#Inky Terrors AU

[intoxi-tooned]

I've had an au for Inky Mystery where Audrey is the Bbros' sister. And I've been thinking how her role would be in the labyrinth arc.

She isn't going to have a good time trying to avoid Sarah and not end up like Boris

[ask-the-friendly-ink-demon]

howdy, been like. what. an hot minute since i posted on here? yes im still alive, and yes i am terrible sorry for how well. inactive i've been lately, life's been something and hyperfixations and brainrots have been a mess but, im still here, might be thinking of giving this blog an proper revival in the story, and get the actual story of the au set up more. but again, for now, just to show im still alive. how this, an little crossover with the dark revival side of the AU, with @ladyfluffbutt's my bestie's an demon AU (i forgot the blog's name im so sorry Fluff) They're gonna be fine- Wilson's just having him investigate them, no sir he is not gonna go feral on them- (this art piece was made in like 2022 and it should of been done before then but now, i waited until this month finally to finish it, god help me) Edit: i just found the name and i am an idiot for forgetting about it LOL @ask-mbfad-bendy

[lil-artist-blog-fandoms-ocs]

A little doodle before bed

Baby boy and his (not so) imaginary friend

[wordstome]

symbiote König x reader

I'm not allowed to start any new aus/stories until I finish a few, but I need to expel these worms from my brain. (also remind me to write something about Eddie Brock/Symbiote Ghoap x reader later)

I don't know if you guys know much about Venom lore, but symbiotes don't have a default system of morality: they take on the same traits and moral values as their hosts. They were created as a sort of world-conquering mindless evil force, but when symbiotes bonded to hosts who wanted to do good, they took on those moralities and became ashamed of their purpose. After they imprisoned the dude who made them to be evil (Knull, btw) they just made up a lie that their species was naturally benevolent.

So picture this: symbiote König who's been captured alongside several others of his kind and brought to Earth by the Life Foundation to study their abilities. I like the idea of symbiote König being similar to Eddie Brock's Venom: he's had bad and good hosts, but the bad ones fucked him up really bad, so now he's the König we know: arrogant and confident in his proficiency in violence, but deeply awkward, lonely, and lost. Getting kidnapped and taken to yet another foreign planet to be poked and prodded and experimented on is just his luck.

But then there's you. A pretty little scientist, not much more than a lab assistant, really. Your first encounter with him consists of you touching a finger to the glass of his prison, and him, curious, moving himself to press his inky dark goop where your skin presses against the glass. You giggle before quickly remembering yourself and skittering away. Symbiotes aren't fond of sounds, but he wouldn't mind hearing that one again...

It's little encounters like that that endears you to him. It didn't take him long to decide he hated humans: they're slow and unintelligent and nowhere near as elegant of a killer as he is, and yet they've managed to trap him and torment him. He's quickly noted as being the most unpredictable and violent of the captured symbiotes. But he likes you, who visits him and talks to him. To you, it doesn't mean much: you may as well be talking to a lab rat, finding an outlet to vent your frustrations about your insane work hours, demanding managers, and meagre pay. To him, he's absorbing everything you tell him, longing to touch you without glass in the way. What would it be like to bond with you, he wonders? To merge symbiote with flesh, and become two moving as one?

He'd like to be inside you, in more ways than one perhaps.

He may have fucked that up, though. It wasn't his fault, that day. They were starving him, these idiotic humans, starving all of them. He had no choice but to eviscerate and wholly consume the poor man sent into his glass cage. But you had been watching, eyes wide in terror, as blood and viscera burst everywhere. If he had a heart, it would have ached as he watched you skitter away...

And yet...there may be something deeply wrong with you, just as there is something wrong with him. Because you're back the next day, a new fascination in your eyes. Instead of talking at him, you talk to him now, asking him questions he only wishes he could answer. If he could just reach you, he could communicate...

König gets his wish the day it all goes awry. A whistleblower breaks in and makes off with one of his breathren, and the next person to stumble upon the scene is his little scientist, who doesn't hesitate to start smashing the glass of his prison. "It's not right," you mutter over and over again. "It's not right..."

He can detect your heartbeat speeding up as he drags himself across the floor to reach you. You shy away out of instinct, and he pauses. There are alarms ringing out now, awful terrible loud sounds, and he would prefer to get out of here immediately, but he refuses to do anything that would drive you away for good. He watches as you heave a deep shaky breath, then reach out a hand to him.

He glides up your hand and wrist, working his way into your body, the symbiosis instant and easy. You're a perfect match. He knew you would be. The armed guards burst through the door, but you have nothing to worry about as he envelops your body. You become a six foot ten behemoth, face hidden by what almost looks like a veil—something he picked up from a former host. You're barely aware of what's happening, too overwhelmed and confused to parse what's going on. But he knows what he's doing.

After he gets you to safety, the two of you will have all the time in the world to get to know each other.

[sp4ceboo]

CHAPTER 5 ~ VISIONS

beneath a crimson sky masterlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

pairing: stray kids ot8 x afab!reader

genre: apocalypse au, dystopian, dark, adventure, action, thriller, fighting, eventual smut, romance

a/n: for someone who's terrified of any sort of horror etc i sure get the urge to write it

chapter warnings: gore, lots of vivdly described disturbing stuff, illness, starvation, hallucinations

chapter word count: 2.5k

Hissing in your ears, the shadows bear you up in their arms, whisking you so high that you thrash in their shackles, screaming for them to let you down.

The whites of their eyes show as they laugh at you.

You sob, trying to grab at the inky chains they’ve fixed around your wrists and ankles, but they turn insubstantial the moment your fingers close around them, dissolving away in curls of cold smoke to reform away from your touch. Grinning faces surround you, multitudes of strange faces you cannot explain: an army assembled to mock you.

In a flash, they are gone. Bony fingers crawl over your face. Flailing, you try to bite down, but another hand clamps over your mouth as the fingers creep upwards, digging into your eye sockets and scooping. Cold envelops you, and you spasm, back arching as sight returns to you.

There’s bloody tears dripping down your face.

You weep.

Below you, a vast crowd stretches, wreathed in flames and lined up in endless rows, so far that you cannot see their ends. Dressed in rags that they treat as finery are a man and a woman, standing at the head of the formation, their faces slack and empty. Their bodies are not theirs to control.

The woman’s blonde hair hangs limp and matted around her face. There’s a glint of something metal at her waist. It’s the hilt of a knife, snug between her ribs, and though blood oozes down her clothes and soaks into her rags, she acts as if it isn’t there. Beside her, the man sways, bronzed skin pallid and coated in a sheen of sweat; he looks not entirely healthy, as if he’d just recovered from an illness. 

A figure rides up. Even from so far above, you feel the blaze of his hate. His horse is a steed forged from an inferno, red and fiery, and you catch a glimpse of sharpened iron teeth as its lip curls, tossing its flame weaved mane and pawing at the ground, the air around it undulating with heat. You begin to tremble.

The rider’s face is terrible and beguiling. His flesh drips from his bones, sizzling where it touches the horse's flanks. You are struck through with terror as his eyes find you from where you are suspended in the wine tinted sky; they are deep and endless and full of an ocean of loathing. For a moment, you are drowning in them, and fire tugs at your limbs, ripping your skin off them and gnawing through you until it finds your heart.

A wretched sound leaves you as the rider stretches out his hand and plucks it from your chest. The worst thing is that beneath the fear and the acrid scent of your burning body, there is an unexplainable elation, planted there against your will. It swells in your chest, and you begin to laugh, laugh and laugh and laugh, as the rider brings your heart to his bloody mouth and sinks his teeth in.

Pain explodes through you, and suddenly you are back in the sky. You clutch at the shadows now, pleading for them to keep you away from the rider, pleading for them to make it stop.

Again, they laugh, a chorus of shrieks and cackles, shrill, the sound boring into your head.

Though your limbs are weak with fear, you still find it within you to struggle against them. Wordless, frightened noises leave you, for below, the rider is cradling the face of the woman, close as a lover, and she is transfixed by him. You scream, begging her to pull away, to resist, but a dumb smile crawls over her face and she drops to her knees before the rider. As she falls, he grips the blade in her side and pulls it out. She does not even twitch.

You can only watch in horror as he moves onto the man. He too kneels without a fight.

Pulling the broadsword from where it is slung over his back, the second horseman draws it and rests the flat of it on the woman’s shoulder. For a panic stricken moment, you think he will behead her right there and eviscerate her beside the man, but he doesn’t.

He knights her, then the man next.

The rider gestures at them, and together, they stand, their movements jerky as if pulled on by puppet strings. You cry out when you see their eyes - deep and murky, insidious darkness leaking from their irises into their blood woven sclera.

All semblance of humanity has been erased from them.

They are nothing more than vessels.

Cool hands cup your face.

Moaning, you lean towards them, willing them to stay there and beat back the scorching desert beneath your skin. You can hear voices, but they’re far away. Your breath comes out short and laboured.

It sounds like you’re dying.

The same cool hands ease your jaw open, and water floods your parched tongue. At first, you cough, but you choke it down, so thirsty that you barely pause to breathe. Blearily, you open your eyes, but they don’t make out anything but light and dark blurs.

“She’s drinking, thank god,” the cool hands say.

You frown. It’s Minho’s voice, flat enough that you can’t read the emotions swirling beneath it, but his words sound relieved. You can’t think why Minho would be relieved that you’re alive. The room is slowly swimming into focus, and you spot two smears of black, one a little taller than the other.

A rough palm touches your cheek. “She’s still burning up, though.”

That’s Seungmin. Turning your head, you try to claw your way to lucidity, but it evades you. The cool hands sweep a damp cloth over your forehead as you begin to register his words.

“Burning,” you rasp. “He’ll make them burn everything down.”

Minho pauses, opening his mouth. The shadows sink their teeth into you before you can hear what he says.

This time, they leave you under a reddened night sky devoid of stars. No shackles bind you, but you can sense them slinking in the corners of your vision and where you cannot see, waiting to pounce. Turning in a circle, you scan the darkness, searching for the next horror that awaits you.

The sound of horse hooves rings out. You whirl around, trying to find their source, trying to ignore the tittering of the shadows as they mock you with their derisive faces.

You blink, and then the third horseman is there before you.

She sits astride a horse so black that it had blended into the circle of shadows as it approached. It is glossy and healthy looking, yet it froths at the mouth, snapping its teeth at you. The rider places a soft hand on its flank, and it calms. She smiles at you, saccharine, and it incites so much comfort inside you that you know it’s a lie.

Her extrasolar face is cold and so beautiful it cuts you, her lacy hair like cobwebs where it hangs around her face. It drapes, dripping, over her shoulders - a veil.

There’s blood on your tongue.

You take a step back, and the gentle look on her face turns ugly. Holding up her hand, a pair of scales appears between her fingers, and she places a delicate feather, white as a lamb, in the first dish.

Though there’s nothing in the second dish, the moment she releases the feather, it hurtles downwards - the scales shriek shrilly as they move, and you watch in horror as the feather begins to bleed until it is soaked red. The rider turns to you, and now there is nothing comforting about her sharpened smile. Heart pounding, you back away, but the shadows push you back towards her, and what you believe must certainly be your doom.

She raises her hand and points at you.

