So kind.”

Your heart stumbles. Your lips part—

“…What?”

His expression shatters into pure, unfiltered horror.

“Oh my God—” His face flushes, hands flying up as if he could physically shove the words back into his mouth. “I didn’t—Did I actually say that out loud? Oh, shit, I’m so sorry. That was—That must’ve been so weird—”

It’s adorable, in a train-wreck kind of way.

You bite back a grin, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Just caught me off guard, is all.”

His eyes flicker with something—relief? Embarrassment? It’s hard to tell beneath the flush crawling up his neck.

“R-Really?” His voice is softer now, hopeful. “Well, I meant it.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Sure.”

And that should be the end of it. You should step away. Let him bask in his mortification. But he doesn’t move. Just watches. A silent, expectant sort of tension stretching between you.

You clear your throat. “Uh. You shouldn’t stare like that.”

His head tilts, almost curious. “Why not?”

Your stomach twists.

“Because I don’t know you,” you reply, words lighter than the weight pressing against your ribs.

His lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a smile. “Ah. A technicality.”

You exhale sharply, already regretting this entire conversation. “You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Haven’t I?”

A pause.

Then, smoothly: “Red- Ren.”

Ren. The name tastes unfamiliar, but something about it scratches at the back of your mind. The way he says it—like it’s borrowed. Like it’s just another book on a shelf, waiting to be picked up and put back down under a different title.

Still, you nod, forcing an easy smile. “Nice to meet you, Ren.”

His gaze flickers down—to your name tag. A quiet hum leaves him.

“Y/n,” he muses. “Or… Angel, maybe.” His grin sharpens. “Both suit you.”

Until he tilts his head, expression sobering.

“…You said you needed a new lock for your apartment.”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Yeah?”

“Why?”

You hesitate. There’s no real harm in telling him, right? It’s not like he’s the one who broke in.

“Someone snuck in last night,” you admit, shrugging. “Didn’t steal anything. But still. Creepy.”

Ren hums again, thoughtful. Then, without missing a beat:

“I could watch your place.”

Your breath catches.

You blink at him. “What.”

He shrugs, casual. “Stay up. Keep an eye out. Handle it if anything happens.” His voice is smooth, steady, like he’s offering to water your plants while you’re away. “Wouldn’t be a problem.”

You stare.

He meets your gaze, unwavering.

It’s insane. It’s suspicious. It’s absolutely something you should say no to.

Instead, you hear yourself say:

“…You offering to be my personal bodyguard now?”

Ren smiles. “Only if you say yes.”

"You really want to protect a stranger like me, Who knows, You-" You went closer to his ear whispered "can't trust anyone...What if, I'm luring you for my own fun..?"

He flustered, almost fell down...You giggle and left.

You smile. Evilly.

Heheheheh.

He looks cute, won’t lie. Almost too cute. You’ve always wanted to commit a Haruko crime—sink your knife into something pretty, watch something lovely turn ruinous in your hands. Killing him would be fun.

Wouldn't lie… those blue eyes—

They’re similar.

That man.

The one from the alley. The first one you didn’t kill. The one you let walk free.

Your mind wrenches back to him, unbidden. That look in his eyes, the way he stood—different. He wasn’t like the others. He was… something else.

And maybe—just maybe—your poor, gutted heart…

Ugh.

Stop.

Ugh.

You smile a little.

Shitty. Yes. You’re fucked in the head.

And oh, how you love it.

A wretched thing, a beautiful disaster, a creature born to revel in ruin—you, a lover in the way fire loves to lick at the edges of a home, the way a knife loves the tender give of flesh.

What is it, then? This itch in your skull? This whisper in your bones? Some ghost of mercy rattling in your ribcage? How disgusting. How divine.

You let one go. One. And yet his ghost lingers like the taste of copper on your tongue. A memory dressed in blue-eyed regret.

You should carve it out. Bleed it dry. But oh, don’t you adore the ache?

[lavandulawrites]

Nirvana

Yandere!Loser x reader

Minors And Ageless Blogs Do Not Interact

Repost

I finally got around and wrote something for my favourite loser, it has been a long time since last time. I hope you like this pathetic Nirvana-loving man as much as I do<3

Masterlist Original Characters Masterlist

Adrian’s (Yandere Loser) Character Profile

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, original character, public masturabation, obsession, implied stalking, lovesick behaviour, delusional behaviour

Word count: 960

His black jacket was zipped up all the way as a way to keep the biting cold winter air out. His wired air-buds were playing Smells Like Teen Spirit. His pale hands were shoved inside his pocket were his left hand toyed with the receipt he had found at your desk. His late night activity (he had jacked off outside of your apartment complex to the silhouette of you in your bedroom window) had stolen his sleep, but he hadn’t minded the night before. However now as the sleeplessness hit him like a drunk driven truck, he started regretting only getting two hours of sleep. Adrian turned up the volume with the button of the wire. And as usual, the raw sound of Kurt Cobain’s voice calmed his nerves.

The bus stopped in front of the shabby bus-stop. Its breaks letting out a shrilling sound. The black haired man sighed in relief as he entered the empty bus. The metal piercings had made his ears numb, and the warmth of the bus was pleasant. He ventured as far back as he could without sitting at the row of back seats in the back, as those often were filled with annoying middle school teens. Despite Adrian’s social awkwardness, the teens never dared to mess with him given his dark clothing and cold stares, but that didn’t stop him from hating them. He slumped back in his seat as he leaned his head against the icy window. The outside blurred together in a mass of white and grey colours as the bus driver drove way over the given speed limit.

The minutes pasted and after the seventh Nirvana song, the bus came to an halt. Its doors swung open and the gloomy man’s humour soured. Please don’t be any of those annoying teens he thought bitterly. Then the sky cleared and in stepped the source of his joy. You were alone and dressed rather casually, but to Adrian you looked like an otherworldly being. He shrunk in his seat as if getting spotted by you would be utterly embarrassing. To his surprise you took a seat by the window two rows in front of him. He cowered his mouth with his hand has he let out a surprised yelp. He ripped out his air-buds as he was afraid he would miss even the tiniest sound from you.

To his joy, you two were the only passengers on the bus. He could see your reflection in the window if he leaned against it with a slightly strained neck. His heart was beating like crazy and he thought he would die from heart attack right then and there. The longer he watched you scroll on your phone with air-buds plugged in your ears, the more he could feel the strain in his loose black jeans. He wanted to roll his eyes at his pitiful state, but he couldn’t help to get bricked up in your proximity.

You were so incredibly beautiful after all, so his reaction was only natural. After making sure you or anyone else couldn’t see it (thank god the bus didn’t have any surveillance cameras) he pulled out his open jacket so that it worked as a little cover. He quietly unzipped his jeans and pulled his dark blue down. He blew in his hand before he gripped his achingly hard dick. His pale dick was flushed an angrily pink and pre-cum was already leaking from the rip. He had to use his hand that was closed to the window, his left hand, despite being right handed due to the jacket that worked like a cover.

Adrian spat in his hand before he worked it up and down the shaft in a slow motion. He needed to be careful so you didn’t notice anything. His grey-blue eyes found your reflection as he watched you with a lidded gaze. He let out a shaky breath as his thumb stroke over his swollen tip. He worked his hand a little faster and pleasure shrouded through him. He threw his head back and bit his lip harshly, to quite any of his whimpers.

You were putting on chapstick on your beautiful lips in a careful manner, which resulting Adrian to almost drool. God he wished it was your lips that were wrapped around his dick instead of his hand. He tightened his grip and picked up the pace. Pale was coated in pre-cum as he continued to jack off. The vein alongside his cock was strained and he was close. So close that he couldn’t help the low whimpers that escaped his lips. With a hasty motion he pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket with his right hand. His breathing was rapid and the warm feeling deep within his gut spread like lightning through his veins. With his gaze strained to your form, he came so hard he saw white stars. Warm cum pumped out from his dick and onto the handkerchief. He slumped forward with his forehead resting against the seat in front of him.

He breathed heavily for a while, before he shoved his dick back into his underwear. He carefully pulled up the zipper with one hand as he stuffed the used handkerchief into his pant pocket. After whipping his hands on a new tissue, he ran his hand through his black soft hair.

He watched you exit the bus at the bus stop by your work. Blue eyes followed you to the door of the worn little coffee shop. He put in his air-buds again and clicked play on the same song he had saw you listing to. You would be his. It wouldn’t be long now. Nothing could ever keep you from him. You were destined to be.

[nomoredying]

you will never know

hunger games au! tribute!sevika x tribute!reader

tags: reader is from district 10, sevika is from district 12, canon-typical violence, angst a/n: i blame suzanne collins. english is not my first language — please correct me if you find any mistakes, ty. writing this was a torture never doing anything like that again :/

you don’t know what a person actually feels when they’re burning alive. not until the flame reaches you and you jump back in escape but it’s too late. you got hurt and now you’re going to burn too. just like them who you watched from afar.

that’s how you would describe being chosen for the hunger games, held by almighty capitol. or how you like to call it in your district — the topside. 

seventeen years you watched the mandatory-to-watch broadcast of the games, where innocent children were killing each other or getting killed. and then how the victor was celebrated by the whole country. by the topsiders especially. 

but no child can comprehend the possibility of being chosen to get murdered on the screens of thousands of people just for entertainment’s sake. and a reminder, of course. you can’t overcome the capitol.

despite the nudging voice that tells you this isn’t real and if it is you should flee, you act brave. say all your goodbyes to your parents, your older brother who you know hated himself for inability to volunteer because of his age and to all of your friends. you hope they will actually miss you. 

you listen to your mentor leelan who’s a middle aged woman with clever, but beaten look in her eyes and almost dozen ideas for you to win although she knows that you’ll probably die like all the others. you respect her determination. you even laugh at whatever nonsense your escort and the prep team says. 

“is there anything you’d like to say to your family, watching this right now?” the host, a man wearing ridiculously bright glasses and blazers asks.

“put the kettle on, i’ll be home in a blink of an eye,” you blink at the camera. “and don’t eat all the cookies, achilles. you think you’re watching me, but i have eyes everywhere,” you narrow your eyes now and hear the immediate laugh from the audience.

“oh, siblings,” the host chuckles, shaking his head.

you’re almost a perfect tribute, it seems to be. appearing to the people as charming, but dangerous and sharp, you win over many hearts soon enough. didn’t even have to be a career. no one except your team knows that you clench your fists until your nails sink into your palms enough to draw blood. no one except an avox, a girl who crossed capitol so they cut her tongue, who came into your room in the middle of a night because you started hitting a wall during your panic attack.

if it wasn’t for that, leelan could almost let herself believe in your win. 

you’re excellent with blades and axes, probably won’t have much trouble with finding food and even can make a trap. all the things you’ve learned thanks to your district which specialises in livestock you even score a 10 — 10 for district 10, as someone from your team said.

but if you act like you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown as soon as you’re out of cameras’ reach, how will you act in arena full of poisonous and deadly forces you have to fight against? the boy from your district is in even worse state. he’s a lost cause. 

you don’t interact with others much at the tribute center, trying to learn as many skills as possible, even though it’d be nice to have some allies. temporary allies, you remind yourself.

however one girl does catch your attention. she’s tall, dark skinned, her already short dark hair put up and you can see the well-developed muscles in her bare arms. you’re pretty sure it doesn’t end with just the arms. which surprises you because even if you’re the ones growing the cattle and preparing meat in your district, you don’t really get to have much. one would have thought district 12 can’t have it better. 

her name is sevika and she’s 18. how devastated must have been her family  — getting reaped her last year. you’re not so juvenile yourself too, only a year younger than her. 

she’ll definitely be fine on her own, you think, watching her tying knots. you approach her, starting to do the same and thinking of all the ways you could start talking to her. but before you finally open your mouth to say something, she leaves to another section. not today, then.

and not all the other following days too.

sure, you did talk to some other tributes. a girl named mary from 5, kind and quiet. twins from 11, who made you laugh so hard you had to physically stop yourself because you remembered that you’re being watch and a hysterical laugh isn’t really complimenting. but still not to her and now it’s the day the games start.

all this time it’s like you’ve been asleep. now you wake up from the cold before the horn even sounds.the ground is damp and metallic under your back, and for a second you don’t know where you are. it could be a slaughterhouse. maybe it is. it smells like one.

the sky above you is orange, like rust bleeding into sunset. you’re standing in the center of what used to be a processing plant. abandoned, decayed. smoke still rises from some of the towers. steam hisses through broken vents. the ground is cracked cement, sliced with rails, stains and patches that could be oil or blood. doesn’t really matter which.

this is the arena.

you try not to throw up.

they placed you all around a giant broken platform, like a rusted gear in the middle of some long-dead machine.

in its center is the stock — weapons, food, water, gear, traps, maybe even medicine. you can see the outline of a crossbow, a few blades. there’s a black bag. some kind of armor. a bottle glinting under the lights. a lot of seems like a trap, cursed by the gamemakers.

around you, at the edges of the gear — other tributes stand on their plates. all waiting.

and there’s sevika, four tributes away. she’s not looking at anyone. not even the stock. her eyes are low. arms loose by her sides. like she’s waiting for the whole thing to be over.

she doesn’t look scared. just done.

you wish you felt the same.

you breathe in. you don’t have much time. you know what leelan told you: “don’t go to the middle. don’t be a fool.” but leelan’s not here and you don’t think you’ll find an axe lying around somewhere in the arena.

you run before you even realize that you’re running. fast and low. like cutting through a herd without startling them. tributes are screaming already. one falls on the platform. another lunges for a bottle, only to get their throat sliced open. blood sprays across a shattered crate.

you don’t look. you grab the small axe, half-buried under a sheet of plastic. it’s heavy but familiar. your fingers close around the handle like it’s home. 

you run again — toward the shadows — and hope for the best. toward the smoke and dust and wreckage beyond the gear. you hide in a collapsed control tower on the outskirts of the plant. its roof is gone, but walls still stand, crooked and blistered by heat. the floor is full of ash. you lie down in it.

your hands are shaking. the axe is next to you, warm from your grip. you think of how are you even supposed to find food or water in a huge dead industrial complex. 

you get out of your cover and find that around your collapsed towers are another ash towers. you try to find the highest point and when you do, you finally look around. you think you can see a slaughterblock not that far from you. that’s where you should head next.

you only let yourself to sit, just to wait out whatever’s happening in the gear. you hear the canon and count seven deaths already. seventeen of you left. 

that’s when you see your mentor before you. “leelan?” your eyebrows furrow in disbelief “what are you– how are you here?” your hand tries to reach the woman, but suddenly it weighs more than any axe you held in your life so you can’t even lift your arms.

the mentor says something to you and you nod, but something feels wrong..