Immediately, you collapse, your stomach cramping. You are filled with a sudden craving, a hunger so vast you cannot think; you merely scrabble at the floor, tremors wracking your body as you cry out, needing to fill the yawning cavern inside you. It erodes you from the inside out, so acute it burns like vile acid.

Wailing, you claw your way forward until your vision is filled with the hooves of her horse. You are weak with hunger, so weak that it is a battle to raise your head and look up at her, your mouth hanging open to plead for her to release you from the pain. No sound comes out.

Caressing the horse’s mane, she leans forward and whispers into its velvety ear. You quake as you look up at her, wondering what she said, wondering if she will take mercy on you and knowing she will not.

Whinnying, the horse rears, and you scream as its hooves slam down and punch right through your ribcage.

The combined agony radiating from your crushed torso and the gaping hunger in your stomach paralyses you, locking your muscles so tight it hurts. Your body begins to spasm, and your teeth close around your tongue. Panic spears through you as you begin to choke on your own blood.

Your skin tears, your bones cracking and popping and rearranging within you. You’re aware of protrusions pushing their way out of your back and down your arms, burrowing through your muscles and forcing them to reform around them. When you look up, the rider has dismounted her horse.

Tenderly, she touches your lips.

As if it has its own will, your body bends like a tree in a gale, and she kisses your forehead, her scarlet mouth terrible and searing against your skin, yet upon its touch, the pain in your ribs recedes, reforming you into something new.

The hunger roiling and snapping like a beast within only sharpens its claws.

“Go,” she murmurs. “Slaughter awaits.”

The world shakes with how hard you’re shivering, yet you can’t help but kick off your blankets. Someone secures them more tightly around them and you lash out, but your arms are weak and all it does is flop your hand against their leg. A voice floats down from somewhere in the sky.

“You need to eat.”

“Chan?” You groan, words slurred as strong hands ease you upright. “Changbin?”

“We’re here,” one of them says, although you’re not sure which one.

A spoon is pressed against your lips, and you hold back a cough long enough to swallow - they’ve mashed food so it’s liquid, easier for you to get down and keep down. Your head spins, the faces before you blurring. You realise Jisung is also with them, crouched beside Changbin, his face pale as he watches you.

“What did you mean before, about slaughter?”

Another face swims into view. Jeongin. You stare at him, bewildered both by his question and why he is bobbing up and down in front of you like a rubber duck caught in the crashing waves of the sea.

“I - I don’t remember,” you mumble.

Chan puts his hand on Jeongin’s shoulder. “It’s fine. She’ll tell us when she’s better.”

He says it like it’s final, like he’s sure that you will get through it, like there’s no other option. You want to believe him.

The shadows craft you a leash out of the ephemeral material that clothes them. Laughing, always laughing, they secure it around your neck, so tight that only strained gasps of air make it out of you, and drag you along with them, letting your body get broken and battered by the rocks in their path. Mud chokes your lungs, settling heavy in your chest when you inhale it, and fragments of rubbish and twigs tangle into your hair.

They’re bringing you to someone.

You begin to kick and struggle then, tearing at the leash, but it sinks deeper into your flesh, and your own torn nails leave gashes in your skin. As normal, your screams fall on deaf ears, and you writhe, knowing that who they’re taking you to will be far worse than the previous you’ve seen.

The collar of shadow rings tighter around your neck. Tighter and tighter and tighter until an abyss gapes open below you, and you fall right through, and this time even the shadows forsake you, letting you descend into the blackness as they recede from your vision. Somehow, it brings you no comfort, for they too fear he who has summoned you.

Your bones crunch and snap as you land; it is certain that the fall has ended you, and now your soul is trapped in the cage of your broken ribs, fluttering and trying to shake itself free. You cannot move. You cannot flee.

A pale horse walks towards you, yet its hooves make no noise. Fearful, you raise your eyes to see its rider.

He too is pale, and wreathed in a colourless cloak that casts a shadow over his face, yet you can see his skeletal features, motionless and terribly still within his cowl. The arc of the scythe in his fingers winks at you, even in the dark, and he uses the end of it to hook you and drag you from your body. Your bones clatter as your essence leaves them.

Death holds you in the palm of his hand, and you are captivated by the darkness within his hood. You know that this is the moment that your life rests upon.

“I have come to reap,” he says, with a voice like the slam of nails into a coffin lid. “Yet your time is not up yet.”

Again, you are falling.

There’s someone talking to you. You can see his face, see his lips moving, but you don’t understand a word he’s saying.

You don’t remember his name, nor the name of the one beside him, but you know who they are: there’s the blonde angel, his eyes earnest and worried as they search your slack face, and the dark haired prince, his handsome face etched in fear as he wipes your brow with a damp cloth.

The angel clasps your hands in his small ones, and this time, his words are audible, drifting down to you as if he talks to you from the top of a canyon while you’re tied to the bottom of the gorge, straining to hear his words. You fight to pick them out from the whisperings of the shadows, the freckles on his face swirling like constellations.

“Fight it,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “Fight just a little longer.”

You want to. You want to fight it, but the shadows creep closer, tugging at your limbs, and suddenly you’re just their puppet, them the cruel puppeteers.

You watch in horror as your own hands rear up like snakes and claw at the angel’s face.

taglist: @estella-novella@0bticeo@lixies-favorite-cookie@smashleywow@realrintaro @extremechaoswarning @4l17h4 @hyunjinsjeans @insufferablyunbearable @lovemepie67 @needsumcomfypillowstosleep @loumin908 (let me know if you want to be added)

[highvern]

In the Lake

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x fem!reader

Genre: romance, light horror, greek mythology!au

Warnings: drowning, mention of drunk Hannie (once), talk of a dead body, briefly suggestive moments

Length: 2.5k

Note: not proofread, just me spitballing. monster!reader is a hybrid of a naiad and a siren

Bonus

Monsters live in the lake.

That’s what Jeonghan’s dad tells him.

Monsters with round wet eyes and needle teeth. Who will drown anyone who comes too close to their shores with a laugh of glee. Monsters that will gorge on a man’s heart, and decorate their underwater gardens with his bones.

Jeonghan is never allowed to visit the lake.

And he doesn’t.

Until he turns eight.

—

Breathing glass.

The inky blue surface of the lake can only be described as breathing glass, reflecting the heavy full moon that illuminates the skies about and the ring of black trees circling the shore.

A perfect reflection. Clear enough Jeonghan is convinced that if he jumped in, his body would shatter the smooth surface into crystals of glass rather than clapping waves.

The bright moon lights up the clearing, making Jeonghan privy to every detail from one shore to the other. No one is here. Nothing is here. Not an single animal looking for a cool drink in the late night, the thicket of trees obscuring the hideaway silent. Even the wind seems to hold his breath here, unnaturally yielding.

But Jeonghan is eight and he’s not afraid of the stories his dad tells him around the hearth.

And as eight year olds are wont to do, Jeonghan steps in the dry rotted dock with a sure foot, and peaks over the edge.

Only to meet the eyes of the monster his dad warned him about.

Jeonghan scrambles back, the shrill scream of fear breaking the fragile silence. Nearly toppling into the water in an effort to escape the demon, only to have splinters bite into his hands as he manages to regain his balance.

The monster is on this side of the water too.

Only a hair away from Jeonghan’s face, his breath disturbing the beads of moisture clinging to its forehead.

It reeks of death and fear.

And when Jeonghan makes it to the tree line, it’s gone as if it never existed in the first place.

—

The second time Jeonghan comes to the lake, he’s sixteen and forgets the childhood nightmares that came to life one autumn night.

The daughter of the village baker asked him to meet her there, with droopy eyelids and a bitten lip. 

But the moon is high in the sky, a waning sideways grin, and she’s nowhere to be seen.

Vague memories of a night years ago attempt to surface, but Jeonghan can’t decipher reality from the realm of sleep. But he distinctly feels that this place, this eerie wrong place, is frozen in time. That the hedge of trees is a portal between worlds, and this lake is a pocket beyond any.

The dock creeks under his soft steps, gently bobbing ripples across the water with each shift of his weight.

At the end of the dock waits the baker's daughter. Only her eyes visible above the water, milky hue eclipsing the swampy green; flesh swollen and bloated.

And behind her is the monster, eyes crinkled in horrific amusement as Jeonghan untangles what happened.

And the monster is gone when he looks back from the safety of the trees, just like when he was a child.

—

The parchment bleeds ink from rushed sketches of the horrific creature Jeonghan encountered.

None do his terror justice.

Oil slick hair clinging to its scalp, eyes round and horrifically human. Two times he’d seen the monster of the lake, and both only from the bridge of its nose up.

But the fables of his childhood form in his memory and his dreams once again.

Below the surface of the glass lake was a mouth full of quilled teeth, eager to eat his heart and suck his bones. Webbed clawed hands, to snatch him underwater when it got the chance.

None of the drawings are right.

So Jeonghan goes back.

—

Apparently the monster talks.

And the monster has a lovely voice.

It’s waiting at the end of the dock this time. In the same place Mina’s body floated weeks ago.

You’ve returned. She laughs in his mind, light like the chime of a tin bell. 

And for a second, Jeonghan thinks he might have dreamt everything. How could this creature kill Mina? How could it be the subject of nightmares, yet sound like an angel?

But he knows he’s not smart enough to imagine any of this.

“You talk?”

Of course I talk. Do you listen?

“You drowned my friend.”

We were just playing.

Her eyes don’t leave Jeonghan’s face, and her nose remains beneath the surface of the water, but she tilts her head as if she’s innocent.

We can play too.

Her voice croons, and his blood heats at the breathy tone.

Jeonghan musters all the venom he’s capable of. Hatred on Mina’s behalf, on her parents behalf. “I don’t play with monsters.” He spits, turning to leave.

Pity. She pouts. You’d look great in my garden.

—

The moon calls Jeonghan to the lake again a few months later. Silent and expectant, she reaches her peak as he breaks into the clearing.

His monster is waiting for him too.

I was wondering when you’d return.

Jeonghan would say he doesn’t know why he’s here. But that’s a lie.

His room is filled with drawings of this place, drawings of her. A stack of books he bought with his measly salary at the mill, stories about demons and monsters who call water their home. 

None of it compares to the eerie serenity of being here.

“What are you?” He asks from the safety of the earth at the mouth of the dock. 

Standing on the dock had been foolish, the only sure thing he’d learned in his patchy research. Jeonghan will stay out of reach and out of her stomach.

Come here and I’ll tell you. She whispers, voice tickling through his ears and down his spine.

“No.”

Boo. She pouts. Jeonghan can almost imagine a childish stomp and cross of her arms below water. But all he can see is her eyes.

“What’s your name?”

What's your name?

“What will you give me if I tell you?”

I can show you the bones of your friend.

Rage flares on his tongue, white hot and acrid. A step on the dock sends a giggle through his mind.

You humans are so simple. The monster admonishes.

“Would you be happy if your friend was drowned by some ugly beast?” He screams at where she floats, veins popping on the side of his neck, the whites of his eyes visible.

My friends don’t drown. She sniffs, as that’s the problem at hand. And I’m not ugly.

“Must be if you hide your face.”

The wet squelch of her hands hitting the wood of the dock shocks Jeonghan. Human hands, distinctly human except for the necrotic tint to her fingertips. And her human-like hands lead to human like arms, feeding into a very human-like torso.

She smiles beautifully as Jeonghan averts his gaze from her breasts, nipples peeking through the long matted tresses of sopping hair.