“are you okay?” your brother asks. 

“are you here too? i don’t get it,” you mumble and that’s when you notice the blue gas you’re breathing all around you. 

you’re hallucinating. you close your eyes, still hearing their voices. not the worse way to spend you first night, is it? your stomach disagrees.

your eyes open wide just a moment before they start showing the dead tributes in the sky. both from 6, 8, 9 and a boy from 12.

at the early morning the gas disappears, and that’s when you leave the tower and head to your new destination.

the slaughterblock smells worse than anything you’ve ever smelled before. it clings to the walls, seeps from the floor. old blood, rot, bile — all of it baked into the steel and concrete. the heat makes it worse, like someone turned the whole place into a slow cooker for ghosts.

you try to breathe through your mouth, but that just makes you taste it.

the room stretches into darkness, full of rusted hooks hanging from chains, swinging slightly in the stale air. gutting tables still sit in rows, some flipped over, others stained black. broken knives, meat saws, bones — so many bones.

your boots click once on the slick floor, and you freeze. you didn’t mean to make a sound. but it’s not just you. you hear it — screaming. no, not quite human. a pig. and it’s not dying quickly.

you follow the sound, stepping slow. between metal slabs and dripping pipes. the ceiling above you groans. you peek through the gap between two cabinets.

they’re there — two tributes from district 7.

you recognize them. the girl with the long scar down her chin. the boy with unrealistically crooked teeth. they’re butchering a pig they must’ve found somewhere deeper in the block. it’s alive. was alive. they’re laughing.

you grip your axe tighter, but you don’t have a plan yet. until your foot knocks into an empty metal bucket. it clatters like a gunshot. they freeze. 

the girl turns first. “who’s there?”

you don’t answer, why would you? but she sees you anyway and lunges.

your axe meets her before your brain even catches up. the impact jolts up your arm — you feel bone snap, skin tear, the wet thud of meat. she hits the floor, twitching once. doesn’t get back up. you hear the canon.

you don’t stop. you can’t.

the boy’s next. faster than she was, not even stopping to look at his dead ally. he’s yelling something, but it doesn’t matter. you swing — he dodges. he slashes with a blade and slices your arm. again — your thigh. you gasp and stumble. he grabs your collar, grinning. 

you grab his face. the two of you struggle — crash backward — into an old meat grinder.

it groans under the weight.

your fingers find a button. you kick him and press it as quickly as possible and then..

you watch.

the room is quiet again. except for your breath. and the flies. you stare at what’s left. then at your shaking hands.

“disgusting,” you whisper at yourself and hope that this might be to the sponsors’ liking. a terrible thought, but so isn’t everything?

you tear a piece of fabric from the dead girl’s shirt. wrap your bleeding arm. then your thigh. it’s not pretty, but it’ll do.

you take their bag which they must have taken from the stock. inside: bandages, antiseptic. painkillers, some kind of sunglasses. 

the pig they were butchering is half-dead.

but you know what to do with that. you know where to cut. what to keep. what not to touch. it takes you twenty minutes to break it down. maybe less. your axe is sticky. your hands — slick.

you cook a few pieces over a pipe that still leaks fire. it’s dry, but warm. then you pack the rest in cloth, shove it in the new bag. and you leave. 

you walk deeper into the structure, the walls closer now, darker. you’re so thirsty it makes your head pulse. no water at all. but it has to be somewhere, right? instead, you find a room in the back. some kind of office, long since emptied. the desk is broken. the windows cracked. but there’s a corner. dry and covered in dust. you sit there. you unwrap your arm. it’s bleeding again. you clean and bandage it, as best as someone who who has very basic knowledge of healing can do. 

thirteen of you left.

you stay there for few nights, eating your pig, until the thirst becomes unbearable and water fills all your thoughts. not you, unfortunately.

you’re going to die of thirst before anyone gets the pleasure of killing you. that’s the thought that’s been gnawing at your spine for the past two hours you’ve been walking. the meat from the slaughterblock is still warm in your bag, your wounds are holding. but your lips are cracked. your head swims. everything is too loud.

that’s when you see it. the pit.

it’s not really a lake. not even a pond. it’s an open crater so wide you can’t see the other side through the smoke. the ground falls away in uneven steps of clay and metal and bone, and at the very bottom, there’s water — sort of.

it gleams in the toxic light, thick with rainbow shimmer, like someone spilled oil across a graveyard. you know that smell. sharp. chemical. like bleach, rot, ammonia.

and the bones. some old, some not.

you swallow hard. you need water, so you find a path — half-collapsed service scaffolding, mostly rust and wire. it takes almost twenty minutes to get down safely. you slip twice. once nearly fall. but your grip holds.

the deeper you go, the hotter it gets. the air sticks to your lungs.

you step through the bottom of the pit like moving through glue. you hold your breath when the fumes spike. the water’s close. but you’re careful. you know better.

and then you see her. 

sevika.

standing by the edge of the chemical pool like it’s a mirror. her back to you. muscles tense. blade slung low, but not drawn. she crouches and pulls a bottle from her belt. dips it low toward the surface—

“it’s poisoned,” you call out, louder than you meant to.

she straightens. turns. her eyes find you — sharp, wary. in less than a five seconds she’s ready to attack.

but the air shifts and that’s when you know something’s coming. you feel it first — the way your teeth hum. then the tremor beneath your feet. then the shriek.

a shape erupts from the other side of the pool, tearing through bones and rock like they’re paper. a mutt. at least eight feet tall. boar-like, but deformed, furless, parts of its flesh replaced with glowing panels. its eyes flicker red. its tusks drip acid. it charges.

you draw your axe.

“allies?” you shout.

sevika nods once. “just don’t get in my way.”

the beast hits like a train. you dive left — sevika goes right. you slash its leg and sparks fly, it screeches and backhands you into the dirt. sevika climbs its back, driving her blade between its shoulder plates. it throws her off.

you roll. blood in your mouth. the mutt lunges at sevika — she dodges — you bring your axe down on its exposed jaw. it turns on you. 

you think: this is it.

then sevika rams her knife straight into its eye socket. you don’t waste the opening and drive your axe into its throat, both hands, full weight. it collapses.

you both stand there for a second, chests heaving.

“that thing better not come back,” you mutter and slump onto a rock, your whole body’s shaking. sevika wipes blood from her face and walks back toward the water.

“you were serious about the poison thing?” she asks, finally.

“yeah. the fumes alone almost knocked me out.” 

“so what now?”

you look at her. “we filter it.”

she raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “you know how to do that?”

you nod. “i think so. we used to filter rotwater at home. for the pigs. same principle, right?”

“you filtered water for pigs.” sevika snorts.

“and for us, sometimes.” you stand. “you need: cloth, rocks, sand. charcoal. some kind of container.”

“charcoal?” she raised an eyebrow. 

“burnt cloth’ll do.”

“you’re full of surprises, 10,”

“shop kid,” you grin. “axes, knives, smoke filters. we sold them all.”

you spend the next hour gathering parts.

you build the filter from a broken pipe, with layers of sand, gravel, burnt scraps, and a ventilation mesh sevika pulled from an old cooling unit.

you watch the first drops trickle through into a cracked bowl. you both stare at it in silence.

“first sip’s yours,” sevika mutters.

you smile. “scared?”

“you built it,”

well, can’t argue with that. when you drink, it tastes like ash. definitely not that fancy water that comes in all flavours (you didn’t even know water could be flavoured before), but not deadly too. you don’t have any signs of being poisoned, so sevika takes a sip too. and then another. and other.

“so what does your family do?” you ask out of curiosity and because you don’t like silences.

something in her expression flickers.

“my mother was a medic. my dad’s got a hardware stall,” sevika replies shortly, and you decide not to push. why would you want to know all about her family if later? to face that very family after you kill her or someone else does?

“i was hoping we’d at least get a beautiful arena,” you sigh playfully, after getting a look around 

she grins. “yeah? so you could at least die somewhere beautiful?”

“something like that,” you roll your eyes. 

after filling your bowls and bottles with water you get out of the pit, thinking where you should head next. 

“wait,” you say and perform a shushing gesture to silence her. something’s wrong. as if the ground is shaking. “do you feel it? it’s like an earthquake—“ and the surface under your feet collapses right at that moment, sevika’s strong hand preventing you from falling, but the ground she’s standing on also starts shaking.

so you run with ground sunk down behind you.

“hey-hey!” you hear two familiar voices, male and female, from both of your sides. twins from 11. “we were thinking of going into the pit when we saw you two running. what’s happening?”

“game makers are expanding the territory of the pit,” you reply, smiling at them and glance at sevika. oh, she doesn’t trust them.

“can we join you?” they ask.

their bags catch your attention. must’ve gotten them from the stock. they’re quick, clever, funny and you like them. so before sevika says no, you say yes and she glared at you.

“great! follow us, we found something like control rooms,”

“control rooms?” you repeat, curious.

and you still feel her piercing gaze.

“they’re smart!” you whisper at her and she rolls her eyes.

the control core is deeper than you expected.

you follow the twins through a narrow hallway half-collapsed with rusted panels and ash. above your heads, wires dangle like vines. it smells like electricity, dust, and something else — old blood maybe. the deeper you go, the colder it gets.

the twins are chatty. you like that about them. it makes you feel, for a moment, like this isn’t real.

when you finally reach the room, it’s massive. high ceiling, metal walls, rows of broken monitors and blinking consoles. the control core must’ve once powered something big. the lights flicker on and off. it hums, almost alive.

you all sit in a circle. the twins pull food from their bags — sealed packets, dried fruit, bread. you offer them water in exchange. the deal is silent, natural. survival. 

they talk about the games, previous ones, things they saw from the sidelines. the girl twin says she thinks the mutts are more unpredictable this year. the boy twin jokes he’s waiting for the flying leeches. you all laugh. even sevika smirks.

then you go deeper.

you slip on the glasses you found in district 7 boy’s bag, that are apparently made for the night vision. so do the twins. sevika takes the flashlight, checks its battery with a tap of her palm. works.

you move in a line. twin-boy in front, then his sister, then you, sevika watching the rear.

the corridors tighten. the temperature drops again. dust floats in the air like snow. pipes run along the ceiling. you check every side door. most are sealed. some open to reveal broken desks, shattered bulbs, spilled tools. in one room you find an old firebox and a control panel half-lit. in another — something you think is a ventilation map. sevika studies it while chewing dried fruit like it’s jerky.

then you see the first snake. it slithers from behind a console. only about the length of your arm. quick. sharp scales. sevika steps forward and crushes its head with the heel of her boot.

you look at the twins. they look at each other.

“weird,” you say. what would a snake be doing in here?

more steps. more snakes. you find another. and another. before you say you should head back, it happens.

the metal grates beneath your feet rattle. you freeze. a low sound starts building, like whispering steam.

and then — a wave. a swarm of snakes floods the corridor from every direction. tiny ones, red-eyed, fast. not natural.

they’re coming.

“run,” someone screams.

you scatter. the hallways twist and split and you take turns blindly, dodging through narrow gaps and hopping over pipes. the air is full of hissing. you swing yat anything too close.

the boy twin stumbles. a snake latches onto his leg. he goes down. his sister screams. no — she runs back, tries to pull him up.

more snakes pile on him.

you stop running. your body wants to go back. but sevika grabs your wrist. 

“not now,” she growls.

you turn and the last thing you see is the girl dropping to her knees and swinging wildly with a blade as they swarm them both.

you don’t look again and you keep running. when you finally stop, your lungs burn. your skin is marked with shallow cuts and dried blood. the snakes aren’t following anymore. you collapse against a wall. sevika crouches near you, breath sharp.

“they’re gone,” you whisper.

she nods.

“we should’ve taken their bags,” sevika says.

you look at her and she sighs.

“don’t give me that look. it’s awful. but it’s the games. you survive or you die. nothing in between,”

you say nothing because you know she’s right.  and that’s worse.

you find a hidden crawlspace near the end of the control core. small enough to feel safe. you both squeeze in. you rest in shifts, but neither of you actually sleeps. you sit back-to-back, watching the same crack in the wall. 

at some point, sevika says, “they reminded me of someone. the twins,”

you don’t answer.

she continues anyway. “when i was little, there was this pair in our street. always stealing apples. always climbing shit. i think about them sometimes,”

you shift, “i have a brother,” you say, “older. wanted to volunteer for me. couldn’t. he watched the reaping with his fists clenched”

“did he say goodbye?”

you nod, “told me to break their rules. and their teeth,”

sevika chuckles. a quiet, worn-out sound. “maybe you will,”

“maybe we both will, you say,”

and for the first time since the games started, you think maybe you’re not entirely alone.

then you both watch the faces of dead appear in the sky. it’s only 9 of you left. you and sevika, both tributes from 1, 2 and 3. and the boy from your district. the one you nicknamed the lost cause.

“i don’t know how he’s doing it,” you say, furrowing. “he’s so unstable,” 

sevika shrugs, assuming that maybe it plays in his advantage. 

“do you think it’s been suspiciously easy or we’re just lucky?” you ask her and she raises an eyebrow to see if you’re serious. you are. she’s confused, so you are to elaborate, “well, i feel like thirst was the one thing that could actually kill me. there was some gas on my first day, but it wasn’t poisonous. were you injured physically?”

“no. were you?”

“yes, when i was fighting with tributes from 5, but it’s not much,” you reply carelessly, because you almost forgot about those.

you agree when sevika says it’s time for new bandages, and when you unwrap the old one on your hand, you see that your wound has festered and wrinkle your nose. ugly. sevika doesn’t look away but sighs. right, her mom was a healer. 

“did you even clean it?” she asks but doesn’t bother with waiting for an answer and takes the antiseptic and bandages out of your bag. 

you bite your lips, watching her hands work deftly. “do you have any other wounds?” you nod and tell her about the one on your thigh. “take it off,” sevika demands, talking about the bottom of your suit. 

“aren’t you gonna buy me a drink first?” you say resentfully but before she says something insulting you slide your bottoms down enough for her to get access to your thigh. it’s cold — that’s all.

you both fall asleep. not intentionally and definitely not responsibly.

maybe it’s something about the warmth of someone nearby who doesn’t want to slit your throat — at least not now. 

but you two jump wide awake when you hear screaming. loud and coming at you.

your axe is already in your hands, just like sevika’s blade in hers. 

the careers. two from district 1, two from 2 and the last one from 3 — the so-called golden pack. tall, sculpted, polished like statues. 

they weren’t running at you, but from someone. or something. that’s when you see them. two mutated tigers, striped in glitching patterns, like static crawling on their skin. their jaws stretch too far, and their claws spark on contact with stone. they’re playing and their favourite game involves tearing someone apart.

you and Sevika exchange one glance. then it’s chaos.

the careers don’t hesitate to turn on you — the girl from 1 nearly slices your cheek open, the boy from 2 screams something incomprehensible while flailing his blade.

you swing your axe. she ducks. sevika’s elbow meets her nose. it’s a war on two fronts.

the tigers circle.

they pounce and crush the boy from 3 in a snap of spine and spray of red. another screams. the tigers chase him. sevika watches. calculating.

they’re not attacking randomly. they’re actually toying.

you slash at the girl from 1 again, landing a deep cut to her ribs. she backs off, wheezing. sevika moves behind her. and then grabs and throws her straight into a tiger’s open jaws. bones snap like twigs.

you almost freeze, but she doesn’t. she grabs the next, taking them by surprise — the smaller tribute from 2 — and repeats it. the last tribute — girl from 2 — sees what sevika’s doing.

she lunges with a roar and stabs her deep, right under her ribs. 

sevika screams. you turn just in time to bury your axe in the girl’s neck. she goes down.

while tigers play with very dead tributes, you two run as fast as possible before mutts turn their attention to you. when it seems like they’re not following, you finally let sevika sit and fall next to her.

your hands are already covered in blood. she’s breathing, shallow and sharp.

“that bitch,” she mutters.

“you’re okay. you’re okay,” you lie.

nothing in your packs can help her and you know that next day you have to go and find the careers’ pack, maybe they’ll have something. you press her wound, trembling. her blood soaks into your palms.

“sleep,” you whisper.

the next day when sevika assures you she’s fine — another lie — you quickly approach the area where your nap was interrupted yesterday. take all the food you see, which careers’ve got enough, but nothing of the medicine. you sigh.

sevika doesn’t even need you to tell her about that when you come back, your desperate eyes tell her everything. when she doesn’t resist eating, you can’t help but think that this might be her last meal.

then you start rambling.

about the first cow you ever helped deliver. about the time you and your brother painted axes with bright pink paint and your father got mad.

you keep talking until something heavy lands on your head. you look up, taking it into your hands.

a silver parachute. medicine.

your heart jumps, but you don’t hesitate.

you pour the contents over her wound, hands shaking.

sevika flinches. then gasps. you try your best and she tries to talk you through it. you wrap her tight. close the gash. press your forehead against hers. 

you did it. you saved her.

a sigh of relief and joy and happiness escapes your lips when comes the realisation. it’s only three of you left now. the boy from your district, you. and sevika. 

that’s when you hear the gamemaker’s voice that sounds almost amused. three tributes remain, they say. one final event. a gift for each of you, waiting in the heart of the arena. come claim it.

you and sevika don’t speak. you just nod once, gear up, and walk.

it’s inevitable anyway. if you don’t go to this feast now, they will still make you face each other, fight and die. 

you walk through smoke and ruin, past twisted metal and the remains of places you used to hide. it’s almost poetic that the center is the gear — the giant rusted cog that once turned something important but now just rests in the earth like a jaw waiting to close.

you arrive first. he’s already there. the boy from your district.

he doesn’t look like he used to. he’s thinner. twitchier. eyes wild, too wide. his shirt is stained with blood that’s not his. he holds the knife like it’s part of him.

you open your mouth to say something, but he doesn’t wait.

sevika moves first — throws you behind a pile of rubble and blocks his blade with hers. they crash against each other, metal biting metal, and he’s stronger than you remember.

not skilled. just unhinged.

you scramble up, your axe in your hands, heart pounding. you circle. he throws a punch at sevika and she stabs at his leg — he dodges, growling.

then he sees you.

he drops from aevika’s line of sight and charges at you. too fast. your axe swings wide. his knife is already in motion.

it sinks into your chest. not fully in the heart, which would be faster, but close. you stumble back and he gasps.

his eyes meet yours, and suddenly he drops his weapon. stumbles away from you like he’s waking from something.

“no,” he says. “no, no, no — i didn’t mean— i thought— i—“ he falls to his knees, his hands are shaking and he starts crying.

sevika catches you before you hit the ground.

her arms wrap around you roughly, one hand pressed hard over the wound.

“what the fuck did you do,” she hisses — not to him. to you “you idiot. you stupid, reckless idiot,”  she repeats, over and over, “you were supposed to win,”

you were supposed to win.

you can’t breathe properly. your fingers tremble, “shut up, sev,” the only words you can squeeze out before you you lift your hand and cup her face, making her lean in. her face is all angles and fury and grief.

your lips barely touch. a breath. a tremor.

then stillness. you’re gone in her arms.

sevika doesn’t cry. she lays you down gently, like something she carved with her own hands. then she stands. her gaze finds the boy still kneeling. he raises his eyes to her. and for a second, it looks like he’ll say something.

he never gets the chance.

viewers are not sure if what happens next is vengeance or instinct. but when it’s over, there’s only one name left to announce.

sevika.

you will never know that sevika won the games. you died, thinking it, but you’ll never know for sure. 

you will never know that every month your family receives sevika’s winnings.

you will never know that the only family sevika has left — her father — gets killed by the capitol three weeks after her win because she refused to play by capitol’s games. 

and you will never know that when twenty years later a pink haired girl sparks a revolution, she helps adding the fuel to the fire with you in her mind. 

tags: @riotstemple29

[amultitideofdrops]

Random AU because I love alternate character origins/childhood.

Julian grew up on Cardassia, as a ward/totally not adopted child of Kelas Parmak. Let's just say that Cardassia attacked his family's passenger ship on the way back from adigeon prime or something, with Julian being a lone survivor. Tain suspects the reason why the Bashir's took their child to the planet so gets his personal doctor to check the kid- out the secrets of true genetic enhancement are too good an opportunity for the head of the Obsidian Order to pass up.

And soft hearted Kelas obviously gets attached to this soft skinned child way too quickly, and Julian whose brain is overwhelming him and doesn't understand what happened to his parents, is equally quick to cling right back. Kelas dutifully reports back that he's just a normal child, and it was likely one of his deceased parents who was augmented. When Tain decides it's best to get rid of the last bit of evidence of their unwarranted attack on a civilian ship, Kelas manages to convince him to let the doctor keep the child.

(So Tain gets some extra bonus leverage over the person he has to show weakness around, quite a win in his opinion.)

Kelas doesn't know how to interact with children, let alone a human one. So he just tries to be kind and involve Julian in all the things that interest him. Which is just what the newly genius child needs. The two bond easily, though Kelas always has to maintain the facade of this being more a mentor relationship than anything. Keeping a distance around the few Cardassian's who ever see the child. He's taken aback each time Julian gets clingy, wrapping his arms around Kelas' waist and holding on like a barnacle, or small hands gripping near possessively into his.

Julian's nearly as lonely as Kelas is on Cardassia, but they have each other.

He goes once a month to Tain's office, at first just accompanying Kelas on his check ups, but as he gets older Tain asks he makes his own visit, and they play Kotra and Kal-Toj and near a new game every week which he always wins. He tests Julian's Kardassi, and then teaches him Romulan and Vulcan, just to keep his mind sharp he says. He presses large volumes to his hands each week and asks his opinion the next one. Kelas sees Tain's knowing smile as he sees the human off at the end of each visit and despairs.

Of course Kelas still dissents. Of course he stills gets caught. And 15 year old Julian shouts and screams and fights like a vole when they come to arrest Kelas.

Garak's interrogation with the doctor goes even quicker here, unbeknownst to him that the dead stare of his eyes are promising retribution against someone else entirely.

Kelas goes to the labour camp. And Julian, after Tain is overruled by Central Command, is sent home to Earth in a hostage exchange with the Federation.

Julian gets debriefed and counselled to shit, before living with a foster family up until he applies to Starfleet Academy because he never forgot.

(He briefly considered going into Intelligence rather than medicine, as a quicker way to find out what he needed, but if he finds Kelas again he's going to take after him, not the man who locked him away)

Cue the start of DS9- which Julian couldn't apply for fast enough. His superiors are aware of his Cardassian knowledge, but not how he got it, and everyone's just generally thankful they have someone who can deal with the systems and any diplomats that come by.

And how useful for Julian, that the protege of Tain is exiled on the same station, so full of secrets and so willing to approach Julian straight away.

All this to say Julian hatches a plot to honey trap Garak and get information on where Kelas was sent to and how to free him. It's a brilliant plan really, and no his feelings aren't confused on the matter. He's staying up days to help Garak detox from the Wire because the man isn't going to die from hating the cold too much dammit. If he's enjoying the book club discussions it's because it reminds him of the same titles he discussed with Kelas. If he's entranced by the movement of grey hands, he's probably just remembering the blood on them.

Julian eventually plays his hand sometime prior to Improbable Cause, and Garak is both scared and horny, and mostly confused because my dear doctor, what makes you think I'd know where he went?

Idk how this goes for the rest of the middle, but there's some awkwardness in the dominion camp, even more awkwardness between the two trying to reconcile their feelings and their past, and of course post season Cardassia sees Julian and Kelas reunite.

And then the worst meet the parents dinner you can imagine happens.

[forsaken-headcanons]

GLITCHED ANON IS BACK AFTER LIKE 800 DECADES

ANYWAYS 007 HCS LETS GO

-He bottles up his emotions. A lot. And by that, I mean he completely shuts down and will not move, eat, speak, anything after bad rounds and literally the only thing that would snap him out of it is either a new round starting or slapping him.

-He has nerve damage in his arms from after effects of hacking.

-His hands and arms have various scars that are coolgui colored.

-Any scars during/post forsaken will scar weird, aka they’ll be coolgui colored.

-Noli WANTS that cookie. BAD. Aka, he’s been trying to convince 007 to ‘talk with him’ and join the killers, as well as regress back into his hacking habits. This has affected his image in some survivors eyes(both good and bad).

-Has HORRIBLE anxiety. During his hacking days it was centered around someone being out to get him or getting banned, when raising coolkid it was about coolkidd getting hurt or his past causing harm to coolkidd, and forsaken its. Basically everything. All of the above.

-His glasses are cracked and missing parts of the lenses, but he doesn’t care. He knows that they don’t have enough supplies and he doesn’t ’want to bother anyone’.

-When stressed, the Coolgui starts to act up, messing with his teleportation in forsaken(on rare occasions, he was sent out of the map.) and his Coolgui’d scars start to glow.

-He had BAD sleep problems, he rarely ever sleeps and when he does it’s plagued with nightmares.

-If needed(aka if they’re running low on food), he will purposely not eat and lie about eating. Its habit from when he was raising coolkidd and food was scarce. To his knowledge, no one has caught on.(Elliot is suspicious, as well as guest, but neither really. See him eat, as he often eats in his room/cabin).

-Sometimes he takes stuff from the generators to help BM get supplies for the sentries and dispensers, as well as fix stuff around the cabin + try and fix the coolgui to get them out of there.

-Noob is the youngest of the survivors(my HC) and sometimes it activates 007 and guests fatherly instincts, aka they both try to protect noob, just in diff ways.

-007 often fixes small things around the cabin when he can.

-eyebags. He has eyebags deeper than the Mariana Trench/silly

-He has a constant burning sensation in his limbs whenever he uses the Coolgui, it gets worse after rounds or if it’s a round with coolkidd.

-The noob on his hat can purr, and often jumps off his hat to try and comfort 007 when he’s overwhelmed or panicking. Sometimes he sends it to other survivors to comfort them.

-He is an EXPERT at fixing/making clothes, it saved money to not buy new ones.

-He’s tried to start a garden pre forsaken, but with a lack of time, the plants started to die, as well as his hacking giving him the downside of accidentally slowly killing plants the longer he interacts with them

-idk if i said it before but, 007 is trying to use the Coolgui in tiny ways the spectre doesn’t care about to make life better/easier for the survivors, as well as trying to grow a sustainable food source. It causes harm to him each time he uses the Coolgui outside of his ability.

-One time, when trying to get the plants to grow, the Coolgui freaked out due to his frustration and killed the plants and knocked him out, maybe even making a small explosion, one of the survivors were sent to check on him and promptly had a heart attack finding a glitching 0l7, this is also when his little gardening attempts were discovered.

-allergic to shrimp

OK GLITCHED ANON OUT

Ohhh!!! These are all so amazing and neat!

These headcanons actually fit so much with 007n7! Really awesome to read through, and some were even close to my very own!! 007n7 is such a little fella, I think I'm actually starting to like him with the amount of asks and headcanon there are of him :~]

See you in another 800 decades, Glitched anon! /j

[megameatymatt]

Cookies and Cuts - Jake Webber

summary: Jake find's out about Y/N sh

WARNINGS: swearing, SH (self h@rm), Mentions of blood, Mentions of blades, crying, Mentions of su!c!de, angst, panic attack, overthinking??, mention of death, fem!reader.

requested: yup! right here

word count: 1,029

A/N: Feedback, interaction, and requests are appreciated! stay slutty ok bye💋

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

pink: y/n

red: Jake webber

9:45pm

"Did you buy the chocolate chips?" You say walking into Jake's kitchen. "How could I forget the chocolate chips?" he says taking a bowl out of the cabinet.

Jake had invited you to his place to make cookies while Johnnie and Carrington were out doing whatever the fuck they were doing. You and Jake have been dating for the past 4 and a half months now.

But no matter how many times he's said he loves you, you're always too scared to get close to him. scared that he might find out about the cuts on your arms, thighs, and anywhere else. You've never brought it up to anyone. Not Jake, not Carrington, nobody.

You hated your scars, they made you feel ugly. but you couldn't stop. cutting became somewhat of an addiction, Your only way to cope. It started with just a way to deal with stress, but now, even a minor inconvenience could send you back to the blades, the blood, and the bandages.

Sometimes, you would look at other girls and wish you could swap bodies. You'd take their clean arms and thighs, and you could give them yours. At least they'd have enough confidence to show their scars and not hide under hoodies and long pants.

"Brown sugar?" you say scrolling on your phone as you read through the recipe. "Yup, up here". He walks over and swings the cabinet door open. As you raise your hand up to reach for the sugar, your sleeve rolls up a bit.

You quickly grab the sugar and put your arm back down. But it was too late, Jake had already seen the red cuts that drew across your wrist. You weren't completely sure if he saw it or not, but you avoided his gaze, hoping he wouldn't say anything.

And he didn't. He watches you grab milk from the fridge. As you finally set everything up on the table you gain the courage to finally face Jake. He's still by the cabinet, frozen. "Jake? Are you okay?" You already know what he saw, but you're still trying to play it off.

"Uhm, yeah. I'm fine, just zoned out" He's lying through his teeth. You're not mad he tried to brush it off, you're just scared he won't love you anymore. "Great, let's make cookies!" you say forcing your face into a smile. He smiles back, but his mind is elsewhere, you take a deep breath and start prepping the ingredients.