Am I a beast, boy? 

“Yes.”

Her lower body remains obscured below the dock, dangling to the water. But Jeonghan spots the flare of her hips, the bite of her waist.

Not a beast at all.

She stays perched on the dock long after he’s gone.

This time, Jeonghan doesn’t look back.

—

Jeonghan dreams of her.

Fantasies of her rising on to the dock, beckoning him with a black tipped finger to come closer.

Imaginations of her mouth, how her unmistakably human body would feel in his palms.

And when she’s sucked his breath away, she pulls him under the water and into darkness forever.

—

A drunk trapeze through the forest is a fool's errand. But Jeonghan knows each tree by name, every trail by its curves. 

He’s at the lake again.

And she’s not here.

The urge to call for her arises, but what does he call her? Beast? Monster?

I don’t have a name. She whispers to his mind, forcing Jeonghan to scan the surface lake with the grace of a ragdoll.

“So what do I call you?” Jeonghan asks to nothing.

Come here and I’ll tell you. 

Eager for an answer, Jeonghan stumbles forward. “Where?”

Here. She calls, head slowly rising in the same spot at the bottom of the dock.

Jeonghan’s feet stop before they touch the wood.

“You’ll drown me.”

Not a question but a truth.

She drags herself up at the end of the dock, this time sitting. Her lower body is human like too; legs glistening in the moonlight.

But her face fills with curiosity.

Would that be so bad? She argues. Then you can stay with me forever.

“How long is your forever?”

For the first time, Jeonghan senses her hesitate.

“How old are you?”

Time means nothing to me.

Jeonghan is familiar with her tone. The same tone he used when he lied about Mina. A lie he’s convincing himself is the truth.

“Have you always been here?”

Yes.

“Are there others?”

Am I not enough for you, human? 

If Jeonghan could believe it, he might argue she sounds jealous.

“Seems lonely.”

I have plenty of company. Would you like to see?

His silence at her threat gets her to speak again.

My sisters left. They abandoned this place because humans were interesting enough.

“You can leave this place?”

None of his books mentioned that. But none of the books mentioned anything like her.

If I wish.

“And you don’t?”

I don’t find humans that interesting.

“I think you’re interesting.”

She disappears into the water without a splash. 

—

It becomes a routine.

Under the watchful eye of a full moon, Jeonghan sneaks from town to visit his lake. Sometimes she’s waiting for him, body forming puddles on the ancient dock. Others, doesn’t rise beyond the bottom curve of her eyes. And a few times she stayed deep below the surface.

Jeonghan refuses to dwell on the stench of rejection that reeks through his blood on those nights.

Humans age and wrinkle. I will stay beautiful forever.

She explains why she doesn’t want to leave her home, rolling onto her belly and pushing her breasts together tantalizingly; as if proving her point. Jeonghan would like to claim her attempts to charm him have lost their luster. 

He sits a safe distance away, firmly out of reach of her hands but not her words.

“What’s beauty if no one else gets to enjoy it?” He asks, munching on an apple from his cottage. There meetings stretch into hours now, and he’ll need the fuel for his early call into the mill.

Do you believe you're the only human to find me?

Deep in his gut, Jeonghan realizes he had. The idea of another person, another man, talking with her, being charmed by her, boils his blood. But she’s a demon, and he can’t claim jealousy to something beyond his understanding. So instead, he plays with her.

“Did you play with them?”

They look lovely in my garden! She claps, a macabre type of glee.

Jeonghan reclines on his back, watching the sky above. The earliest tinges of sunlight are starting to bleed into the dark night, signaling his time to leave.

What's your village like?

The question shocks him. She’s never asked about the world beyond the trees. A comment about something he brought with him such as a book or a treat for her to try. But she only cared about what came into her realm, not what existed outside it.

“Like any other I suppose.”

How do you explain something as familiar as the back of your hand, to someone who doesn’t even know what a hand is?

She snorts, continuing to brush her hair with a comb Jeonghan refuses to think more of. Very helpful.

“It’s a village, with lots of people. And when the spring comes, people hang garlands of flowers everywhere. It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful…

She ponders the imagine, silent for the first time this night.

Pressing his luck, Jeonghan continues.

“You’d just have to see it to understand.”

When she dunks into the water as he leaves, there’s a sadness hanging around her shoulders like a lead weight.

—

“Hannie! Jeonghan!” The gruff of his father’s shouts floods his ear. “Wake up boy!”

Bolting up, Jeonghan throws his eyes around the room wildly, expect a fire due to the urgency of his rising.

“What?” He croaks.

“There’s a girl downstairs. Says she’s your friend.”

Eyebrows curled in confusion, lips twisted sourly, Jeonghan responds. “A friend?”

Perhaps one of the girls in town misinterpreted his kindness again. But Jeonghan hadn’t give any of them more attention than was due since regularly visiting his lake, consumed by the being who ruled it. Whoever this “friend” is should pray his exhaustion will stifle his reprimand.

Shouldering around his father, Jeonghan stomps down the rickety stairs to the foyer. A biting remark hot on his tongue, shoulders square with anger.

But it all melts into shock when he sees a a head of inky hair, wide curios eyes, and legs dripping onto the wooden floor in front of the fire. A familiar brown wool blanket cloaks her figure, the one Jeonghan tucked into a tree by the lake for colder nights.

She isn’t looking at him, but rather the blazing hearth heating his home. She stares as if there’s never been a larger miracle than the flames licking towards her, round face illumined with the warm glow. 

Jeonghan’s grunt of surprise turns her around swiftly. 

And he’s greeted with the same beautiful smile and bell like voice he’d recognize anywhere.

“I wanted to see.”

—

There were monsters in the lake.

That’s what Hwamin’s mom tells her.

Since the beginning of the earth, the monsters dwelled in the lake, blessed to laugh and play for eternity. However, overtime, they would leave one by one, exiting the line of trees without looking back. Until only one monster remained. She vowed never to forsake her watery kingdom like her sisters before her.

And she didn’t.

Until the monster fell in love with a man who visited her every night under a sly moon. 

And when his words weren’t enough, when she wished to see his world beyond her own, the monster left her lake and married him.

Hwamin’s eventually stops listening to her mother’s bed time stories because her father always interrupts from the door of her room with a laugh before crossing to kiss her mother in the gross way grown ups do that makes Hwamin green in the face.

She doesn’t really understand what’s so special about the lake in the woods anyway. Or why her mom pretends she isn’t crying when they visit it on her birthday.

[ask-the-friendly-ink-demon]

the moment the friendly ink demon heard an familiar voice AND someone calling him by his name, he instantly turned, and perks up as he felt the hug of someone familiar, before his eyes widened and sparkled upon remembering who it was, grinning widely as his tail sways slightly, the golden streaks on his neck, the yellowish spines running down his neck and his tail, the more dark colored clothing to his attire, minus the red bowtie and brown shoes and belt, along with an yellowish bade like logo shaped like his face along with now pure black and white colored gloves instead of the original green, all in all, he looked like an complete black and white coloration of his standard outfit, with some changes here and there, though, it was still the same old him, his piecut eyes widening as he remembered Modern "Mod!" he says, instantly giving the smaller demon an hug of his own, an bunch of explaination and hearts coming out of him as his smile beamed, genuinely happy to see an old friend once again, as it felt like FOREVER since he even seen him! more than forever even! as with the question, the Friendly Ink Demon perked up, humming softly as he shrugs slightly almost laughing for a moment "ah! things have been going great! well... uh... as great as things can be anyways! but im managing! as for new adventures? hm....." he brings a hand to his chin, an bunch of question marks popping up as he thinks really hard, before shrugging "can't say i remember any! been mostly stuck in the lodge for most of everything going on, but, it's good to finally actually be out! and seeing you again too!" Prowler said, grinning happily, of course their friendship goes way back, during the early days, but, just like how he thought, he thought of the other as a brother as well, if Modern needed him to back him up, he'll always be by his side no matter what

Welcome To The Show: @ask-the-friendly-ink-demon liked for a starter

"Well I'll be, if it ain't Prowler!"

The demon gave a big toothed grin and gave the other toon a good ol demon hug before pulling away and placing his gloves hands on his own hips, thoroughly examining the toon before him. How long had it been?

weeks? months? years? Okay maybe not that long, but it sure felt like a millennia.

"It's good ta see ya ol pal! So tell me, how things been with ya? What new 'ventures ya been on? Anythin new?"

He didn't want to start hounding questions at him but he was just way too eager, it had been so long since the last time they spoke that he just couldn't contain himself.

Bendy, or rather Modern in this case, and Prowler's friendship actually went a good ways back. They had the type of friendship where you could basically consider them 'brothers' in a sense. Maybe not ink related, but enough where he would be willing to fight anyone who dare even leave a scratch on him. If Prowler needed him, Modern was there to back him up.

[kedsandtubesocks]

be your hallowed ground

Demon!Ezra x F!Reader

summary: 1700’s. the journey home before you is long, weary, and you are alone… but not for long

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. colonial era inspired AU, inexperienced!reader, religiously raised reader, historical/societal period negative views of women, major supernatural elements, religious discussions along with Christian imagery & mentions of scripture, Ezra’s use of petnames, heavy corruption kink, possessive!Ezra, finger sucking, wound kissing and one small moment of blood consumption, Ezra lifts reader with his demon strength (reader has no physical description), intense kissing & spicy moments, f!oral receiving, light overstimulation, briefest mention of Ezra watching/stalking, sacrilegious themes, dark & spooky vibes

word count: 7.9k

a/n: so this is my first Ezra fic & i blame this AU on my ex catholic school kid roots along with playing too much cult of the lamb bcs here we are lol I wouldn’t be here without the ones who paved the way/inspired me to take the jump to write Ezra so thank you @morallyinept @julesonrecord & @lowlights for being true lovely guides, also to @pastelle-rabbit @haylzcyon & @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream/cry about this lol I love each & every one of y’all - and to you, if you decide to take a peek and read, thank you so much ♡

The forest stretches out far, daunting.

Twilight glimmers on the last of her heels and you hope to return home soon. You can almost hear your father’s anger at your stubbornness for not staying at the inn for another night and for simply being on this journey in the first place. You should’ve saved up for a carriage ride home.

Now, alone in the woods, you fear the tree branches will soon reach down to claw you into their canopy cluster above.

Deeper and further you walk through the forest path. You haven’t prayed much recently. But you faintly remember words urging you to not fear the terror of night, nor the danger that prowls in the darkness, and you’re gently eased. You also think of the early spring blooms scattered among the town waiting for you.

Then a branch cracks behind you, the sound of someone stepping on it, and you stop.

The trek has been silent, eerily so. Not even bird chirps or the wind’s breeze has filled your space. Yet it now sounds like something approaches.

You whip around.

No one stands behind you. Only the dirt and dust linger in the air.

The woods must be clouding you with unnecessary dread. You’ve walked these roads alone before and you will walk them again even though the forest seems darker now.

Determined, and slightly frightened, you spin on your heels to quickly return on your journey.

“There you are, turtle dove.”

The voice startles you so suddenly you almost collapse. Strangely accented, the thick drawl flows heavy with a twang of someone from the wild southern territories.

Your heart beats fast like a petrified rabbit and your eyes snap towards the source of the voice.

Leaning against a large tree is the most exquisite man you ever believe to be crafted.