11:27pm

"I still can't believe you burnt a whole tray of cookies, what a waste!" You say climbing into Jake's bed. "I was a bit distracted okay?" he says pulling the sheets over the two of you. "Yeah, whatever." You say, rolling your eyes.

You've been trying to ignore the situation, but it's been hard. He just went silent, he wasn't cracking jokes or being stupid, he was too scared to even get close to you. You wanted to curl up in a ball and die. You couldn't take it anymore

You pull out your phone and scroll through Instagram. "Hey Y/N?" You turn to face him, His head down fidgeting with his fingers. Then he looks up. "A-, are you okay?" He says staring into your eyes. Your heart drops into your stomach. "Yeah, Yeah i-im good" "You sure?" "Yeah, why are you asking?" He reaches for your arm and rolls your sleeve up to your elbow. His eyes grow wide when he sees your scars, Old and new scattered across your forearm. You quickly snatch your arm away from him and your gaze falls into your lap. Tears threaten to roll down your cheeks and your hands start shaking.

I Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He hates me. What am i doing here? He can't love a girl like me. Why am I like this?

You drown in your thoughts for what feels like forever, then you hear his voice. "Why?" He sounds like he's holding back tears, his voice cracking. But you can't look at him, you don't want to see what you've done, how you've hurt him. You quickly shake your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. You don't know what to say, where you should start, or if you should even speak at all. Your breathing starts getting faster and he quickly shuffles beside you and holds you. "It's okay, you're fine, just breathe Y/N. In and out, you'll be fine, you'll be just fine"

12:35pm

You've been calm for a while now, but you still haven't said a word. Neither has Jake, he just sat there, pressing your back against his chest. "Why'd you do it? Cause of me? How can I help you get better?" You only knew the answer to one of those questions "No, never because of you. I love you" You choke out. "So what, why'd you do it." He keeps asking you "why", but not even you know the answer to that question. "I don- I don't know, Jake."

You want to cry again, but you hold back. "I-I guess it was a-a way of coping? With l-like stress, and my thoughts." Jake's crying again but you can't bring yourself to look at him. "What are your 'thoughts'?" he says wiping tears off his cheeks. What aren't your thoughts? You shrug your shoulders and Jake asks another question.

"Why'd you never tell me? Have you ever tried to, um, attempt?" Jake struggled and hesitated to get his question out. You knew you didn't have to answer it if you didn't want to. But you did answer it. Talking about it out loud to someone was starting to help you piece your thoughts together. "Scared" you reply bluntly.

"Scared to die? or scared to tell me?" You choke up, failing to hold back your tears. "B-both". He slowly nods to himself trying to understand.

"Do you still wanna talk about this?" He asks worried he might be making you uncomfortable. "Do you wanna know anything else?" you say. "Will you quit?" The question immediately brings you to tears. "It's ok baby, I'm here for you. You're not alone. I wanna help you, i still love you."

tags: @zumarockkkkkkkkk @loveyouuuuuuuuuuuu1 @sturnobsessedwh0re

[primnroses]

One thing I find fascinating and hypocritical is that many people hate Sakura for loving and marrying sasuke but don't have that same reaction with karin. People go on and on how two characters that attempted murder on each other shouldn't be together, but at the SAME time, ship him with karin. By all accounts, they shouldn't be shipping them together. But for some reason, it make sense to them? And they mostly state that karin had a reason to like him? But he almost killed her. And was almost successful. Why is murder okay or even justified with sasukarin and not sasusaku?

Anything is okay for them because they hate Sakura, simple as that. A couple of years ago somebody tried to argue Sakura was a bad medic because what she did to Naruto in the war wasn't realistic by using real life CPR methods to justify it. Tells you a lot about how far people would go exposing their illiteracy to hate a fictional female character.

First of all, Sasuke is not a murderer by nature. Orochimaru and Suigetsu teased him a few times because he refused to kill innocents berating that "he's too soft" or that "he's indeed a Konoha ninja", so the fact that Team 7 met Sasuke after killed Danzo and commented on how corrupted he had become already indicated it wasn't him.

Sasuke tried to kill Sakura because she was his enemy in his quest to destroy Konoha while he was under the curse of hatred (that haters always deny exists), and Sakura agreed to kill Sasuke because he was a ticking time bomb ahead of a potential civil war. She pursued Sasuke out of her own volition and was ready to die trying because she loved him so much she couldn't stand watching Sasuke consume himself, and as a kunoichi she had a duty to protect her village and friends.

Sakura had a bond with Sasuke, wanted him to stay in the village and return to his old self and shared history together as members of Team 7.

Karin met Sasuke in a 20 second interaction during the Chūnin Exams where he saved her because he wanted her scroll but didn't attack her because she had the same scroll as Team 7, didn't meet him until after Team Hebi and constantly harassed Sasuke who needed to tell her to back off.

She stood by Sasuke's side, helped him get revenge and succumb into the curse of hatred that she could sense much better than anyone else; and he thought her life was so meaningless he didn't hesitate to pierce her heart just to get a clean shot on Danzo. How is that a better reason? Karin miraculously didn't die because she's an Uzumaki, but Sasuke did kill her and that's the lowest he had ever treated an ally.

Her feelings for Sasuke are constantly described as dangerous. Even though Sasuke did acknowledge his wrongdoings, he rewarded Karin with a dry apology. There was no way anything was possibly gonna come out of it.

Even if Sakura didn't exist, Sasuke's bond with Karin would remain the same. What Sasuke shared with Sakura was something he didn't have with any other of the few kunoichi he interacted with, which later transformed into something more.

I don't have anything against Karin and I think she was a great teammate from the shinobi pov, but some of these shipping discourses are simply ridiculous. It's one of the many reasons people just literally turn their brains off when talking about Sakura or sasusaku for the sake of hating.

[thatnonameuser]

MC 🤝 Vil

Sabotaged by platonic yans

At least they'll have something to relate about in quiet moments during the VDC breaks; "you get type cast a lot? But it's always with this one other person? Nah. In this world? No such coincidences, he wants you so bad." ~ MC after being hardened by being in yanverse for too long.

Being a celebrity IS hard. In our world, you already have to deal with so much.. but in a world where obsession is normal? How crazy does it get? Vil would have so many platonic yanderes and even delusional yanderes that believes him to be their soulmate even if he's not a darling. (Same as Neige) So how would he (Vil )or you (author) go about this in the story? (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

Fame comes with a heavy price. All the prestige and wealth comes with terrible prices to pay. If you think darlings have it bad, they have it so much worse. They never, ever have privacy, there’s always someone watching even if you’re at the edge of the earth. 

Fans are deluded, either you’re the perfect angel that should never be hurt or you’re their one true love. 

The parasocial relationships are ramped up by a thousand. Every one screen “I love you” is printed out and placed in a shrine, recorded into asmr for them to fall asleep to and hear over and over till they meet face to face. 

Instead of seeking riches, paparazzi seek pictures for their shrines. To capture the famous in their cameras lenses, and then kiss, love and adore the photographs. They also steal what little they can take, strands of hair, anything their lips or fingers touch. 

Going in public without bodyguards or something to protect yourself is a terrible risk. So many celebrities are nearly kidnapped, some actually kidnapped, so the deluded can live out their fantasies. Of wedding arches, of families being born and made….

Word to the wise, never read or open your fan mail. Sometimes it’s something sweet like letters or poetry. But there’s also hearts carved from flesh, sometimes animals, sometimes human. Explosives, meant to kill the people whoever tries to steal the eye of their favored one.

Celebrity feuds usually shed blood. If they were bad in our world, smear campaigns and cancellation attempts grow to near murders and torture in the yandereverse. All news is good news doesn’t apply here. All bad news could lead to the most devoted and obsessed killing the celeb in their sadism and delusion. 

Every mildly invasive thing turns into something so much worse. 

If you’re a darling celebrity….then you’re loved all the more. Such innocence, such fragility. Meant to be loved and protected. And stolen away to be set on a pedestal. Their fans are extremely protective, willing to attack and kill whoever their romantic partner is, yandere or not, to protect that sweet innocence. 

Yandere celebrities have the luxury of more freedom. Their fans want to be snatched up, to be tormented and degraded, willing to do anything if it means they're with them. They’re completely obsessive, worshiping the ground the yanderes walk on. They stuck on the attachment, believing the yandere has an equal obsession for them, platonically or romantically.

(Vil has an entourage of incredibly obsessive followers. Rook is a primary example. They would gut themselves for the chance to meet eyes with him. Vil doesn't respond to anyone of his fanbase but Rook, mostly because he enjoys their friendship.)

And if they were a yandere once considered to be a darling, well that innocence is maintained and protective and obsessive mixes together. They’re protective over their innocence, and obsessed with their existence. What makes the good bad? What makes the fairy tale a real life fantasy? That’s the thought process that goes through the fans’ minds. It’s what enraptures them.

(Neige’s fans adore his innocence and are obsessed with his life. And, his fans would die for him. His interaction with them purposely stokes the fire. Only a fool would ever do that, but Neige isn’t a fool. It benefits him after all.)

Vil is used to his fan base. His father’s a famous actor, he’s seen the people in wedding dresses outside his house trying to marry his father. Then the frankly, unsettling gifts his security team went through when he was starting out. He avoids them almost at all cost, never goes out in public alone and if he does it’s disguised.

Neige. in the opposite end of the spectrum, doesn’t do what Vil does. With the exception of the disguises, because sometimes he wants some privacy. He answers every letter, hugs every fan. He doesn’t need to go out in public with protection because his fans practically kill anyone who touches him. 

Either way, both don't have the luxury of privacy. It's just their school's protections that let them live in relative peace for a while.

What a world celebrities live in…

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

What if reqder was also a monkey?

How would the first meeting go and would the warlords still be in love with reader at the end?

(And can i be 🎂 anon?)

Yes, you can be 🎂 Anon! I am so glad to have another anon!

As for if Reader was also a monkey. I'd say in this version that if Reader was a monkey, she'd originally be from the Jttw World. She'd be from the same village as Spirit.

Her mother was a monkey demon while her father... let's just say he's not. He's also not human, celestial or demon. I have a plan for him but I'll keep that for later in this version of my au. Should I call it Monkey AU? Hmm… maybe I’ll need another name for it.

Spirit and Reader would be good friends from the get-go and sworn sisters ever since they were young children. In this version Reader is actually more adventurous and reckless. Having grown up in this world she is used to demon attacks, deadly threats and so forth.

She's a fighter willing to protect her only friend even if it means the death of herself.

She would meet Sun and Mac when she reaches Flower Fruit Mountain. Her and Spirit would have gotten there faster because there are two of them fighting their opponents instead of one. Also because Reader is a monkey demon she is welcomed onto the island by the two warlords with open arms, both excited to meet new monkey demons.

(A little backstory/ lore - Marshals Ma and Liu and Generals Beng and Ba are the only monkey demons born to flower fruit mountain, other than Wukong of course. Wukong makes it his mission to invite as many monkey demons to fill the mountain with and most come with him excitedly as they aren’t seen kindly by the humans of the mainland. After Macaque joins Wukong they both make it their mission to make the humans who treated their kind pay dearly, even though not all humans were harsh to them)

Anyways Reader gets to see her sworn sister meet her father and her new family first hand. She is both happy for her sister and slightly disappointed knowing that she wasn’t the only one her friend had now. She liked the feeling of being needed, but doesn’t want to spoil Spirit’s fun. Because of that she goes off to explore the island so her sister can have time meeting her family.

Of course this catches the attention of Macaque. Wukong is the one who trusts most monkey demons almost blindly with little distrust. Macaque on the other hand? No, he has fought and killed others who have threatened his life weather they were of his kind or not.

He has no intention of harming those his mate has chosen to be apart of their kingdom and makes sure to have friendly relations with them. However that doesn’t mean he trusts blindly especially those who have just arrived and haven’t yet accepted Wukong as their king. So following the new troop mates around is something he has made a habit of, but this time Wukong realizes what he’s doing.

After a short talk (Mostly using Wukong’s curiosity against him) the two follow the monkey demoness around. She has no rhythm or reason to her walks and simply looks around curious about her surroundings. When she believes she’s alone she sings softly allowing her voice to float through the air. Both Wukong and Macaque like the private ‘show’ not that they say anything at first.

Then they see her interact with the cubs around the mountain. The cubs that are so cute and adorable as they climb up and down Reader, curious about the newest member of the troop. All the while Reader laughs as she makes sure they don’t fall and grabs fruit from the trees to pass around to the youngsters. She is absolutely loving towards them making sure they are safe and happy. That is when the first smallest spark hits their hearts. Though they easily play it off, after all it’ll disappear after a while… right?

Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks and before they know it, two months have passed. And the small spark has turned into a bright flame that doesn’t die and is hard to hide. No matter how much they try. They can’t help but pay attention to her, they can’t help but absolutely ADORE her.

Now these two are very loyal to each other, but when feelings begin to bloom for this new Monkie demon they end up trying to stay away, unfortunately for them she seems to be a magnet for them. They are drawn to her from her smile to her laugh. When Macaque finds his mate liking this new woman (even though he likes her too) he intends to put an end to it. But when he sees her smile at him he completely freezes and can’t go through with it.

Macaque realizes he loves Reader almost as much as he loves his own mate. Telling his mate however is harder than anything else because his mate, his oh so OBLIVIOUS mate doesn’t realize he LOVES the woman that he does! Macaque remembers what he had to do to get Wukong to believe that he loved him now how is he supposed to get him to realize he loves this woman too!

Fortunately for Macaque, Wukong knows what love feels like. After all he feels love for Macaque so when he feels the oh so familiar feeling for Reader, well he KNOWS. It does take the two quite a while to actually talk to each other about their feelings though. They don’t want the other to go into a jealous rage and kill their new darling after all.

They do eventually talk and when they do? Well Reader realizes they are giving her more attention but doesn’t really think much of it… until she decides it’s time to leave to travel. Reader doesn’t like to be cooped up for too long especially Monkey!Reader she likes to travel. Unfortunately for her, when she goes to tell the Monkey King and his mate goodbye, well… she doesn’t get the chance to leave the mountain.

Hehe! I loved this ask. Now mind you this is my first idea for monkey!Reader. I also have another version that I have deemed Stone Monkie! Reader, though maybe not the same ‘stone’ as you may think. She was NOT born from stone. There is a different reason she is called Stone Monkie!Reader.

Hearts, comments and asks are always appreciated. Sorry this took so long 🎂 Anon. But I do love this ask. This is basically a headcanon quick version of a small fic now that I look at it. Hope you’re okay with that!

Edit: Added Monkie!Reader Lmk Au/ Monkie!Reader Au tag

[corviiids]

ok here is a playlist about light yagami

| light | no surprises - radiohead // | the death note | uprising - muse // boulevard of broken dreams - green day // | misa amane | starlight - muse // | ryuga hideki | do you want me (dead?) - all time low // | memory | i love you - woodkid // | the death note ii | NOSE BLEED - stand atlantic, sueco // you're gonna go far, kid - the offspring // when your heart stops beating - +44 // dead! - my chemical romance // wake me up when september ends - green day // | yagami | mama - my chemical romance // disarm - the smashing pumpkins // father and son - yusuf / cat stevens

also on youtube

(thoughts and context under the cut)

no surprises - light's nihilism and disillusionment pre-kira - without the death note i think light would have gone down this line faster.

A heart that's full up like a landfill A job that slowly kills you Bruises that won't heal You look so tired, unhappy Bring down the government

uprising; boulevard of broken dreams - self-explanatory i feel

Rise up and take the power back It's time the fat cats had a heart attack You know that their time's coming to an end

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me 'Til then I walk alone

starlight - misa towards light

Far away from the memories Of the people who care if I live or die ... My life You electrify my life Let's conspire to ignite All the souls that would die just to feel alive

do you want me (dead?) - light and L's early rivalry and interactions in college are largely exploratory, simultaneously more and less openly hostile, still cautious and uncertain where they stand with each other.

There's no such thing as a perfect crime Don't play that You've said it enough Cause you want me Or you want me dead

i love you - self-indulgent haha i couldn't resist. takes place in a similar continuity to my fic where light and L start a fake relationship for the investigation but when light briefly thinks it's real after he loses his memories. i think canonically light is too irritated with L's poor moral compass to develop true feelings for him even during this arc, but i do think it's reasonable to think light might develop a bit of a puppy crush and a desire for L's attention lol. simultaneously it's kinda a bit of L at kira.

Is there anything I could do Just to get some attention from you? In the waves I've lost every trace of you Where are you?

NOSE BLEED - i think this is the most lawlight song ever. (this also made me think of a couple of my fics.) after light gets his memories back i think his attachment to L transforms into a bit of disgust directed both at himself and L

I'd rather be lonely and hate myself Than someone you think about ... So this is what you get For messin' with my head Don't wanna end up dead (Dead) Six feet in the ground

you're gonna go far, kid - nobody wants to hear that this song is about light yagami but it is. lowkey this is L to light while those bells are ringing

There's something in your way And now someone is gonna pay And if you can't get what you want Well it's all because of me Now dance, fucker, dance Man, I never had a chance And no one even knew It was really only you

when your heart stops beating; dead! - self-explanatory and victorious in a hysterical about to start crying way

I'll be there when your heart stops beating I'll be there when your last breath's taken away In the dark when there's no one listening In the times when we both get carried away

Have you heard the news that you're dead? No one ever had much nice to say I think they never liked you anyway Oh, take me from the hospital bed Wouldn't it be grand? It ain't exactly what you planned

wake me up when september ends - listen i concede this one doesn't make a ton of sense but i've included it because the vibes work for me. something something a melancholy coming back to the self, a rude and painful awakening after a loss of innocence you cant run from. look over there, a distraction

The innocent can never last ... Here comes the rain again Falling from the stars Drenched in my pain again Becoming who we are

mama; disarm - light to his family, to the world, a manic little soliloquy

Stop asking me questions, I'd hate to see you cry Mama, we're all gonna die And when we go, don't blame us, yeah We'll let the fires just bathe us, yeah You made us oh, so famous ... You should've raised a baby girl, I should've been a better son

I used to be a little boy So old in my shoes And what I choose is my choice What's a boy supposed to do? The killer in me is the killer in you

father and son - are you ever just so god damn sad about the yagamis.

FATHER I was once like you are now, and I know that it's not easy To be calm when you've found something going on ... SON Keeping all the things I knew inside It's hard But it's harder to ignore it

[sturnsdc]

ART CLASS AU!

pair: Carl Grimes x fem!reader

synopsis: Yn has feelings for her classmate, Carl, but she never does anything about it. However, things seem to work in her favor when they have to work on a project together for the art class.

warnings: no TWD scenes, just fluff, slight angst, somewhat obsessive behavior ??

words: 2,4k

A/N: to make the narration clearer: at all times, Yn is writing in her diary, which is why at times she will speak about Carl, and at other times it may seem like she’s speaking directly to him (but she’s not)!! For the most part, it’s just a bunch of fragments from her diary, as she explains a bit at the end.

this came to my mind suddenly; i apologize for it being so short.

the words in italics are the lyrics of the song !!

dividers from: @cafekitsune ! ♡

main masterlist carl masterlist

YN´S POV

you look pretty good today

is it me or did you shave?

sometimes i wonder if it's normal, if it's real. With each passing day, he seems to become more handsome, and like a magnet, he keeps drawing my gaze again and again. It feels like i can't control it.

i notice when he wears a new shirt, or when he’s wearing the same pants from a few days ago. I notice when he forgets something, when he’s focused, or when he gets distracted.

i just can’t stop noticing him.

good, you've been looking at me twice as more

so i can see your face

when we make eye contact, i feel like i’m going to die. My heart races, my cheeks turn red, my hands sweat, and i stop breathing. Even my stomach tightens, my whole body tenses up. The first time it happened, i thought i was having an attack.

secretly, i enjoy it because when i feel his gaze, i have an excuse to turn my head, look at him, and smile. I don’t even know where i find the courage, but he smiles back at me, with tight lips, then looks away after a few seconds.

my friends told me not to overthink it, that maybe i’m just misinterpreting things. They say if “i keep analyzing every time we make eye contact”, i’ll end up falling for him, and then he’ll break my heart by not feeling the same way.

you sit across from me in the classroom

but do you even know my name?

then i tried to avoid him. He probably doesn’t even know who i am. Does he even know my name? i doubt it; they hardly ever say it out loud in class. I don’t even know everyone else’s names.

but then everything seems to align, and the teacher walks to that side of the room while giving the lesson, as if she knows i’m following her with my eyes. And there he is, on the other side of the classroom, in his plaid shirt and with those pretty eyes, taking notes on everything she’s saying… while i lose my breath and forget what i was listening to.

Carl... i do know your name.

if you want to ask me how i am

don't hesitate

it was a couple of days after the teacher announced the final project. The art class would have to hold a fair, showcasing our own works, from paintings to ceramics. It had to be in pairs, but we couldn’t pick our usual partners. We had to step out of our bubbles and take a risk.

i thought about him, but my embarrassment consumed me, so i let the days pass. And just two days before the next class, i ran into him in the hallway. He seemed surprised. His blue eyes looked at me in a strange way, almost like he was unsure of something. Then he made a move to come closer, and i started to get nervous.

he did it; i didn’t expect him to. He spoke to me, asked if we could pair up, and all i could do was say yes, with a dazed look and stumbling over my words. Then he smiled, like i’d never seen him smile before. His face lit up, and he walked away, happy.

did i do the right thing? how am i gonna focus if i could barely even speak to him?

'cause you're my cru-cru-crush

and i like you very much

i have to admit, Carl Grimes is a special guy. I can’t stop thinking about him, about the little details i’ve noticed, about the brief interactions we’ve had. It’s like my world is starting to revolve around him.

he’s a gentleman—so masculine yet so gentle. He speaks to me with such care, even though i’ve seen him outside of class, joking roughly and arguing with his friends. He’s the complete opposite.

i like this side of him, when he focuses all his attention on me, asks for my opinion, and smiles at me. I haven’t seen him talk like that with anyone else. 

should i get my hopes up?

and i'd appreciate if you'd like me back

but it's okay 'cause you make my heart

we started talking about the project.

he’s so smart, coming up with amazing ideas, and i stress over not knowing which one to choose. however, he doesn’t seem worried; he waits for my answer patiently, as if we had all the time in the world, which isn’t true since we have to submit the work plan by the end of the class. but he doesn’t pressure me—he asks for my opinion on each idea and helps me weigh the pros and cons.

we chose one together, and then i started writing our plan.

but… something… feels off. We keep making eye contact, and i smile like a fool, watching as he does the same. Is this really happening? i feel like we’re in a bubble. time no longer exists, air isn’t even necessary—just us.

and then i find myself hoping that he feels the same, because i love how it feels to talk to him, to be the center of his attention, even if just for a moment.

an art class

an art class

art class used to be my escape from other subjects, a room where i felt safe. Then i saw him, and it became more than just that. Thinking about art class sends tingles through my body and instantly puts a smile on my face. My heart races like crazy, and i’m filled with excitement. And it’s all because of him.

now, art class has become something that makes me genuinely happy, motivating me to go to school.

even with the project, i’ve never been this excited to work on an assignment before, but now that i’m at his house, meeting his dad and his sister, and then heading to his room to start working on our project… i feel like i love classwork.

why do you always stick to smiling

and sit still being so quiet?

i feel like he's in the hallways more often now, because i see him every day. Sometimes i'm just turning a corner, and there he is, with his group of friends, laughing and being the smiley guy i used to see only once in a while. 

he's everywhere, all the time. What's going on?

now it's impossible not to notice him, because he's always there. Sometimes i don't even have to see him, because i can hear his laugh, or his friends', and i know we’re in the same place. 

how can he be so loud, but so damn quiet in class? i don’t get it.

it's like a completely different version of him, but i don't mind at all, it's just... weird. 

i've been pretty distracted for some days

and it's ruining my diet

the days go by, and each time i get to know him more and more. He's amazing, funny, super smart, mature, and adorable. I've also gotten to know his family better, and i understand more where that calm and controlled side he shows in class comes from.

everything seems wonderful, and i know my feelings are only growing with each passing minute, but he's starting to occupy my mind all the time, and that's becoming a problem.

my friends talk during lunch, but all i can think about is our conversation from the day before, when we got sidetracked from the project, and he started explaining the story of one of his comics. I can remember how his eyes lit up as he told me about it, and i just kept asking questions, even though i already knew the stories. I love the passion with which he spoke about it. I remember his tone of voice, the way he moved his head, and how his eyes looked at me so attentively. I recall almost every word, but then, when my mind is at its peak, i see my friends getting up from their seats, looking at me with puzzled and concerned faces.

lunch ended, and i didn’t even touch my food.

Carl Grimes, i need to figure this out soon.

if you don't take the hint already

i'm afraid i'll start a riot

i’m trying to figure out if it’s just me, Carl, but i really don’t understand—do you look at me the way i look at you?

now i try to avoid looking at you if i don’t have to, but then i feel a constant gaze, and when i turn my head, there you are, trying to look away as quickly as you can. Am i imagining this?

i feel the frustration building inside me, Carl. I need to know.

today, i try wearing different clothes, the ones i save in my closet for occasions outside of class, the ones i wear when i feel confident. But this time, i don’t feel that way. This time, i’m scared. I want you to notice. I want to know if you care, if you’ll say something.

'cause you make my whole world go crazy

yeah, your smell just sends me flying

and you did, Carl. You told me i looked good, then you got nervous and said i always look good, just that this time i looked different. If you only knew how much that meant to me.

since then, days have gone by, and i feel like you’re paying more attention to me— or have you always done that and i’m just now noticing?

you also started wearing a new cologne; it’s stronger and lingers in the air when you pass by me. Is that on purpose? now i can’t stop thinking about how good you smell, and that alone is enough to keep me floating, my mind in paradise, thinking about how much i like you.

'cause you're my cru-cru-crush

and i like you very much

today i told my friends how i feel about you. They looked at me with pity and talked to me like i was a little girl. They say you don’t feel the same, that i’m imagining everything, and that i’ll end up hurt if i keep this up.

am i really that out of my mind? they say i’m obsessed, that i’m seeing things where there aren’t any.

but they were the ones who told me the first time you looked back at me.

and i'd appreciate if you'd like me back

but it's okay 'cause you make my heart

i've spent some nights crying, and now i’m trying to avoid you. It's so hard when we still have to keep working on the damn project.

i’m scared of getting my hopes up. I started this on my own. you’re not to blame, but now i wish i didn’t have to see you for a couple of weeks.

an art class

an art class

and yet, that day of the week arrives, and along with the anxiety, i can feel the excitement trying to break free. My heart races, my hands sweat, and i can’t catch my breath.

“art class,” says the sign on the door, and just that is enough to shake my entire world and bring back the feelings i’m trying to ignore.

all my days

been trying to find a reason to stay

i keep hearing my friends' words every time i see you, and now i feel guilt, embarrassment, and a horrible pain in my chest that settles in my heart, right next to the happiness you bring me. It makes me feel sick and confused.

you've asked me a couple of times if i'm okay, but how could i answer you with the truth?

say my name

and i'll go ahead and pick a date

i'm okay

if you understand that this is fate

the day of the exhibition arrived, and i’m nervous, and you notice it, so you take my hand and smile at me. You told me everything would be fine, that we did great, and that we would do really well.

you were right. Of course you were...

we spent the whole day there, answering questions and receiving compliments. We really did a good job, and everyone keeps saying that.

now i feel exhausted. All day i had to manage my emotions—the mix of anxiety, the pain in my chest, happiness, satisfaction... and love, the damn love. I feel like handling all that drained me more than talking to so many people and repeating the same words over and over.

finally, we can leave, but then you take my hand again and make me look at you. This time you look more serious, and i start to get scared, but you don’t say anything bad.

“i’m going to be honest, Yn, i loved working with you on this and getting to know you better. Since i saw you in class, something about you caught my attention, but i didn’t know how to approach you. This was the perfect opportunity, and i took it. I understand if you don’t feel the same way i do, but if you do... i’d like to get to know you more and see what can come of this.” that’s what you said, your face blushing and your eyes looking everywhere but at me.

if you only knew that when i got home, i cried, feeling so happy, kicking my legs on the bed like a tv character, and squealing into my pillow so no one would hear me. with my face red and a huge smile.

now we’re going on a date, and i just hope this turns out well.

Carl Grimes, what have you done to me?

art class

art class

i don’t even know when i started smiling, but i finished reading aloud and looked around. Carl, beside me, was smiling widely, and our two little ones had tears in their eyes; apparently, they were moved by the story of how it all began.

i recently found my diary from when i was a teenager, and i told Carl about it in front of the girls, and they both begged me to read it to them. Of course, i paused at the perfect part, at the true beginning of our relationship, but within those pages is everything, including the story of our first time and countless anecdotes from our school days.

i will always be grateful for that class because that’s how i got to know the man who makes me happy.