Dressed in a striking coat, a beautifully sharp nose and dark facial hair, he’s ethereal. You also spot the most interesting tuff of white blonde hair against his dark chestnut locks. What’s startling are his magnetic inky eyes staring at you.

“I don’t know you, good sir.” You politely reply.

The man smiles like a fox creeping around a chicken coop.

“Ezra is my given name, turtle dove. Now we’re no longer strangers.”

His name - Ezra.

Like his name suggests you wonder if maybe he’s here to provide aid, your personal blessing.

Yet his words flutter out duplicitous and heavy like something dangerous chains around them down.

“Then good day to you, sir.” You nod, a polite reply, and decide to withhold your name.

“May I accompany you on your journey?” He suggests surprisingly gentle, his words olive branch-like offers.

You ask him where he is even headed, and for what brings a well speaking, slightly suspicious, man as himself into these woods.

“The same as you, sweet bird,” Ezra replies simply. “We all have our journeys to be upon. Mine just happens to coincide with yours. A rather fortuitous blessing if I do say so myself.”

Your eyes narrow. Something scratches at the back of your mind urging you to keep walking and pay no heed to this man.

But then the wind picks up.

From a soft breeze it quickly transforms into the strangest howl, like a warning of the dangers lurking all around. In a slight panic your eyes survey your surroundings. This man might be a stranger, but having company might not be such a bad choice.

“Come now.” Ezra comments reassuring and steady even among the howling winds. “These woods are wild and deep, ain’t no place for a treasure such as yourself.”

He is handsome, the most stunning man you may ever see. And the glimmer in his eyes seems to beckon you.

After you quietly nod, your journey expands by one.

With a gracious bow of his head, the man from the shadows falls into step beside you.

The wind suddenly, but thankfully, settles. However, tension prickles against your skin and a strange warmth blooms from the center of your chest.

“So, what’s a lovely angel like yourself doing here, a babe in the woods?” Ezra begins.

Your fingers tighten against your cloak while the truth stays sealed tight.

The man chuckles.

“Don’t go shy on me now, sweet dove,” he teases.

You huff annoyed. However, seeing as how you will be traveling with him until you return home, you decide to engage with him.

Your dearest friend moved to the next town when you both became fully grown. She fell in love with a married man in a loveless marriage to a cruel woman. Because of that your friend was condemned to banishment. Now, she’s with child. Some even whisper the child was maybe even convinced due to witchcraft.

However, with the recent passing of your town’s relentless head clergyman, you hope this will help improve the situation.

Ezra listens patiently, letting you quietly explain everything.

“And so you traveled to visit your dear friend like a kind emissary.” He notes. “Your town must be in an uproar over you visiting her.”

“They are.” You answer stiffly.

Your father absolutely detests it. Even the governor’s son, who has shown interest in courting you, has made it known that your lenient position doesn’t help towards a marriage possibility. But you won't falter in your loyalty. Especially after your faith has been so shaken from seeing the harsh treatment given to your friend.

“A fair decision.” Ezra agrees. “All those upset are fools anyway. Seems they forgot the good book even mentions how cherished a gift it is to forgive others just as the lord forgives us.”

He quotes scripture so passively it surprises you. He doesn’t seem like a spiritual type. If anything, Ezra seems like a man who slinks around the shadows late at night among the thieves and brothels hidden at the edge of town.

“You’re right,” you agree with him. “Who are we to judge others on simple matters of passion compared to our lord, especially to condemn it?”

“Lust is considered a grave sin though, dear birdie, so I understand why.” He quietly answers while his words scurry over your skin. “After all, look at the predicament it entangled your dear friend in.”

“And don’t passions of the flesh wage war against the solemnity of the soul?” Ezra politely answers lightly referring to scripture and you wonder if he is a man devoted to the good book.

So you reserve your words again.

“Please… do not silence your song, biride.” Ezra coos.

“Now, tell me your thoughts,” he whispers low.

As you swallow hard, your skin feels tight against your bones. But you decide to speak freely, as dangerous as it may be.

“It’s true that my friend committed a terrible sin.” You begin with a shaky sigh. “I understand her punishment. But for others to be so cruel when faith says to forgive and embrace salvation feels hypocritical.”

“True indeed. And as you said, all this for the sake of condemning passion? There are worse commandments to shatter under heaven’s watchful eye.” Ezra drawls out.

“Exactly.” You agree with a firm nod more at ease with your new companion.

“Besides… isn’t the act of creation an offspring of passion?” He challenges and the thought stuns you.

The stranger is correct and his perception moves you.

You’ve never engaged in such discussions like this with anyone before, especially not with a man. You noticed he speaks to you like an equal, never diminishing your ideals or fully trampling on your opinions.

Something greedy urges you to slow down your step and spend as much time with your new companion.

“So, is there a husband of yours waitin’ at home to meet you with passions, dear dove?” Ezra asks with the curl of intrigue in his voice and you almost choke on a gasp.

“A rather forward question to ask a stranger.” You snap back sharply and glare at him.

Ezra keeps his abyss eyes drawn forward and doesn't seem bothering at your reply or the discussion matter he brought up.

“Thought we established we’re no longer strangers?” Your stranger mutters back.

“We’ve discussed religion, the ways of the hearts and their passions. Only good friends touch on such topics, yes?”

He’s unbearably confident, and he knows it. You want to storm off, maybe even demand him to leave. But you can’t do it. You almost can’t endure the thought of him leaving now.

So you reply stiffly. “No. I have no husband at home.”

“Truly?” He now squawks confused.

“Ain’t that a damn shame.” He purrs. “A creature lovely as yourself deserves to be worshiped every minute you’re here among this green earth.”

Your heart thumps erratic against its cage.

“Are you mocking me, good man Ezra, for not being married?” You deflect with a shaky voice.

“Never, turtle dove.” He reassures. “I believe the ultimate sin is to be denied any shade of passion.”

“Especially for a beauty marvelous as yourself.” He exhales and his voice dances devilishly.

An uneasiness settles into your legs, like your body could give out at any moment.

“What you say is blasphemy,” you manage to reply, however your voice wavers. “A heathen's words.”

“I could’ve recounted the same about you moments ago when you spoke your thoughts.” He mutters back.

Your heart drops. He’s correct. This man has your thoughts tied up in so many knots and you cannot find a path within yourself.

“No need to worry.” Ezra says. “Treading into heathen’s territory is never frightful when you have a companion.”

You don’t know how you feel about this conversation or where it seems to be heading towards. Your gaze turns to Ezra. He continues staring ahead composed.

He’s a strange unorthodox man, an anomaly, someone you never believed existed.

“Now tell me… have you tasted desire, my sweet turtle dove?”

His eyes now move to you, catching you staring red handed. Like an exposed thief, your gaze flies away from him.

His question, as if composed of thorns, constricts around your throat refusing to let you answer.

You’ve tasted it on the tips of your tongue. One of your old childhood friends became a courtesan at a brothel. During her nights off, you’d sneak out to visit her. She recounted with giggles about the various sexual escapades she’s experienced. It made your mouth water wishing for the embrace of a lover, to understand what it meant to be truly desired.

You’ve been tempted to fall into bed with the blacksmith’s brother but once you discovered his cruel treatment of the women in town you were soured by the thought. So during the late nights alone your fingers slipped under the quilts and you would find a sticky taste of passion.

Getting caught up in your thoughts keeps you quiet.

“When I was a younger man and lived in France.” Ezra begins with a sudden gentle musing, the voice of a storyteller almost. “Even when I migrated here to the southern territories, I learned of an interesting turn of phrase.”

“La petite mort.” The words flow from him beautifully, rolled with such finessed precision. Hearing him speak sparks a jolt up your spine.

“I’m not quite sure you know of it, but do you know what it means?”

Your eyes that had glazed over are now back on Ezra. His devastatingly beautiful face remains serene.

“The literal translation is ‘a little death.’” Ezra continues. “But what it speaks of is the little moment of feeling as if you’re dying when experiencing true orgasmic release, something that makes us see god.”

His words, hanging with a thinly concealed desire, rip through you and a slickness slowly pools between your legs.

Now his eyes flicker to you.

“A pleasure so rapturous we taste a little death.” He mutters looking so intently at you that you want to scurry and hide away.

But you can’t. You’re drawn into his gaze, a poor moth entrapped by his erratic flame, and you’re not quite sure if this fire is hellfire.

Rationale within you screams this man could be a robber or could be leading you into his sticky web to simply harm you. Yet it seems like he could vanish into smoke.

You also notice you and Eza have both stopped walking. Now staring into his eyes, you discover storms in them.

Until an oncoming storm arrives all around. The wind erupts into howls. It whips around fast and you tug your cloak closer trying to stay warm against the gales.

Your face even scrunches up at the drastic change in the weather.

A firm hand moves to your back pulling you closer until you rest within the shade of a firm body. Ezra has drawn you into his side, lifting his cloak to cover you, and your eyes become full moons.

“To keep you sheltered from this weather. Though, we may need to hunt for some sanctuary soon.” He mutters.

He smells of pine, like the forest itself gave him to you. However you also catch the smallest hint of something smoky, like he slept too close to a campfire.

But, his words confuse you.

“Terrible weather? It’s simply just bad wind.” You yell against the wind and glance around the forest.

That’s when you notice how terrifyingly dark it’s gotten. The tree branches now stretch above like monstrous limbs crawling along the darkness.

How long have you been out along the trail? You haven’t even reached the halfway point to town. The woods now loom incredibly dark like a chasm ready to swallow you whole.

Then the drum of thunder comes, and the skies open up, as if on command by Ezra’s prophetic words. The rain unleashes a downpour. You squawk like a petrified bird at how soaked you’re getting even being covered by his coat.

“Come!” He cries over the storm keeping you close. “I believe there is shelter close by.”

So through the darkness you go, led by him off the path and deeper into the thicket.

How did he know a shelter was nearby? Shouldn’t he have come here earlier and left you on your journey? Or did he maybe sense the storm was coming and wanted to keep accompanying you.

The rush of the rain along with how quickly Ezra moves you and him feels as if you’re flying through the forest like your feet never once touch the ground.

Your body stops and out from the darkness, among the rain, stands the faint shape of a building.

Ezra guides you inside and you exhale relieved you’re out of the storm.

The stale smell of dust greets you first and makes your nose crinkle.

Looking out to your new makeshift shelter, you find yourself standing in a very abandoned church. Dried dead leaves scatter the floor. Vacant pews hold a hollow ghostly emptiness. You didn’t even know this chapel was here.

“How did you know of this place-” you turn to ask Ezra but discover you’re alone.

So focused on soaking in the church you didn’t even notice his departure.

“Ezra?” You call for him and silence replies.

Where could he have gone?

“Worry not.” Ezra’s voice floats out an echo. From the side of the sacristy, beside the main congregation hall, he emerges.

How did he get there without you noticing?

In his grasp is a lit candle. The flames create interesting shadows upon his handsome face as his molten eyes stare at you.

“Apologizes,” he reassured you with the ease of a saint. “Went to scavenge for some light.”

“Seems you were unsuccessful.” You dryly tease, walking towards where Ezra stands at the front of the congregation.

A slight tug of amusement comes over his heavenly face.

“We shall make camp here until the storm quells.”

No better place to find sanctuary than in a chapel, even though this one has seen better days.