Carl Grimes is more than my words can describe, but i think i did a good job explaining how i fell for him.

who would have thought that a couple of years later, this would be our life?

in the end, maybe it was part of our destiny.

taglist: @jamiesturniolo

[demon-simper]

I finished reading Edmond's new unit and I'm so not okay

spoilers below (but it's turning out to be a general appreciation of EiEd, lol)

I wasn't really expecting this many feels and romance from the spy event, I'm not gonna lie.

The second room has finally given what Edmond deserved the most: getting his dick sucked. It finally happened, and I could not be any happier, honestly. HOWEVER. the fifth room......... mama.

The entire card story, actually. Let me tell you.

The angst of potentially losing the one I care for in a terrorist attack. The relief and worry that come from the deep love Edmond has for Eiden, expressed in an angry reproach. He can't help but be afraid of losing the only one he's loved so fully, so impossibly much. The one whom he shares many firsts, the one that shows him how big and wonderful the world is. The one who showed him so many new things, who came at the right time and ended the loneliness Lucien left behind.

At this point, it's not new that Eiden and Edmond don't have sex, but rather, are making love. They are genuinely making love, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.

All of Edmond's barriers have crumbled.

Eiden always knew how Edmond struggles with showing himself so bare. So naked. Eiden is the only one who is allowed to see, and he appreciates that so much. He is always grateful and lets him know. His heart is so bright, so empathetic and loving. So welcoming and warm, like the sun...

and in this story, Edmond finally understood the extent, the gravity of the effect he provokes on Eiden. That this passion is because of him, and nothing else. And he's on the same page, and is completely fine with it. He lets himself be guided, as he fully trusts him. He allowed himself to enjoy sex. That there is nothing shameful about it, because Eiden will never judge him for it.

And when Eiden can't help but kiss his neck, leaving a mark. He doesn't push him away nor tells him to stop; he grants permission, as long as it's not visible. why? because he has to report back to the captain and the king.

We know he always accepted him as is, and loves him for that, but Eiden also came to understand that the limits Edmond has for himself– being a public authority figure, and the shackles that come with being born as a noble, are there for the keeping appearances. Eiden didn't force him to ignore those limits completely or told him to do whatever he wanted without paying attention to what other people say. He understands how cynical and hypocrite people can be about the stupidest things. So, he recognized their importance and works with it, patiently waiting until Edmond has time for himself, as he teaches him how to relax, walking him every step of the way.

And he taught him to make time for himself, too. Many have tried to teach Edmond the importance of resting, but no one was sucessful until Eiden came around; he fully takes his advice to heart, seeing for himself the truth behind it, as well as how selfless Eiden can be. And falls in love with him even more.

and the killer this time? Eiden knew, when he was interacting with the terrorist, that he could die. It was a possibility. And the fact that he thought... what would Edmond's expression be if he read his name on the list of casualties?

through it all, if that were to happen... He would find a way to come back. He'd do anything to see him again.

*sigh* he really is The Protagonist Ever, huh. and Edmond... my heart can only hold so much love and appreciation for him............

They truly are wonderful. I'm really, actually grateful to have found this game. The writing is exquisite, slow but surely they bring way more than what you expect. And the sex scenes is just a side product, at least for me.

[rainybasil2214]

okay I'm gonna ramble here cause I feel like I've overbothered my bother person about this

deltarune spoilers below, jus don't look unless you've completed chapter 4 or don't care about spoilers

oughfhhfhfh okay I am fucking obsessed

interest number one: roaring knight

I fucking love everything about the roaring knight, like the character design, the somewhat smug bitch personality, the entire fight that took me like 50 tries to go through and still fucking loved it every time (which is something, cause I died an equal amount of times on the jevil fight and I fucking hate that bastard), oh and the theme, the fucking fight theme, I could listen to that on repeat for hours, I've already listened to it on repeat for hours total (and I only just defeated it around noon yesterday). um umm the roaring knight is literally me actually!!! of all characters it is my favorite. I love terrifying creature of great dark power

interest number two: the fight themes in general

I fucking love toby fox music, and I love it even more now that I've played through all of deltarune (so far *vine boom sound effect*). All four of the secret boss fight themes are in the top four favorite toby fox songs, in order of Black Knife, Hammer of Justice, World Revolving, and BIG SHOT (and then It's TV Time! takes that fifth place spot)(These placements are also very close, if they had number values it'd be like 10004, 10003, 10002, 10001, and 10000 respectively). Why the fuck are all the themes so good. (Honorable mentions: Attack of the Killer Queen, Chaos King, It's Pronounced "Rules")

interest number three: battle mechanics

okay so I was an undertale fan around like 2018, and while I couldn't play it (I was in fifth grade at the time so I didn't know what a steam was (age is otherwise unimportant in this discussion, don't say anything about me being young, I actually fucking hate that and don't like you /gen-)) ANYWAY so yeah I didn't play it but I watched everything on youtube I could about it, sans was my favorite character at the time, cause I thought he was cool and loved his battle theme (I rly don't care abt it now and actually prefer mettaton/undyne more). The point is I always watched these videos and was like "damn that little heart dodging mechanic is cool, I don't think I could ever do something like that well though, I'd prolly suck at this." This thought persisted through deltarune chap 1-2 when my online friends got obsessed with it, but I did still love interacting with deltarune media at its popularity.

When I actually started playing deltarune though (like two weeks ago I think), I fucking destroyed almost everything (as in cracked at dodging and surviving, not killing). Saying I no-hit for everything would be a lie, I totally got damaged a lot, but I did not die as often.

Only time I died on chapter 1: one bajillion deaths in jevil fight

Only time I died on chapter 2: that fucking teacup ride that was right before spamton neo (I actually survived spamton first try)

Only time I died on chapter 3: one bajillion deaths in roaring knight fight (I enjoyed this one a lot more than jevil though), and a few deaths to the little game boss that granted the shadow mantle afterward ig

Only times I died on chapter 4: gerson fight took me a second try to complete, technically not a death but I'm counting it, and then I died to something else once I forget what, might've been a fuckup with some random enemy

It might also mean something that I did all of this while playing on a steam deck, dunno if it's more or less difficult on there.

But yeah the fights, real damn fun, the roaring knight's fight (yes I'm talking about it again) was actually so fun to get used to, I actually did not know I was supposed to attack the knight for the first like 20 attempts so I was just trying to endure all the attacks until my friend told me otherwise, but that initial practice helped survive the fight.

toby is actually a genius cause this dodging mechanic makes turn-based combat into something more.

Okay I'm out of ramble energy thank you for reading

roaring knight is literally me!!!

[enkas-illusion]

Muse | Chapter 8

Fandom / Pairing: Attack On Titan / Eren x f!reader

Rating: NSFW - MDNI

Content Warning: Language, smut, heavy making out

Author’s Note: Not a dream this time hehe. What do we think of Eren so far? Hope you enjoy this chapter. Please comment if you like it. Reading what y'all think gives me motivation lol.

~ Eren’s Birdie

Ever since the day you went out to have lunch together, he'd been avoiding you. Since you didn't really get to talk to him over the weekend due to your ‘punishment’ assignments, you hadn’t really noticed it until Monday.

Already used to meeting him first thing in the morning, you thought it was odd for the first two days when it didn’t happen. Still, you wondered if you were just being too needy and decided to just blame it on your overthinking. However, the whole week passed by without having a single one on one interaction with Eren. He'd been pretty reserved, avoiding you unless your group got together, something that has started to happen quite frequently. He’d even skipped coming over to Reiner’s house on Friday, his excuse being wanting to catch up on assignments and studying.

You tried not to show but inside, the tiny crushing feeling in your heart was growing each time he avoided you. You couldn’t really confront him because what even were you to him? Technically there was nothing more than friendship between the two of you.

As you’d like to call it, nothing short of a genius, well orchestrated plan, you decide to invite everyone over Sunday evening and host a movie night. On popular demand, everyone had settled on watching a scary movie that was trending.

You’d texted on the group chat – yes, you had gotten so close that Reiner had made a group chat adding you, Minseo, Annie, Armin, Eren, Jean, Connie and Sasha. Everyone, except for one, reacted to your message in the group, agreeing to the plan by Sunday afternoon. So, you decide to text him personally.

You: Don’t like scary movies? :(

He sees your text instantly but doesn’t reply till about 10 minutes have passed.

Eren: I do

You: So you’re coming, right?

Eren: kinda busy

You: You’ve been busy all week

You: Don’t you miss me? :’((( 

Eren: think you know the answer to that

You: Idk

You: Come home and tell me.

You: I got your favourite popcorn XO

He doesn’t reply. You wonder if you were being just cocky but you knew he’d show up for sure.

You chose to put on a fitted football jersey with a short pleated skirt. As much as you wanted to dress comfortably, baiting Eren was a bigger priority. Once you’d cleared out all your art supplies, shoving them to a corner to make space for everyone in the living room, you sit on the couch, scrolling through Instagram.

When you check Eren’s close friends’ story, it’s a picture of him in the gym from 2 hours ago, his sweaty t-shirt sticking to his torso. You decide to click on his profile to waste some time while waiting for everyone to arrive. A habit you’d developed recently, and you’d die before you’d admit this to anyone, but on nights when you found yourself feeling a little too lonely, these photos were the ones that helped fuel your imagination as you touched yourself while thinking of him.

You’re startled when you hear the key fidgeting in the keyhole and quickly exit the app before locking your phone. It’s Annie and Armin, walking in with their fingers interlaced like a newly married couple, leaving the door open behind them.

“This is not right, Armin,” you smile, “you’re taking away my wife!”

“You never really miss someone till you’ve lost them,” he fakes a deep sigh.

This has Annie slapping his chest playfully before walking over to you to leave a gross wet kiss on your cheek.

“First love is first love,” you stick your tongue out to mock him. He rolls his eyes before making his way to Annie’s room to drop her bag inside.

“Is loverboy coming?” Annie asks you.

“I guess so? Do you know anything?” you chew your bottom lip in thought. Before Annie has a chance to answer, Reiner and Jean walk in, announcing that Sasha and Connie bailed at the last minute. Your eyes search for Eren but he’s nowhere to be found.

You’re dying to ask them about him but decide otherwise to not be too obvious. You welcome them in, “Hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place?”

“The only trouble was the broken elevator,” Jean huffs as he sits down on the sofa next to you, “there’s some people downstairs fixing it right now.”

“Finally! It’s been like a month or so,” you count it over in your head, “Better late than never, I guess.”

“They’re fixing the elevator!” Minseo exclaims, walking in with the huge bag of pizza boxes, beer cans and cold drinks. You get up to help her take all the bags to the kitchen. 

As soon as she dumps eveything on the kitchen counter, she looks down at how short your skirt is before smirking, “Eren?”

Before you can answer, you hear his voice outside and your heart skips a beat. 

He came!

Minseo is wiggling her eyebrows at you.

“How do I look?” You grin.

She simply blows a kiss your way before grabbing one of the two bowls of salted caramel popcorn mixed with peri peri spice, a combo Eren had sworn by and got everyone hooked on. You comb your fingers through your hair out of anxious habit before grabbing the other bowl to walk out after her. 

Eren checks you out, it's subtle but you notice and you smile at him, “Hey, you came!”

“How could he not if you were the one inviting?” Reiner’s smirking at you. You roll your eyes at him, feeling the blush creep up on your cheeks as you make your way to the sofa again. 

You were determined to not let this chance go to waste so you’re quick to signal Eren to come and sit next to you. He obliges quietly as Minseo innocently squeezes in the space between you and Jean. If there was ever a perfect wingwoman award, Minseo would win it. Annie and Armin don’t need to be told twice to sit together on the chair that’s only big enough for one person. Reiner, who’d called dibs on the bean-bag that you’d dragged out of your room, is the only person sitting comfortably. 

About 15 minutes in, after getting startled at random scenes that others didn’t find scary, you make an excuse to get cold drinks for everyone just to avoid the approaching jumpscare.

“Should we pause?” Eren asks when you get up, handing the bowl to him.

“No,” Annie laughs, “she’s scared so she always makes excuses to skip whenever she feels there’s gonna be a scary scene.”

“Hey,” you pout, standing near the entryway of the kitchen, “I’m still watching it for you guys, aren’t I?”

You stall as you enter the kitchen, taking the big bottles out of the bag and reaching your hand up to grab the cups from the overhead cabinet.

“Damn,” Eren states, walking in, “Need some help?”

“No thanks, I got it,” You grab the solo cups as you turn around to face him, noticing his eyes move up to your face, not trying to hide the fact that he had been staring at your ass.

“Hi, long time no see,” you tease.

“We literally meet everyday,” he plays dumb.

You stay quiet as you turn to place the cups on the counter.

“What?” He nudges your arm. 

Just say it! Now is your chance. 

“I just can't help but feel that you're avoiding me. Or is it all in my head?” You get straight to the point to not allow yourself to dodge it.

He bites the inside of his cheek, contemplating hard for a few seconds, mindlessly stacking the cups in a row.

“No. You're right,” he confesses, “I've been trying to keep my distance.”

“Why?” You ask quietly as you look at him.

“You want the truth?” 

You nod eagerly.

He turns to face you completely, “You want us to be just friends, yeah? But I don't… I want nothing more than to take you here on this counter right fucking now. Tell me, is that what friends do?”

“Eren…” you’re too stunned to speak. 

“And why the fuck are you wearing that skirt? It's fucking torture,” he groans, palm running over his face as if he can't believe how pathetic he was being for you.

It's not as if you were unaware of the sexual tension between you both but hearing him say it out loud so bluntly leaves you speechless.

“Tell me you don't want the same? Do you never think about me this way?” He challenges.

You turn to look at the counter, feeling too shy to meet his eyes, “Of course I do. But this is too risky… I don't want to get my heart broken.”

“I'm not trying to break your heart," he sighs as he tugs at your arm to make you look at him again. 

“But can you promise you won't?” You look into his eyes.

“I don't get you.”

“You don't do serious shit. I'm all about that serious shit.”

“Try me,” he dares.

You tut as you turn to face the counter again, fidgeting with the cap of the bottle. He takes your hand in his to turn your body to face him completely. He pulls you in closer by the waist, his fingertips tracing the shape of your body firmly. He's pulling you to him till your bodies are pressing against each others’ completely. His head drops into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent.

“This feels so right,” he whispers as he's squeezing your body tighter between his arms.

You let out a small whimper as your fingers grip the fabric over his shoulders, losing yourself into his embrace. Your arms hesitantly wrap around his neck when you feel his hot breath fan your skin. His fingers find their way inside your top and he's rubbing his hands up and down your sides, massaging and kneading your flesh.

“Eren… oh god,” you gasp quietly, aware that there's people outside. He leaves a wet kiss over the curve of your neck and it has you squirming in his grasp. Your boobs squish against his hard chest as he moves forward to cage you against the counter.