Outside the wind continues rattling the windows while the rain creates a soothing melody. Yet, there is an emptiness here, like you can’t sense any sacred spirit within these walls. You wonder if the Lord maybe has even abandoned this space.

“Come rest with me, turtle dove.” Ezra beckons to you as he sits casually on the floor up besides the altar.

“You can’t sit there!” You whisper urgent.

“Why? Who is here to stop me?” Ezra counters with raised eyebrows and amused crinkled eyes.

“This is sacred ground! You can’t simply sit in the sanctuary like it’s some sort of encampment!” You argue.

“Biride,” Ezra begins. “This momentary shelter is merely a building. The same way all buildings are just simple creations of stone and labor.”

“Not buildings like this, especially when our lord resides here.” You reply like a dutifully faithful follower.

Ezra now sits up from his lax position to glance around. His eyes survey every inch of the space.

“You say our Heavenly Father is here. But tell me, turtle dove, do you sense his presence here?”

He noticed it too.

Your tongue becomes metal, heavy and bitter.

“Come,” he urges again, kinder now. “Rest. Your legs need their strength for the rest of your journey. It will be much more comfortable than those stuffy pews.”

You narrow your eyes at him, still hesitant. Defiant, you try sitting in one of the vacant pews only to find clusters of spider webs creating a slightly unnerving barrier. And you didn’t want to check every pew for availability. You were too tired.

Refusing to meet Ezra’s eyes you step past the pews, into the sanctuary, and delicately sit a small space away from your companion.

“See? Not so hard, and you didn’t even combust into flames sitting here.”

You glare at him while Ezra grins triumphant. Silence settles. But with a man who readily embraces the gift and curse of gab, it feels dangerous.

A small gurgle of a noise rumbles out and your face heats up horrified. You didn’t realize you hadn’t eaten this entire journey.

“A bit peckish, dear dove?” Ezra chuckles a smokey thing.

You’re about to grumble under your breath annoyed until he again peers around the abandoned church.

“Rather unfortunate there doesn’t seem to be any source of subsidence here.”

You quietly reassure him as you shift your cloak to reach for your covered satchel. Thankfully, your morsel of a wrapped loaf was spared from the rain.

“I have this for us to share.” You quietly announce.

Ezra gasps small but surprised.

“Divine goddess, you are salvation.” He breathes out.

“I am no goddess. No one person is divine in such a way.” You correct him.

The man hums. “If the maker created man in his image does that not mean we are shades of god in our own ways?”

Midway unfolding the bread out of the paper, you halt.

You never thought of it that way. It made sense. Slowly, it feels as if a wagon wheel is turning in your head leading you towards something you cannot reach.

“Sweet turtle dove,” Ezra calls to you. “Would you be so gracious and let me consecrate our feast?”

You’re stunned by the heartfelt request. This man seems to be a never ending labyrinth confusing you with no end in sight.

You slide closer to sit fully beside him. Readily you hand him the wrapped bread and try not to jump at his hand brushing yours. His skin is soft, warmed, and your knuckles tingle from the simple exchange.

“Thank you kindly.”

Now holding the bread in one hand, Ezra moves the other to lightly hover above the morsel. Closing his eyes in prayer, Ezra begins.

However, he mutters low and so fast that you can’t even catch a word of his prayer. You wonder if he even is saying anything or is simply mocking the form of prayer.

You’re about to chide him until he quickly finishes. Dreamily opening his eyes Ezra then simply breaks the bread into two.

“To break communion with someone lovely as you is an honor.” With a gracious grin, your stranger hands you a piece. You thank him with a soft mutter.

The storm continues its wrath and you arrive at a bleak conclusion. Your night will be spent here in this eerie abandoned church with this strange mysterious handsome man.

Resigning yourself to that, you sigh and take a bite out of the bread.

The bread was a simple one you got from the neighboring town’s bakery. It’s nothing special. You’ve even thought it rather stale at times.

However, the bread you taste now is indescribable.

It melts in your mouth, wonderfully soft and warm. There’s even the sweetest taste like a whisper of a fruit that reminds you of apples. An uncontrollable moan of satisfaction escapes you.

But your eyes widen realizing how you just acted.

Embarrassment floods you fast and you anxiously gaze at Ezra who smirks at you.

Unable to stare at him long, you turn back down to your lap. The bread looks exactly the same as it always does.

Is your mind so exhausted it believes this stale morsel now tastes this heavenly?

You must be imagining things.

Besides you, Ezra shuffles. Out of curiosity your eyes lift towards him and find the man shrugging off his coat.

He even removes his waistcoat to reveal his simple white slipover. Rain still lingers on his skin allowing the pristine white cloth to stick to him. Without the coat you’re given clear sight of his glorious neck.

A thought flutters into your mind.

You imagine sinking your teeth into his beautiful flesh and lapping up all the rain droplets.

Dread fills you.

How could you think such thoughts?

“Turtle dove,” Ezra’s voice shatters the silence almost making you jump.

“If you could create a world of your own, what would it look like?”

The question stumps you, even brings in a twinkle of curiosity. What would bring on such a question? You suppose it must be a way to break the silence and pass the time.

In thought, you hum a small noise.

“I think…” you quietly utter and let your thoughts flow.

You think of a world built on compassion, one without hunger or war, of one filled with peace and justice.

“And without sin, I suppose.” Ezra gently comments and your eyes turn to him.

He stares towards the ground with a peculiar look shadowed over his handsome face.

“Yes of course.” You answer. Sin is the root of all evil and corrupted humanity’s souls.

“What if I told you some sins are not all evil? And that what you long for, dear turtle dove, is not a world void is sin, but one free of guilt from it.”

Your face scrunches up a bit confused over his nebulous words.

“Should we not all live in indulgence?” Ezra adds, clarified in his words.

“Indulgence leads to corruption.” You reply parroting all the countless sermons that discussed this.

“If our creator didn’t want us to indulge, then why did he indulge in creating such a world so lush as this one?” Your stranger offers.

You try gathering a reply, thinking of all the lessons about how this world is meant to be seen in awe and appreciated. Not to indulge in. But now all your arguments seem to fall short, not even sound correct in your head.

Before you can press the discussion further Ezra leans closer towards you. Your thoughts and body become completely petrified.

You should lean away, lean back from his casual intimate movements.

But you can’t. Or, within the deep terror of your heart you know the truth. You don’t want to.

His thumb moves towards the corner of your mouth and you transform completely into stone.

Ezra’s ink eyes haze over while his thumb gently swipes against your skin.

“Crumbs.” He mutters, answering for his actions. Yet, his hand doesn’t leave.

You don’t shove him away or demand him to go. The downpour rattling the windows becomes the church’s only noise while you and this man sit in the stillness.

Ezra’s attention falls to your mouth.

His thumb now strokes the corner of your lips. You believe it’s to wipe more bread crumbs away. Then his thumb swipes across your bottom lip and a sharp inhale escapes you.

His eyes and yours find each other.

“You deserve to live in indulgence,” Ezra whispers deviously rich.

Your skin feels ablazed and your throat dries. Out of instinct or perhaps something darker you wet your lips. In that movement your lips press against his thumb and your tongue manages to swipe at his skin.

You’re rewarded the faintest taste of him, a crumb of his salty golden skin, and it’s like a thread slowly catches fire.

You want more, need it.

Possibly possessed now, your mouth opens up and simply slips more of his thumb into your mouth.

The moment the salty taste of him hits your tongue your eyes close.

Feeling his finger in your mouth against your tongue, against your teeth, is divine. His flesh must be coated with ambrosia because your mouth waters aching for more.

Heaven, or this must be a slice of it.

Until horror strikes you and you realize what you’re doing. Terrified eyes now open, you’re about to pull away and yelp horrified.

Ezra’s hand rapidly moves to cradle your face firm and slide his thumb deeper into your mouth.

“Oh my sweet bird,” he coos now closer to you. “You’ve tasted the pleasure I can give, the magic I can conjure. Don’t deny yourself this.”

His beautiful nose presses into the side of your face nuzzling against your skin and your eyes close. Bliss overtakes you.

“Now” his voice drops a dangerous lulling whisper. “Hollow your cheeks for me, and suck in.”

You do as told and the groan Ezra lets out vibrates deep past your skin. You even let out a whine.

You’ve heard the noises men make in the waves of passion, but this was decadent. You never knew a man could sound this beautiful.

You wanted to hear him even more. And knowing you did this to him? A syrupy drunken pride courses through you intoxicating.

You suck harder, allowing your tongue to caress his skin and Ezra exhales heavenly.

Before you can indulge any further, a creature screeches into the church and shatters the sensual spell. You shriek in terror and scramble. Wings furiously flapping come and out of reflex you cover your head.

Then a solid body collides into you and your world falls over.

You hit the floor of the sanctuary with a soft thud. It would’ve been a harder fall if not for Ezra’s hand cradling your head to soften the impact. Your eyes look up to find Ezra covering you, protecting you from whatever flew in.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears, a horrible drum drowning out your thoughts. His broad shoulders, firm frame, he really is a man crafted out of pure beauty and desire now that you’ve tasted his skin.

“Blasted bats… must’ve been nesting in here.” Ezra comments with a mutter while his eyes stay watching out.

Now you faintly hear the familiar chirps of the creatures. You hope they all leave soon or move to another area within the church.

Slowly the rustling settles. Ezra does not move from his post above you, a shield keeping you safe from the interrupting creatures.

His large hand cradling your head holds you gently but with a firmness that speaks of his control.

The strangest clash of sensations arrives. Like Eve awoken out of her blissful sin, you’re keenly aware of the cold clothes sticking to you. Particularly your wet cloak weighing on you sends a chill crawling up your skin making you squirm.

Ezra’s eyes slip back to you. The candlelight highlights the shadows of his face and his eyes seem deeper than before. Candlelight doesn’t even reflect in their abyss.

Until his obsidian eyes go wide in a slight panic.

“Your wing, turtle dove.”

Now confused you shift to lift your arm up. A small cut has ripped through your cloak and blouse sleeve. You didn’t even notice or feel it. Must have cut yourself on the old wooden floor below.

The church didn’t seem this dilapidated to have rotten wood floors. However, without upkeep, it only makes sense everything begins to splinter and decay. Thankfully the cut isn’t deep but dark crimson does stain the cloth.

“Oh,” you even mutter a bit stunned.

Gently Ezra shifts to help you up while being cautious of your wound.

“Are you in pain?” He asks, concerned.

“No.” You shake your head, truthfully telling him you didn’t even notice the cut.

Ezra delicately moves towards your arm. “May I?”

You nod quietly.

Gingerly, your mysterious stranger places his hands on you to further inspect your wound.

“It doesn’t hurt.” You reassure him.

Surprisingly, Ezra stays silent. His eyes remain on your arm. As if you’re an injured sparrow, he folds up your blouse sleeve delicately.

The faintest touch of his thumb strokes your bare skin and your throat constricts tight. This unknown mystery of a man tenderly touching you clutches at your soul.

“My creator, so heavenly in his wisdom,” he suddenly speaks low, like his voice is dipped in sticky honey. “Taught me this is how we heal wounds.”

Then Ezra draws your arm up and he leans down. And in that swift moment, he presses his lips to your wound.

A tender kiss.

Your breath hitches, tripping over itself. You indeed had his finger in your mouth moments ago. But this opens a chasm in you. Especially as you watch him lick away your blood at his lips

Then his lips return to your skin, on your wound, and it feels like devotion.

There were saints that kissed the wounds of your lord and now how angelic, reverent, Ezra’s face looks, you imagine him as one.

However, his lips start kissing all across your arm, quickly becoming greedy. Like a silent thief, he continues kissing up your arm with deliberate nips.

If he is a robber, this thievery is divine. You even squirm, squeezing your legs together because a slick wetness leaks between them. You wish to quell this burning urge to be touched.

Your mind only focuses on Ezra’s lips that you don’t even notice he unclasped your cloak until the heavy cold weight drops off you like shackles unchained.

However, an awful breeze across your skin makes you shrink back from the cold and snaps you into awareness.

You can’t do this with a man like this, a stranger.

A fanged piece of yourself urges you to simply give in, especially with a man not known in town. The internal struggle vanishes when Ezra’s breath tickles against your exposed neck.

“Do you wish me to stop, my turtle dove?” He coo’s. “I believe you deserve to taste this indulgence.”

“I don’t know you.” You croak out. Yet your voice doesn’t even sound convinced of your own resolve.

“Oh but you do.” Ezra pleads, his voice drenched in gilded desire.

“You know me.” He urges. “This is what you wanted. Your heart summoned me. I heard your call and here I am.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice cracks, an unsteady foundation.

“The hidden truths in your heart,” Ezra whispers and his breath dances upon your skin a ghost’s hymnal.

“The festering jealousy of knowing your dear friend found adoration, even out of sin…you wished to know of such delights. And your anger of this world for damning you to such solitudes, of being so constricting - it all called to me.”

Fear captures your heart. This couldn’t be true.

“Oh but it is,” Ezra answers you.

You don’t even know if you spoke those words aloud or if this man has now slithered into your thoughts.

“All those nights you longed for a lover,” he mourns sympathetically. “All alone with just your fingers in your sweet sex.”

You choke on air, gasping for some sort of relief from this terror drowning you.

“Oh and I’ve watched you for so long, my bird.” He bemoans. “Ached for so long to claim you mine.”

“You…you’ve seen me before?” You stammer.

“Indeed I have. I know you’ve partaken in sin. And the guilt you hold consumes you. Let me be your redemption,” Ezra continues with a pure temptation crawling from his voice.

You should be concerned at how this man has seen you before. Yet…With his mouth simply a breath’s pace away from you nothing seems to matter. Because your mind only wants him to kiss you, ravish you.

“You must say it, my angel.” He mutters.

Do you dare jump off the ledge and plunge into this molten fire?

A light terror runs across your skin, like hearing the hiss of a snake yet not seeing it. Something is afoot with Ezra. You can’t pinpoint it…

But you also wonder if this doubt is born from the chains of your faith holding you back?

“Ezra.” You mumble his name, a choked noise.

“I await your command.” The man reverently responds as if in a mass himself.

“Please….” You whimper out.

“Please what?” He murmurs and his twang clouds his voice even more.

“Please….touch me.” You croak while your voice trails.

It unleashes a monster.

Ezra’s lips dive onto your neck, kissing upon your skin with a possessed fervor. Even while sitting, the sudden rush of his lips, the scrape of his facial hair against you makes your body collapse.

It only allows for Ezra to sweep you into his arms.

Yanking his face away from your neck, you’re about to mourn the loss of him against your skin until his lips swoop in to consume yours.

You’ve kissed others before. In the hidden shadow of buildings after dark, you’ve even recently shared a kiss or two with the blacksmith’s brother a handful of times. They’ve been wonderful but secret encounters.

This however sets your soul on fire.

His tongue swiftly maneuvers into your mouth and now tasting him from the source, you never want to know a day without this, without him.

You moan, yanking at him closer, and try to slide your own tongue against his now. It’s messy, wet, a clash of bone and spirit but it’s delicious.

Sliding his arms under your legs, Ezra lifts you up with ease as he stands. You squeak against his lips, but then your eyes roll back when the man suddenly begins sucking on your tongue.

Your body feels like it will crumble at any moment.

That’s when you notice you’re being laid upon something cold and flat.

Wearily you find you do rest high upon something.

And now, the church is lit.

You panic looking around. The torches lining the walls burn with warm flames and illuminate the space in amber light.

How? Ezra did not leave you for one moment. Was there another here? And if so, how did you not hear them?

A warm calloused hand moves to cradle your face and your eyes snap to Ezra who peers down at you with smoke filled eyes.

“Don’t fret, my dove. We are only here.” He reassures, leaning down to kiss you again and your eyes shut once more.

“And if you’re not simply focused on me, then I’m not doing this correctly.” He mutters against your lips.

A wanton drunkenness comes with how consuming he kisses, especially as his mouth pulls from your lips to lick against your jaw.

He hums a satisfied groan.

“Oh my darling turtle dove, you were born to be worshiped by me weren’t you? And I blessed to simply be your devout disciple.” A revered holiness oozes thick from his voice.

“Let me venerate at your holy temple.” Ezra exhales against your throat kissing your feverish skin.

This is more than you can handle. It’s tremendous. It’s too much, yet not enough. It’s building something just out of your grasp, a flame that can’t be extinguished and scorches so fierce.

Blinking out of the haze, you find instead of being beside you, Ezra, like magic, now stands by your feet.

His hands slide up your legs and yank you closer towards him.

A yelp of surprise squeaks out from you. Any other noise or thoughts get swallowed up when Ezra’s hands snake under your skirt and up your legs.

Your eyes close under the sensation of his calloused warm hands.

“Do you know what true sacrifice cleanses sins?” Ezra asks with gravel in his voice.

“Hm?” You mumble, unable to create a response with how wonderful his fingers feel caressing your thighs.

“It’s to offer up one’s life. That’s the ultimate form of sacrifice.”

His words terrify you. Is he insinuating what you think he is? Are you to be made a lamb to slaughter because of the desire consuming you?

“Shh…” Ezra notices your worry and soothes you, rubbing gentle circles on your skin.

“Fear not, my dove. For I shall bring you redemption just as you’ve brought me mine.”

Slowly, he hoists your leg up and your eyes widen. He shifts to stand between your legs. Keeping his gaze on you, the mysterious man kisses your calf, a calming balm that also ignites a heat brewing in you again.

“Tell me,” Ezra asks, speaking into your skin. “Has anyone tasted you…here?”

Suddenly his fingers graze against your sex and warmth floods your face at just the thought.

You heard of such a thing from your friend at the brothels. However it was a rare occurrence, almost seemed mythical.

“No.” You breathe out.

“Shame.” Ezra mumbles. “All for me I suppose. A wonderfully ripe peach, all mine to consume.”

His inky dazed eyes flicker to yours.

“Will you let me take you to heaven, my lovely? May I swim in your ocean and taste your pearl?” Ezra offers like a man asking for your atonement.

The terminology is not missed on you and lust crashes in a dizzying tidal wave.

Quietly, swallowing thick, you nod yes.

Pride grin tugs at Ezra’s lips and his eyes twinkle like a creature lurking out from the woods.

Softly closing his eyes, he returns to kissing your skin. Except this time he moves up your leg with a purpose -

Like he’s on a holy pilgrimage.

Almost bewitched you watch him kneel down and push up your skirt to reveal your under garment. It’s a sight you want seared into your memory.

Then Ezra presses forward and kisses your covered sex. A gasp rips wild from you and your eyes roll back.

With a fast rip, Ezra takes apart your undergarments. Bare to him, his tongue then licks against your cunt and the most debauched sound you never knew you could even make escapes you.

“Do you enjoy? Wish me to continue?” You don’t know how Ezra’s voice swirls around you, a caress in the whispering wind, but you nod frantically.

“Ezra please… more.” You whimper.

And he does as you command.

Ezra pulls you apart with a wet devotion and frenzy that feels like you’re being devoured. He’s feasting on you.

You whine, even slap a hand over your mouth to silence how loud you’ve become when he sucks hard on the pearl of your sex.

“No.” He mumbles wet within your molten heat. “Let me hear you, my lovely.”

You don’t deny him after that.

The storm now rages outside, violently ramming into the windows. It mixes with the cries of your pleasure ripping through you.

When your climax arrives and knocks you out of this realm, you scream Ezra’s name while your legs shake.

“Beauty divine,” Ezra sighs, devout and borderline drunk.

Breathing down from your high with your back fully now flat against the floor surface, it hits you.

You’ve been lying on the chapel’s altar this entire time.

The offering is you. You indeed are the sacrifice, one of vitality. The throne of ecstasy is a form of life…

And did Ezra not tell you passion is also a tiny death itself as well?

Before you can gather this, Ezra dives back into you again and you squirm unbelieving this man can want more. He’s a man possessed like he’s trying to consume you from the inside out, devouring you until he reaches your marrow.

“Ezra.” You whimper. It borders too much, but you also don’t want this to stop.

“Let me feast, my dove.” He growls back and you catch it.

Ezra’s voice sounds distorted, fluttering between his twang and now a jagged danger sounding monstrous.

Wearily, trying to stay aware among the heat of building rapture, you exhaustedly lean up.

Between your legs Ezra is a sinful sight. His broad shoulders keep your thighs open as his tongue dips into the caverns of your cunt. You melt, unable to keep your eyes open.

But you want to watch him, want to remember this for as long as you can.

Especially now that the storm rages all around. You even wonder if the decaying church’s roof might be ripped off.

So your eyes open.

From between your legs, Ezra glances up.

His mouth stays stuck to your sex, except his eyes are completely hollowed out.

Drenched in darkness, like ink spilled entirely into them, they’re unholy and inhuman.

A scream rips from you but you can’t tell if it’s born of fear or pleasure. Or maybe both have blended together.

Your hips rise galvanized more and more, unable to stop their grind into his lips. Ezra’s grip keeps you secured and grounded.

Yet the sensation of sharpened nails now scrape against your skin.

You discover there are indeed claws, gruesome and monstrous claws, that form Ezra’s hands and arms.

“What- what are you?!” You sob.

Ezra hums and peers up at you.

“Salvation, my lovely. Yours and mine.”

A second orgasmic high hits and from the overwhelming pleasure your vision goes white. You wonder if this is heaven.

Or perhaps it’s hell.

Maybe you have died.

You should scream in terror or pray for absolution. But it’s so hard when this tastes so incredibly intoxicating, a most potent elixir.

As your body crumbles back against the altar, the overstimulated sensations become numbing, fogging your mind. Your eyes flicker up to the ceiling of the chapel.

You cannot find your god anywhere in the shadows.

The back of Ezra’s clawed hand gently strokes your cheek.

So tired, barely able to stay awake, your exhausted gaze flickers to him.

Those eyes of his, dark chasms of hell, should be soulless. But instead he looks at you with utmost tenderness.

The blazing lights of the church cast a warm glow outlined around Ezra, almost like a halo.

It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful in the terrifying way a fire is.

The mystery known as Ezra suddenly whispers out your name and you realize…

You never once gave it to him this entire time.

He is the last sight you see before your vision finally falls into the darkness.

When you awake, you’re among your quilts and bed.

You’re home.

Rapidly you look around so confused. How did you end up here? Was it all a dream?

“You’re awake!” Your father cries relieved and rushes to your side.

He thankfully answers all your questions.

You had arrived the morning after the storm. However, you hadn’t been alone.