He lifts his face up, nudging his nose against yours, lips almost touching. His hands move down, and down, and down till they reach under your skirt, squeezing your ass.

“Tell me to stop,” he groans.

“Eren,” you whimper as you crane your neck up, nose bumping against his.

“Fuck, just tell me to stop or I won't be able to,” he pleads as he closes his eyes. 

“Mmmh, kiss me,” you grip the fabric of his shirt tightly. He opens his eyes, searching yours for any trace of mischief, not believing the words that escaped your lips. He's smirking big when he realises you’re desperately awaiting his kiss so he leans forward till your lips touch. But before he gets to actually kiss you like he had longed to, you push him away quickly when you hear someone walk in. You rapidly turn to face the counter again, feeling your heartbeat drum against your chest.

“What's taking you guys so long,” a clueless Jean is walking in.

He grabs the coke bottle, “You're gonna miss half the movie.”

“Not really a horror enthusiast,” you chuckle awkwardly. 

“I see. Come out, maybe you'll enjoy this one,” Jean’s leaving the kitchen, expecting you both to follow.

Eren grabs the cups from the counter. You share a look and you can see the lust clouded with restlessness clearly in his eyes. 

“Let’s go,” you mumble, and you know he feels embarrassed too, mentally cursing Jean as you turn to leave. 

However, once Jean is out of sight, Eren pulls you by the arm, and it causes you to stumble against his firm body. It happens in such a haste that you don’t realise he's given you a small peck on your lips till after he’s pulling away. You’re about to wrap your hands around his neck but he doesn’t let you. You want to feel the touch of his lips on yours once again to memorize it but he doesn’t let you.

“We're not done yet,” he declares, nudging his nose against yours briefly before walking out, leaving you in the kitchen by yourself.

You don't waste time dissecting what just happened for the sake of your own sanity. Instead you walk out to find Eren manspreading on the sofa, leaving just a tiny space between him and the arm-rest for you. Jean is now sitting to his right side, with Minseo ending up in the right corner and you wonder if that's the whole reason Eren left no space between him and Jean.

Everyone's eyes are fixed on the movie like it's the most interesting thing ever. You fold your hands to your chest as you wait for him to make space for you. 

But if you've known one thing about Eren Jaeger so far, it's that the man's shameless in every sense of the word. He looks up at you, winking as he taps on his left thigh.

You wonder if you should follow suit and be just as shameless as he was, but did you really want to give him the satisfaction after he'd just left you so high and dry in the kitchen?

His heart must've raced a bit and there's a glint in his eyes when he predicts you're about to sit on his lap. But you didn't want to give it to him so you slide into the tiny space next to him till your back is resting against the arm-rest and cross your legs till they’re stacked and resting between his thighs. As you knew it would, this position makes your skirt ride further up your thighs. 

This makes Jean look over at you for a second before he has to force himself to look back ahead. Eren must’ve noticed this because his next move surprises you. He shifts till you’re not so cramped up to make your thighs lay lower over his own. His left hand tugs at your skirt to cover up your thighs a bit more and he lets his arm rest there.

Aww, we got possessive Eren before GTA.

Though his eyes don’t often move from the screen, you just know his focus never shifted from the feel of your thighs under his touch. When Minseo pauses the movie to bring out the pizza boxes, Reiner volunteers to help her. You’re about to get up to help her but her eyes are quick to signal you to sit the fuck down, happy that perhaps her prophecy may come true tonight. She’s generous enough to place one of the pizza boxes on your thighs for you and Eren to share. You’re surprised at how fast the whole group almost inhales the food till there’s none left before you’re moving onto sipping on the beer cans.

As the movie resumes once again, you focus on swirling the beer in the can, but as always you end up watching it regardless of the scaredy-cat that you were. It was a love-hate relationship with horror movies – you can’t watch them but you can’t not watch them. At a point, you sit up to move your whole body closer to Eren, strategically trying to block your view behind his stretched arm. His eyes glance over to see you squint your face to avoid the jumpscare and you’re certain you hear a tiny chuckle escape his lips. Each time you’d get a bit startled at one of the scenes, Eren’s fingers would rub the flesh of your thigh ever so slightly. 

For the rest of the movie, you feel him caress and rub soft circles over your thighs from time to time. You rest your cheek against the backrest of the sofa, feeling light-headed and you’re not sure if it’s due to the beer or his intoxicating touch. Maybe a mix of both. You don’t realise how it happens but the last thing you remember is taking in the sight of his face at this angle, his heady scent overtaking your thoughts, the movie long forgotten as you drift into a peaceful, deep sleep.

— — —

The next morning, you wake up to find yourself in your bed, tucked under your blanket, with Eren nowhere in sight. You look around for your phone and find it neatly placed on the bedside table. You're quick to unlock it to open Eren's chat.

Eren: didn't wanna disturb sleeping beauty. gn

Eren: [1 attachment]

You laugh when the picture loads. It’s a selfie of Eren squishing your cheek with his, making an exaggerated crying face while you're way too deep in your sleep with your mouth hanging slightly open in the most unflattering manner.

You: You better delete this shit or I might have to delete your entire existence :)

Eren's notification sound has to be some sort of alarm because there's no way this man replies within seconds so early in the morning.

Eren: make me :P

Eren: don't you just love death threats from a pretty girl first thing in the morning?

You: I'm serious

Eren: so am i

You giggle as you lock your phone without replying, stretching before walking out into the living room. As you predicted, Annie is up, tangled in Armin's arms as they drink their coffees.

“Good morning,” you yawn, “you guys are so cute, it's making me love sick.”

“Well, then get cured,” Armin laughs, “When are you and Eren going to stop being such wusses?”

“Umm,” you blush as you sit on the bean-bag, facing them, “Has he spoken to you about me at all?”

“You want me to rat on my best friend?” He laughs. 

You nod. You needed to know.

“He's a good guy,” Armin assures you, “and… I don't know. He's whipped for you. Almost strange seeing him actually like someone like this after a long time.”

“Oh,” you're taken aback. This was not the answer you were expecting.

“Don't tell him I told you this and I can't say more,” Armin warns you.

Annie chimes in, “But yeah, please fuck already.”

You feel your cheeks grow hot at her comment and decide to change the topic, “When did everyone leave last night?”

“OH RIGHT!” Annie gasps, “Loverboy carried you to bed when the movie ended. Min suggested waking you up… seems like she really wants to play cupid. But Eren was being so gentle. He picked you up to take you to your room and all that. We were betting he'd stay there with you but not gonna lie, my heart melted when he came out within 5 minutes and then he closed your room door so damn gently!”

Annie has this dreamy look on her face and it's the first time any guy you've been interested in is getting her full stamp of approval. You’re so surprised and the only thing racing through your mind is Eren and waiting for the moment you see him again.

— — —

Over the next two weeks, Eren follows you around with his brand-new camera, every time you have a painting session at the studio for one of your final assignments.

“Are you ever gonna show me?” You ask, trying to steal a glance at the photos he had been taking. You’re leaning over his chair, abandoning your palette and brushes to see what he was doing.

“No, it's just a hobby,” he moves the camera out of your range of sight. 

“Ugh,” you groan, “why notttt?”

He doesn’t pay attention to your complaints, focusing on his camera, observing the shots he'd taken with a self-satisfied smile.

You go back to your painting but not before stretching your back to ease the stiffness in your spine. 

The brief kiss during movie night had made you crave him even more than you did before. Yet, end of semester tests and assignments had kept you two from hanging out in the close proximity of any private space after that day.

You wanted to find just one opportunity to be alone with him and test how far you'd let it go this time. And you were determined, the next time he made a move, you weren’t going to back down.

Eren unknowingly hands you that opportunity when he speaks up next.

“By the way, weren't you also gonna photograph me for an assignment?”

That's right!

“Yeah, I need to. I thought you were busy with tests so I wasn’t sure if you'd be able to,” you state.

“No, it's on Thursday, I can model today,” he smiles.

You frown, “Eren, today is Tuesday.”

“Yeah, I don't need much time to study. I'll just do it tomorrow,” he dismisses your worries.

“Okay, genius,” you laugh.

And that's how you both end up at your apartment, with you painting abstract lines over his torso with vibrant colours, preparing to photograph him. He’s sitting shirtless on a chair with you circling him to paint in strategic places to go with the concept you had in mind.

“This won’t give me an allergic reaction, right?” he’s looking up at you and you can tell he’s excited to be a part of whatever art you make. His eyes lock on you, following your every move.

“It’s just water-based colours. It’ll wash off even if you sweat,” you assure him. You want the paint to look chipped and flaky so you keep on blowing air whenever you’re done painting a new section. At one point, you take in a deep breath to blow more out than your lung capacity could handle.

“Oh god, I feel dizzy,” you chuckle as you bend down, resting your hands on your knees. You laugh at your own stupid mistake.

“You okay?” Eren gently tugs at your arm to make you sit on his lap oh so smoothly, it feels like a natural thing to do. He rubs your back carefully, making sure not to smudge any of the wet paint.

“It’s not that serious!” you giggle, liking how close he feels in every sense of the word. He pats your head as your eyes meet.

“I thought about what you said by the way… I think I don't mind the serious shit if it's with you,” his eyes glint as they move to look at your lips before moving back up. You smile back at him. Your heart wants to jump out of your chest but you try not to show it too much. His hand is caressing your thigh gently. 

“Keep still,” you feel the need to break eye contact.

“I can strip completely for more realism,” he jokes.

“No thanks, keep your pants on,” you scold as you quickly get up to finish painting the rest of his torso. 

You move further back to observe the way you’d painted him in spots to make it seem as if he was the subject of an unfinished artwork. While you felt satisfied with it, you could only hope that Mr. Tanaka would finally praise your photographs… which was even more important since it was the final assignment for his subject this semester.

Since you’d arranged the set up with Eren’s help before you’d started painting him, he’s quick to sit up straight before asking, “So, how should I pose?”

“Hmm… I don’t know. Try what you think is best first, then we’ll play from there,” you contemplate as you try to adjust the camera settings. He follows your orders well and you have a few good shots but nothing that’s clearly showing what you had in mind.

“Where's Annie?” he wonders as you go through the pictures.

“Where else would she be? I barely see her nowadays,” you look up at him as you pout, “Your friend is stealing my friend from me.”

“Aww,” he teases, “You always have me.”

You smile at his words before going back to the task at hand.

“Okay, can you turn around completely and look back at me but, like, slightly to the right?” you instruct him and he nods as he follows. You ask him to change poses a few more times till you’re satisfied.

“Let’s try taking a portrait, yeah?” you tell him, “smile.”

He does.

“Not so much,” you instruct plainly and it has him chuckling instead.

“Come on, give me a genuine smile!” you scold him again.

“This is genuine!” he protests.

“Hmmm,” you ponder, “okay, tell me a stupid childhood memory that makes you happy now even if you were a dumbass then.”

He raises an eyebrow, biting the inside of his cheek as he thinks it over, “Can’t think of any.”

“Try,” you roll your eyes.

“Ummm… wow, okay this is… a bit cheesy, I guess?” he begins and you nod for him to continue, “okay, so when I was about 10, my mom used to warn me not to play football in the house. Me, being the arrogant child that I was, I decided I had everything under control.”

“Obviously.”

He grins at your comment, “Anyway, when she was out grocery shopping, my ball broke a vase that I didn’t know was precious. But the thing is, luckily, it had only shattered in about 5 pieces so no tiny pieces that couldn’t be put back together, you know what I mean?”

You nod, engrossed in his story.

“So then, I had a genius idea to glue it back together. Had a severe god complex when I managed to fix it and place it back on the shelf. BUT, then when Mom came back home and started dusting the place a few hours later, she picked up the vase… and it disintegrated in front of my eyes!”

“No, oh my god” you put a hand over your mouth in amusement.

“Wait for it,” he laughs, “you’d assume she gave me a good beating right? Nope. She just walked up to me, pulling me into her lap and very gently said ‘this is why you should listen to mum when she tells you something, love’. I was so confused, I had no idea why she was not shouting at me!”

“Then what happened?” you ask.

“Turns out, as my dad later told me, that it was a vase that my late grandmother had gifted her a long time ago. He also made sure to scold me and said that my mom was very sad but she knew she’d say something seriously hurtful if she’d shouted at me at that moment so she’d decided to just hold it in. I went to her crying, thinking I was the worst son ever, not knowing how I could ever make it up to her!”

He hadn’t noticed you’d brought up your camera before you’d already captured a picture of the gentle nostalgic expression on his face. You lower the camera as you hold your hand over your heart, the bittersweet story making you feel things.

“So, did you make it up to her?” you ask.

“I try to,” he chuckles and you’re not sure if your eyes are failing you but you see his eyes get watery before he’s blinking it away. 

“Eren,” you gasp softly, “are you crying?”

“Me?” he scoffs, “no way.”

You simply nod as you look down to observe your shots so that he doesn’t feel embarrassed. He gets up to walk closer to take a look as well.

“Wow, they're good,” he leans closer to see the photos. 

You scratch the side of your mouth in thought, “You sure?”

“You’re the boss. If you want, I can try other pos–” he stops as he brings a hand up to wipe a tiny paint splatter on your cheek softly that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Paint” he feels the need to explain himself, despite sensing how warm your skin feels to his touch.

“What do you…” you trail off, forgetting what you wanted to say as you hold his gaze. He’s so close, he’s towering over you.

He places his palm flat against your cheek once again, “It's warm.”

Your breath hitches, you don't know what to do or say. His thumb slightly caresses your cheekbone and you lean into his touch.

Eren’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a split-second. Your tongue wets the dryness away on instinct. His hand moves down to cup your jaw as his thumb rubs over your bottom lip, tugging it out slightly like he'd done so many times before. 

He gulps hard before letting out a deep exhale he wasn’t aware he'd been holding as he leans down closer to your face. His nose nuzzles yours and your whole body feels electric.

“Should I tell you to stop?” you whisper, every word getting harder to speak.

“Okay,” Eren’s voice is hoarse, barely audible, “Tell me to stop.”

But your words fail you and all you can do is look into his eyes as you shake your head, to say no, ever so slightly. You bring your hand up to his cheek, letting it rest there gently. Eren takes the sign to kiss you without wasting another second. 

He brings his other hand up till he’s almost squishing your cheeks with his palms as your lips meet desperately and he's kissing you fervently. He's greedy. He feels as if he’s going insane. He gets deja vu, and then he remembers his dream and all the things he’d wanted to do to you ever since. 

There’s no turning back now. His hands roam all over you, wanting to memorize the feel of your skin on the tips of his fingers as if to make sure it’s not a dream this time, and even if it were, he wanted to remember the map of your being better when he would finally wake up.

Your hand that isn't gripping your camera tightly to the side hooks onto his neck as you kiss him back. Eren slides one hand to the small of your back to press your body closer to his while the other firmly presses around your neck. He pulls away and you see the delicate string of saliva between your lips. He's huffing before shoving his tongue into your mouth once again and you feel as if your legs are growing weak. He's leaving desperate kisses down your neck and you can feel the flaky paint residue getting on your clothes.

“Eren… mmh–” there’s not enough gaps in his kisses to allow you to speak as his lips find yours once again. Eren is walking backwards, pulling you with him before sitting down onto the sofa, pulling you onto his lap without breaking the kiss for even a second. Your hand feels for the coffee table before safely keeping the camera on it to focus solely on his kisses.

“Do you feel that?” he’s panting when he finally speaks as he pushes your hips down to grind your crotch over his hard erection, “It’s all because of you.”

You bite your lip as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, your hips moving back and forth over the aching tent in his pants. He’s thrusting upward to match your rhythm and you dig your nails into his biceps, trying hard not to make any embarrassing sounds.

But Eren has other plans. You feel one of his hands free your hair out of their bounds, dropping the hair clip recklessly on the floor before the same hand snakes over your scalp till he’s firmly gripping your hair to make you look at him once again.

For a second, he wonders if he’s made you uncomfortable at all but looking at your bedroom eyes, he’s certain that maybe you’re just as horny as he is at this moment – and he’s certain he’s never found his perfect match before you.

Yet, since he’s a gentleman, he asks as he slides his hand down to your neck, choking you lightly, “Do you like that, baby?”

You simply nod your head, the embarrassment melting away as your fingers rake over his torso, feeling his hard abs as you grind your hips to increase the friction and feel more of his erection.

Eren’s hands slide under your t-shirt till he’s cupping your breasts over your bra, kissing your mouth once again. You moan into the kiss when he unhooks your bra and squeezes your tits together, feeling goosebumps rise all over your skin like a wave. 

“You’re so beautiful,” the words slip from Eren’s tongue in between kisses before he’s attacking your neck with bruising kisses. You squirm in his lap and he’s pulling you impossibly closer. He's yanking your flimsy t-shirt down to expose your boobs to him. You moan out loud when he sucks a particular spot on your neck, all the while pressing your body further down over his erection.

“Eren! Y-you’re gonna leave a hickey!” you complain, still leaning into his touch as your fingers caress his hair.

“Don’t want me to?” He bites the spot playfully.

"No, I do,” you giggle and he’s laughing too before leaning further down to suck another bruise on the expanse of your skin. You can't help but moan as he sucks a trail down your neck.

“fuck– Eren!” You’re gasping as you try to push his mouth away, your skin a bit too tender for his brutal pace. He chuckles in satisfaction when he takes a look at the faint marks over the expanse of your neck, all the way down to your cleavage.

“Perfect,” he smiles.

You look down to try and spot any, “Eren, this is going to bruise way too dark!” 

“Don't hide them… this will be a good reminder for Jean to not get too close to you,” his tone is laced with arrogance. 

You roll your eyes as you try to shove his face away playfully. This cause him to try and bite your hand that's over his mouth.

“Careful with the moneymakers,” you giggle as you try to pull your hand away.

“My bad,” he's kissing the palm of your hand, “let me apologise, madam.”

He brings your hands behind your back till he's holding them there firmly, “There you go. Won't get in the way now.”

His other hand is quick to unbotton your shorts before sliding in, cupping your mound over your panties. His fingers press the fabric to your core till its sticking to your soaked lips. Eren almost whimpers when he feels how wet you are as he dips his head down to take one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, sucking on it before releasing it with a plop. He repeats the same on the other side while his two fingers rub firmly over your clothed cunt.

This has you squirming and convulsing as you grind your hips to feel more of his fingers, wanting nothing more than for him to move the thin hindrance aside and really touch you. You wiggle your hands to try to break free but his grip on your wrists is strong.

“Ren, please,” you moan, breathless as you lean forward into his touch.

“Please what, baby?” 

You don't answer but just bury your face in the crook of his neck in embarrassment. He releases your wrists to move his hands down to grab your ass. You’re quick to move your free hands into his hair as you feel him hook his fingers into the band of your shorts along with your panties to pull them down.

“‘Ren… wait. Paint,” you whimper as you place a hand on his chest, suddenly realising that the flaky paint was getting everywhere on your clothes and the sofa.

He places his hand on top of yours to give it a squeeze before kissing you hungrily once again till you’re both out of breath. He nuzzles his nose against yours, not wanting to let go even for a minute if he could help it.

“Stay here. I’m gonna go wash it all off,” he commands and you just nod, smiling at him. You giggle when you see he almost sprints to the bathroom. Only when he’s out of your sight, the realisation completely sets in.

This is real!

You feel the jitters in your belly rise as you fix your shirt haphazardly so that your tits aren't just hanging out awkwardly. Then you move to tidy up the room and keep all the materials lying around back in their designated place. You take your phone out of your pocket to keep it on the coffee table next to Eren’s phone. You don’t mean to be nosy but just as his phone glows with a text notification, your eyes wander and you read it.

Emi (hinge): Miss you Rennie♥️ It’s been too long… Come over tonight?

And then your heart’s dropping to your stomach instead of fluttering like it was a few seconds ago. You want to cry.

What the fuck?

You fix your clothing to make yourself look decent again as you sit down on the sofa, drinking water from your bottle to calm yourself down. You feel like an utter fool. So much for wanting to be serious! Is this as serious as he could get?

“I couldn’t reach the back,” he laughs as he comes out, “help me late– is everything alright?”

“It wasn’t intentional but you have a text from someone named Emi… hinge,” you say plainly, avoiding his gaze as you hand him his phone.

“Oh, that’s strange,” he frowns as he unlocks his phone.

“I think you should leave,” your voice is calm.

He looks up at you, his surprise clear in his tone, “What? Why?”

“Do I need to spell it out?” you’re cold now.

“Because of this?” He points at his phone, agitated, “I don’t know what she’s on about. I haven’t even talked to her in a while!”

“Well, she’s still in your contacts so…” you cross your hands over your chest.

“Are you serious right now?” he scoffs in disbelief. 

“Yes.”

“You really want me to leave?” His voice is softer now, as if he’s trying to salvage the situation.

“Yes.”

“I'm gonna ask you one last time. Say you want me gone and I’ll go,” he tries again.

Say no. Say no. Ask him to stay and explain everything.

“Yes, Eren. I want you to leave,” you spit bitterly. 

He’s biting his cheeks again as if to avoid saying something he’ll regret later on before his face is devoid of any emotion.

“Okay,” he’s quick to put on his shirt and grab his things, and he’s out of the house before you have a chance to change your mind. You feel sad. You feel angry. You feel annoyed. But more importantly, you can’t help but feel pathetic that you let him play you like that.

And then you feel numb. You sigh as you text Annie, telling her you’re too tired and want to nap so that she doesn’t disturb you as you decide to spend the rest of the evening sulking. And then you remember the text you’d read.

‘It’s been too long… come over tonight?’

But before your brain can make excuses and try to give him the benefit of doubt, you decide to take a nap. Shutting your brain was the best thing you could do for now. If there had to be a choice to make between risking whatever you had going with him versus protecting your heart, then the latter took priority by a mile.

Nevertheless, there's a pang in your heart each time you picture his face before leaving and you hope sleep can make you forget it.

~ fin ~

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

[cosmica-galaxy]

Im obsessed with the power dynamic between the Player and the character they control.

With the Player by the Batter's side, he's pretty much unstoppable. They upgrade him, they control his movements, solving puzzles, combat strategies, attacks, sometime answers for him, if he die they can bring him back. They made him powerful, and without them he's no longer is.

Thinking about it, if we were able to control other characters- they'd be op as well, in the way Batter is under our control.

In the last battle with Pablo, if we were to side with the cat then it seems like Batter's Add-ons aren't there. Or maybe it's still there, but inactive, as the Add-ons only answers to The Player. Despite Batter having purified nearly everyone, the guardians, the Queen, he lost... to a cat. Because we no longer size with him anymore, his power is also stripped.

If we continue siding with the Batter, then The Judge is 'purified' like everyone else

..... do you think Zacharie got small chills down his spine whenever he comprehend The Player's power?

Why am i fr glazing The Player out of everyone to you rn. Actually- forget everything I just send.

NAH GIVE ME MORE MY PRECIOUS POSSUM MOOT!!! In fact, I have the PERFECT example of when a Player pulls back their powers from their chosen vessel!

If you brush past how silly this is, you can really see how this character, that once could do nearly everything and NOT die/get hurt, is suddenly stumbling around like an idiot without the Player's input.

This is how I envision an argument a player has with their vessel. The vessel gets so cocky that they think they can do anything without the player and then the player pulls back their influence in retaliation. Making the vessel realize that without them, they are just like every other flawed being in their universe without your guidance. They are suddenly no longer the protagonist. They are just another unremarkable mortal that exists within their universe. This is more of the light-hearted side of things, mind you. Cause a malicious player can simply force their vessel into a death for disobedience. Such as making them stand still and letting the enemy kill them or allowing them to be harmed again and again until they eventually die...and the vessel can't do anything about it. The player can be as merciful or as malicious as they want to be. It's that power that separates us as "gods" from our vessels. The relationship goes both ways too and it's mutual at the core. We need a vessel to interact with their digital world and they need us to either help them stay alive or to find strength in hard times. We get to help out by using them as a vessel and the vessel gets to be the 'savior' of their world and has a much higher chance of not dying. Another thing--if the vessel dies, the player just simply rewinds time back to a safe point and they erase the failed timeline completely. Making it like it never even happened, while carrying the knowledge over from that failed timeline to make sure that the next one is the "good" timeline.

This also carries over to us resetting the timeline completely to "replay" a game again. This is evident in Undertale and it is hinted at that a being is responsible, because Flowey was able to reset the timeline...until WE showed up. I don't even mean Frisk either, as they are just our vessel and we can choose to be as evil or kind as we want. It's no surprise that Gaster is wanting to know more about this entity that can control people, manipulate time, and even find him hiding in the lost realm in between. Now endure MY rambling, moot! >: )

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

LOL I hope Dogday and Catnap end up together after all the typical romantic comedy shenanigans!

How did Dogday get feelings for Catnap? I bet it was hard once Catnap went off the deep end…but did he ever feel the same about him before? I imagine they were both at least pretty good friends at one point…

:3

Dogday and Catnap were close since before they were turned into toys. I think kid Dogday (Im considering naming him Oskar) would protect Theo from bullies, and was worried sick when he just dissapeared one day. When they turned into toys, both Dogday and Catnap continued to be sort of close to each other. Catnap was isolated from the other Smiling Critters, and it was Dogday who would drag him to interact with everyone! I think this is when the mutual crush first started. Dogday saw a kind-hearted and shy friend who genuinely wanted to connect with others, while Catnap saw a ray of sunshine dragging him out of his misery corner in order to have him make friends with others.

For Dogday, Catnap was just everything he needed during that time: Someone who listens and is kind, not demanding much from him, much less getting mad at him for not doing things right. Catnap helped calm him down, and Dogday, touch and attention-starved, just caught himself suddenly developing an innocent crush on his best friend.

However, after the Hour of Joy, Catnap spent some time hiding with the Prototype as he taught him how to hunt. When he came back to the Playcare, he had changed. Hardened. He wasnt little Theo anymore, just like how Catnap wasnt little Oskar anymore. One became a hunter, the other, a leader. They clashed many times with Catnap wanting to go after other toys and the Smiling Critters not wanting to kill for their own survival. And when Catnap's religion became bigger than his own logic and morality, the two fell apart.

Below the cut are my thoughts on how their relationship went during the decade and after Angel rescued them!

Catnap did attack some of the Smiling Critters and he did tore off some of their limbs to feed the mini critters and himself. It was either that or starve, at least in his POV. Him crucifying Dogday consisted of him almost begging poor Oskar to quit with his morality and join him and Prototype. He wanted Dogday to listen, and he wanted to be together with his best friend, but tearing someone's stomach and legs off isnt the way to make them listen to you talk about how the guy who put everyone into this mess is the one and only true savior and god.

After Angel arrives at Playcare and saves not only Dogday but Miss Delight and even some of the mini critters, Catnap's world view start to shift, esp with how Angel treats him. "What happened to you?" is one of the first things they say to him, and Catnap, lonely and away from his dad/god and any company asides from the mini critters, just inevitably ends up getting attached to who he now sees as a messiah. This only gets worse after Angel saves Catnap's life.

Dogday... Oh, my poor baby. He DESPERATELY wanted Catnap to quit with the Prototype bullshit and just listen to him. They can hunt others, yes, but they shouldn't be cruel about it. They can confront the Prototype about putting them into this situation, they can leave Playtime Co, they can do anything, but please please please just LISTEN to him and STOP TALKING ABOUT THE PROTOTYPE AS IF HE'S A GOD. Dogday is ready to kill Catnap if necessary during Angel's time at Playcare, mind you, he just doesn't want to do that. And when Catnap is saved, guess who helps Angel treat his wounds? Yup, it's our big puppy.

Dogday feels guilt from letting his friends die, and feels anger at Catnap for helping with their deaths and for crucifying him. He wants Catnap to do better, but he feels like he lost him and will never get him back. And his happiness at seeing Catnap helping Angel is only for a moment, as he realizes Catnap just changed his god for Angel to fit the label.

After they confront Prototype and they leave the factory for good, they're both kind of lost. Catnap deep down knows neither Angel nor Prototype are gods, but what else are they for being able to survive such circumstances? And for Dogday, what else is there in the outside world, now that he feels more alone than ever before because his mind isn't busy with surviving anymore?

And then, BAM, every single Smiling Critter was actually alive. They're both shocked but happy at this, and begin to rekindle their relationship as they both agree that they're the only ones who can actually protect both their old friends and the newfound family they have. Their relationship at this point is two traumatized young adults trying to protect what they have of hope, still getting out of the survival instincts and way of life. They bicker a LOOOOT, but since day 1 from escaping they have sometimes slept next to each other because that's the only way they can fall asleep. They have so many conflicts but they are so much about each other in a way only they can truly understand (and also us but we don't count because we're just readers and players lmao).

With enough weeks passing by, and with enough long nights of these two being close and even playing with each other because they missed the other so much, they start talking. Untangling the mess. Catnap did apologize to Dogday when they were still inside Playtime Co, ofc, and he and Dogday had a moment when they saw the Sun for the first time since they were young children, but two conversations aren't enough to fix +5 years of hurt.

I think the mutual crush smacks them both in the head at the same time during the, like, third month of living with Angel. Sillies gotta be silly right?