“You had fallen ill on the road.” Your father explains. “But, thanks be to God, the new pastor sent to our town discovered you and carried you home.”

Now you’ve been resting ever since.

Had that experience been a fever dream, a temporary temptation conjured from your heart’s dark desires?

That had to be a dream, one brought on by your sudden sickness. So you rest and stay in bed for most of the day. From your window you admire the beautiful clear skies, the wonderful weather, and wildflowers growing so lovely.

You also notice your arm is completely healed, like you were never cut to begin with.

Midafternoon, a knock arrives at the door.

Your father calls your name. “Someone here to visit!”

Your mind sorts through all the possibilities of who is here to see you. You never expected your dearest friend to enter in with tears in her eyes. Overjoyed emotion washes over you as she rushes to embrace you.

“How can this be?” You hiccup, wiping away the tears. She was rarely allowed back home, especially now with her early pregnancy.

“The new pastor,” she smiles wide. “So holy and forgiving, he spoke to the judges and they are all redetermining a new sentence for me.”

You almost whisper out a prayer of thanksgiving. You hoped in your heart this would happen. She doesn’t stay long, wanting you to rest and you urge her to do the same.

By twilight another knock at the door arrives.

“Seems we are quite popular today.” Your father teases out from the main quarters.

Then he exclaims in excitement at seeing who’s arrived.

“Oh we are so blessed to have such a considerate clergyman coming by to visit!”

The new pastor. You’re beyond interested to meet this man and now you will.

When your father enters your room, Ezra waltzes in behind him.

Fear seizes your soul.

No. It couldn’t be.

This must be a man that looks like him down to his beautiful sharp nose and white patch of hair.

“Pleasure to see you again and under better circumstances.” Ezra’s clear twang rings out low and twinkling within your room.

Your heart rages rapidly and wild.

“Don’t look so terrified.” Your father chides soft but you still can’t believe this sight before you.

“Might I have a moment of solitude with your dear offspring?” Ezra asks with all the humility of an apostle.

Your father readily agrees, shutting the door behind him.

Now in the confines of your room Ezra slowly saunters towards your bed, a creature approaching its prey.

He exalts your name on an exhale.

You try to speak, but nothing comes out and Ezra moves to kneel beside your bed. His eyes twinkle with patient and pious understanding.

“Shh…no need for words, my dear turtle dove.” He quietly soothes you.

So many emotions clash in you, a tremulous onslaught you can’t handle.

“Have you come to kill me?” Fear manages to escape your lips and Ezra’s glorious face drops.

“Oh no, my beloved birdie. I’d never lay a hand on you with any violence or killing intent.” He reassures, a tender caress. “I’m here to free you. For us to set everyone free…did you not hear of what I did for your dear friend?”

His hand graciously cradles your cheek.

You should be terrified this man, this creature, is here. But you’re not.

Instead consuming relief and dangerous glee fills you. He is real. It was real.

Your hands clasp onto his and you hate how much you lean into his touch

Ezra leans forward and places a kiss against your forehead.

“What are you?” You ask barely above a whisper.

“The shadow of an angel, perhaps a monster to some.” He replies back. “But yours, nonetheless”

And you want him to be yours.

This is wrong to feel so greedy, to want a creature this dangerous. But were demons not once angels who deserved forgiveness and love?

So shifting your face you turn and place a kiss against Ezra’s palm.

Now when you hear the sermons, when you hear Ezra preach, you will think of Eve with sympathy because you understand.

You too fell for the serpent.

After all, evil never looks so beautiful as it does holding you. And desire never tasted so divine, never felt so holy.

Outside your window, the wildflowers begin to rot and the sudden rumble of a thunderstorm rolls in.

[sulieykte]

(📸 anon here…. this is after that scene i mentioned earlier, readers hurt and teyam is uncontrollably angry bc of it AGGHHHH i cant stop thinking about it.)

“what the fuck were you thinking?” he’s seething, eyes darting across your body as if memorizing every new imprint and scar. chest heaving, eyebrows scrunched, teeth bared. animalistic. the bags under his eyes, his untended wounds…how long had he been there? jake is about to step in, but neytiri grabs his arm—inquisitive about the exchange. jake looks at her in confusion, but complies.

you move to get up, grunting the new angle pressing your bandaged wound. you grab onto the nearest ledge, trying to steady yourself. “i’m a warrior. it is my duty.” you try and match his scowl, but it resembles a wince more.

“i am not your duty.” his tail is whipping back and forth, and lo’ak is trying to step up and play damage control—but he’s quickly stopped by the heat of your glare when you glance over at him. “this was not honorable. it was stupid.” his voice contains more anger than you’ve ever heard from him—surprising. his fists are clenched at his sides, and you can almost spot the crescent shaped indent his nails would leave in its wake.

“stop with the hero act,” you hiss out, eyes narrowing as you scan over his own wounds. anger clenches at your heart at his disheveled state. you remember, the chaos of the battle field. all the screams. and yet, your eyes were only searching for him. his limp body, the way you reacted and shielded him before you could even comprehend the situation. “i saved your life.”

“you shouldn’t have.” hes sizing you up now, voice laced with venom as he spat the words out. like he’s disgusted. his chest is against yours, towering over you as if proximity would prove his point. “i do not need you to protect me.”

“then who will?” your eyes narrow, face tilting up as you meet his gaze with an equally fiery one. he falters for a second at your words, eyebrows clinching together. “you know, i don’t think you care about me getting hurt. i think you’re just mad it was me who saved you.” you puff your chest out, matching his stature. “your ego can’t take it.” you can’t hide the hurt, the way you’re gritting out your words and trying to disguise it with a humorless laugh.

“and you know what?” your shoulders slump a little, averting your eyes to his scraped up knuckles, the dirt encrusting his fingernails. you barely manage to drag your eyes up again, guard falling down as your head tilts to the side. you take in his face, the way his inky eyelashes brush against his cheek bone, the curve of his nose, the plush of his scarred lips. you almost take the time to count each bioluminescent freckle gracing his face, if it wasn’t for his pressing, hooded gaze.

“i’d do it again.” you manage to push out, inhaling as you try and convey everything you felt within those four words. the terror of losing him, the pain of how he draws you in only to push you away; the agonizing, overwhelming hold he has on you. you didn’t mean for your voice to be such a weak, vulnerable whisper; didn’t mean for a glossy sheen to consume your eyes as you admit it. you push past him, clutching your wound before you could see his reaction.

I'm so happy that my nonnie has asked me to share this with you guys, I keep coming back and re-reading. I just think they're so talented and I'm already hooked on their writing.

Adding a cheeky poll to this bc we got to convince them to write more

[cas-spirit]

Mmmmmmmmmm new AU idea based on Dreamtale’s neutral ending.

Tw for death

Nightmare’s gang is doing whatever they do to spread negativity in an au, and the Stars intercept them when they’ve almost finished. Not that it matters much, because during the battle Nightmare says something and Dream snaps. Everyone needs to get back as Dream finally ignores that they’re brothers and fights back for real. The twin’s duel becoming just as destructive as Error is. Going at it with no holding back on either end, Dream gets the advantage and kills Nightmare. The grief hits him as quick as his arrows did, and Dream fused the shattered parts of Nightmare’s soul into his own quickly shattering one. When the dust settles there’s an empty world, with only grass and a small sappling, one surrounded by dust and twin circlets.

With Nightmare and Dream dead, Nightmare’s gang doesn’t really have a reason to keep terrorising aus, meaning the Stars don’t have a reason to stick together (other then friendship because Ink would not abandon his friends). Ink ferries the gang back to Nightmare’s castle and Swap back to Underswap, then goes to tell everyone the news.

Nightmare is dead. The end of his terror is cause to celebrate. But they’re also celebrating Dream’s death, and Ink hates it. How could they celebrate the death of one who wore himself to the bone to help them? He doesn’t enter the omega timeline anymore, switching between hiding with Error in the antivoid and with Swap in Underswap, making sure to stay hidden when he checks on aus. He and Swap team up again to convince Error to leave the abandoned AU alone, as a memorial for the twins.

The gang isn’t doing much better. Sure they have everything they could ever need, Nightmare always was a mother hen, but they don’t have Nightmare and it’s killing them. They have a funeral in the garden, because who else would?

A year after the twin’s death, Ink brings everyone back to the AU at their requests. Someone brings a picket basket, someone brings drinks, and a few of them bring flowers. They have a tense picnic and reminisce. Most, if not all, of the au’s are too busy celebrating to morn, so they can finally morn in peace.

After their picnic they go back to the tree sapling to find it’s gotten bigger, much bigger than a normal tree does in a year. Either Killer or Ink jokes that someone should guard the tree, like Dream and Nightmare did, and Swap thinks that’s a great idea actually.

After some debate, the Stars and the Gang move into the abandoned AU, keeping an eye on the tree while making the world generally inhabitable.

The years pass, the Stars and the Gang become solid friends. They do let a few more people move into the AU, one’s that they agree on and can trust completely with the knowledge that one wrong move towards the tree will get you kicked out.

And the tree grown, towering over houses and other trees alike.

And the tree blooms for the first time, Brilliant Gold and Inky Black fruits hanging from it’s new branches.

And as the base of the tree, they find two baby skeletons.

[ask-the-friendly-ink-demon]

Inkwell Hell, Chapter 1- The King Of All Demons

Plot: every story has a beginning, and a end. but how do they all start out? how do they end? From an world that was united as one, to a whole multiverse being created as a result of an war gone wrong, everything has to start somewhere, in this universe though, is where the story truly begins for someone, and a certain little demon. The Past can never truly Go Away. welcome to how it all begins welcome. to the start, of the terrors, of the inky past within Joey Drew Studios.

Chapter Summary: For Eons ago before the multiverse was created, they were all one entire universe, where everything was conjoined as one, and there was only one being in the whole universe at that time that was the only life, The Cosmic Entity. Though eventually after life slowly began on earth thanks to a meteorite, the Cosmic gets a idea and uses the remains of the meteorite to create the very thing that would eventually become the demons, but it all started, with the very first ones in the universe, with the last of the originals, becoming the King of all demons itself, Arzaxoth. ---

It is finally here, i’ve been waiting forever to show this. but seeing how i only got three chapters so far done ever since i made it in 2021 to mid 2022, i feel like i can show you all this so far for the time being, this and the next two chapters afterwards that i’ll also be linking after this post, are mainly backstory stuff for the demon within prowler, with any other characters mentioned OVERALL IN THE AU ITSELF AS EITHER PHYSICALLY APPEARING OR SIMPLY CAMEOS belonging to amazing friends of mine, mainly @sammys-sanctuary @ask-soul-bendy @outcast-shadow @tkvulturez @thesoftbean  @core4lost and a few others that i sadly do not remember or do not interact with much anymore bUT YEAH, here IT IS FINALLY. well, here is the LINK! That is right, i am not going to be doing what i did with the last one, cause one, way to time consuming, two, i don’t want to suffer FJDKGHDFKHK and three. i’ve seen others do the same thing with their fanfics of their aus so YEAH. this is just something im trying out, that is all! enjoy the first chapter of the prologue to terrors of the inky past! and the LORE  enjoy :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/33117046/chapters/82212157

[naffeclipse]

If we’re mixing aus like this then what about naga CS Eclipse? Cryptid hunter Y/N traipsing through the jungle looking to hunt down a monster that’s been terrorizing a local town, except whoops! They found this big cuddly bastard along the way

Oh geeze though, what if BL Eclipse and SJ Naga Eclipse with Cryptid hunter Y/N,,, the shenanigans,,, the violence,,,,,

YOOO

Augh, CS Eclipse as a naga is terrifying and gorgeous! He keeps his four arms so he can be the most creature. His long tail is inky black like water under a moonless sky, and he shines iridescently with crimson and midnight blue in the light. His horns and frills are so strange and majestic. His jaws can split open and swallow any animal whole. He's quite the terrifying sight.

A monster in the jungle.

CS!Eclipse is less demonic and more monstrous, so that means no vessel to hide behind. Y/N meets him first in the darkness of night, mistaking him for a helpful person hidden behind the trees who guides them to the next town because what kind of monster would hesitate to strike them dead where they stood?

"You look lost, friend."

"I think you're right. Can you point me to the next town?"

"...Follow. Watch your step."

"Oh, thank you, sweetie. That's very kind of you."

Eclipse leads Y/N to where they need to go. Y/N tries to ask how they can express their gratitude to him for making a scary and difficult journey through the jungle at night just to help them, but Eclipse has already faded into the darkness. He still watches Y/N in their confusion at his disappearance. He knows what a monster hunter looks like. He could have killed them, but they were kind to him, unafraid when he first spoke.

Perhaps a few more midnight meetings in the thickest, densest parts of the jungle where Y/N won't catch a glimpse of his black tail or his four wicked pairs of claws would be lovely.

Perhaps Y/N might hunt too far into the jungle one night and get lost, unable to make it to town before morning. Eclipse could help them find shelter and a place to rest, never revealing himself, much to Y/N's growing intrigue. Maybe, once Y/N has finally fallen asleep, he can slip close enough to brush their hair across their forehead and feel their warmth and wonder how badly they would react once they realized what they were speaking to. But morning arises, as it always does, and Y/N wakes up to foggy dreams of their cheek being stroked as they were carried through the night. But it was just a dream. They don't find their friend in the jungle but they do find their way back to town—interestingly, they were a lot closer than they originally thought.

Now Cryptid Hunter Y/N with BL!Eclipse and SJ!Eclipse? That's not the best combo for a fighter who already has it out for any monsters.

BL!Eclipse understands what Y/N is; he loathes them. He wants to kill them the second they step where they shouldn't. Unfortunately, they have a very large shadow following their every move, so BL!Eclipse chooses to either stay away (the hunter can pick that naga off first for all BL!Eclipse cares) or wait until the hunter is alone, and then strike. He can easily stay out of sight and reach, but he is not fond of humans who think they can be rid of him easily.

SJ!Eclipse on the other hand is so much worse. Go figure. It's one thing to not immediately give in to him. It's another thing entirely to try and stop him. Imagine his umbrage at this little human trying to kill him. Cryptid Hunter Y/N is a fighter and isn't about to slow down to chat with what they know to be a lethal beast. Unfortunately for Y/N, that means a deathly encounter. SJ!Eclipse sees red and a living stress ball that he wants to squeeze to death after being shot at, and poor Y/N is going to endure far worse harm before their spilled blood gives SJ!Eclipse pauses and, perhaps, just one little reason to not squish this little bug quite yet.

[2af-afterdark]

Hnnnng hi new to the blog and the fandom and love the god!mc au stuff its so good.

So I'd like to toss my hat into the ring here with something I think can be juicy?

So like. What if god!mc just accepted their fate- that they're good incarnate and the Gabriel and the angels have stolen them away? Sure Mc is angry- livid specifically with Gabriel but they accept that they're god.

I dunno what godly duties mc may have but they do it- they speak to angels and smile and orders them around politely. They make heaven a bit more tolerable and maybe even slowly work to stop conflict between heaven and hell. It's all smiles and pleases and thank yous and even a few i care foe/love yous all around.

Except with Gabriel. God!mc hasn't spoken or even acknowledged him since they were taken to heaven screaming and crying and the last interaction was just the most hateful glare they could muster. And that's it- there's no smiles at Gabriel or spoken words or orders or acknowledgement. Maybe Gabriel has tried to approach mc to speak before but the inky response he gets is nothing but a blank expression with no heat or even ice behind it and a stare like they're seeing past him, waiting for another angel to come over to talk to them or if one that they want to speak with catches their eye. Its a silent refusal to acknowledge Gabriel's existence.

God!mc doesn't think it's much but they hope its a good enough punishment for the bastard.

Ohhhhh~ I always thought of MC as having some degree of hatred for the position since they would literally be abducted from their life and friends, but an MC that willingly slots into the role is an interesting choice. The question is if it's silent resignation with a dash of animosity or if they're embracing it wholeheartedly and taking delight in Gabriel's suffering. Mayhaps their warm embrace of the other angels is simply another way to punish Gabriel rather than actual affection for Heaven, in the case of a particularly manipulative MC. Ignoring him, watching his entire existence be ignored when he's always loved them... isn't that mildly cathartic? Or maybe they truly do not care. Gabriel is nothing to them.

However, it would be wrong to assume Gabriel would simply accept such treatment. He has always loved God more than any other angel according to him. There is no chance such passions would fade simply because he's being ignored. He will just have to make sure MC can't look past him anymore. He's already killed other angels before, so going further wouldn't be hard. He'll make sure MC looks his way; in awe or terror is irrelevant.

[mathanlin]

Hero/Hanahaki AU where vigilante!Tommy’s best friends with one of the League’s Enforcers.

Techno gives him food, warm coats, even hugs once they’re out of the League’s view. Tommy clings to his promise —“You’re like a brother to me.”

And then Techno turns on him.

“Tommy.”

Techno’s standing in the alleyway entrance, fingers white around his Enforcer’s baton. 

Tommy’s smile falters beneath his mask, arms falling from where he’d held them out (anticipating a hug).

“Please make this easy.”

Tommy’s gut goes cold even before Techno stalks forward.

“Tommy, please. I— I need this job. I’m sorry.”

Stupidly, Tommy almost forgets what he means by job. He’s always been Tommy’s friend first (...and maybe, just maybe, his brother.)

But he only looks like an Enforcer now.

Tommy stumbles back, shaking his head. “What? Techno, you— what are you—”

Techno squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tight with… grief?

Then he lunges. Tommy just *barely* dodges, crying out as the baton clips his shoulder.

And, driven by confused terror, he bolts. 

Techno chases. But this time, it’s not a friendly race, meant to escape the view of the League’s surveillance.

It’s a hunt. Tommy barely escapes, mask off so he can slap his hands over his mouth as Techno prowls nearby.

And then something prickles in his adrenaline-frozen gut.

He gags, desperately trying to stay silent.

It bubbles up anyways, pouring over his lips as he sobs in grief and terror. He can barely see it through his tears (ones he almost wishes Techno was here to wipe away).

The flower in his shaking hands, inky petals edged with crimson.

A black dahlia.

That’s all he learns, after he stumbles back to the half-collapsed warehouse he’s holed up in. A home he’d never shown to Techno — not out of mistrust, just shame.

It saves him now. 

But Tommy’s too broken with despair to care.

Techno corners him again a few days later.

But this time, it’s Tommy that begs first, hands lifted in surrender (not a request for a hug, for once.) “Techno? Please, I don't— what happened? Did I do something?”

(*Or are you just… doing your job?*)

And Techno… hesitates.

“Tommy,” he breathes, eyes shining with tears. “No, I just… I…”

Tommy swallows, daring to inch closer. His heart’s wailing for comfort, for *love,* and surely Techno wouldn’t hurt him. Not again.

Techno looks up, breath shuddering—

—and slams the baton into Tommy’s ribs.

It’s worse this time.

Tommy huddles in a storm drain, bruised chest aching with every blossom he heaves out. Petunias. Golden carnations. Hyacinths, more violet than the wicked bruise along his ribs.

And each choked-out flower and sob just makes the wound hurt worse.

The next time Techno finds him, Tommy’s done.

He’s paralyzed by exhaustion, flowers brimming beneath the mask he’d just managed to put on before Techno arrived, baton in hand.

So his words are muffled when he whispers, throat bloody, “Tec’no, please.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” Techno whispers, kneeling at his side. “It’s not… it’s not permanent, Tommy. The League won’t keep you forever.”

*But they’ll lock me up,” Tommy thinks, flinching as Techno grabs his wrist and pulls his arms away from his ruined chest. *They’ll hurt me.*

It’s a stupid, childish thought. Nothing could hurt him more than Techno has. 

At least he’s gentle when he snaps the cuffs around Tommy’s wrists.

But the agonizing coughs that bubble up Tommy’s chest are the furthest thing from soft. 

“Tommy,” he hears as he crumples.

It’s Techno’s voice, desperate and confused. It’s his hands that weave under Tommy’s shoulders as he heaves for air, head spinning with the cloying scent of blood and flowers.

And it’s Techno that cups his cheek.

And tears the mask off.

(The first thing Techno sees are the flowers, spilling out across the concrete in a vivid, brutal wave. Then, the blood, almost dull amidst the colorful petals.

Then, the pale, pain-twisted face below it.

The face of a kid.

If Techno could, he would’ve given up right there.

But the League’s already been called. Techno’s quota’s been filled, his job saved. His *family* saved.

And it’s too late to help Tommy now. 

All Techno can do is pray the League’s doctors can save him. Will *try* to save him, though they’ve never cared about injured Enforcers before, let alone *vigilantes.*

And that maybe Tommy doesn’t hate him too deeply.)

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Your heart is pounding and it can't be stopped

The red queen is dead! Unfortunately, her Overblot is an even more fearsome foe.

(Twst au where Overblots are apocalyptic events)

Riddle Rosehearts was dead.

Yuko had not seen the body, but she knew this to be true.

Would there even be a body? What had Crowley once told them about Overblots? They would drain the Host of power, like a soda can that would inevitably be discarded. Does that mean that the body would be tossed aside, that maybe one day they could go back and bury the poor boy? Would it simply disappear the moment there was no more mana, nothing left of the boy except for a rampaging monster? Or would the body stay there, attached to the front of it, until it decayed naturally?

Did it even matter, anymore?

A high scream met their ears.

They didn’t stop to let themselves wonder whether they recognized the voice.

Her breathing came in short, aborted gasps. Deuce’s hand, wrapped around her own, was gripping her so tightly that it was starting to hurt. Blot hung heavy in the air, thick blobs of inky blackness threatening to choke them. Her feet stumbled over cobbled streets. Ace’s collar glinted in the red-tinted sun as he struggled to tug it over his head with a newfound fervor. The trees creaked and groaned as they were ripped out of the ground one by one by the queen on a hunt. Flames spilled from Grim’s mouth as he followed at their heels, painting the world behind them in flames in hopes of slowing it. People cried out as they were found. First in surprise, then terror, then anguish and then pain and then –.

Their little group of four stumbled through the mirror.

It was as if they had stepped into another world.

The ripping, tearing sounds they had been listening to for the better part of an hour came to a halt all at once. No one was running, no one was screaming. Their peers sent their group strange looks, all hopelessly unaware of the monster that was now in their midst.

For just a moment, their group of four lingered there, a heap of teens, breathing heavy in a way that was either just regular overexertion or the beginnings of a panic attack. So shaken by the sudden change they almost forgot what was going on in the sheer strangeness of it all.

“You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a Savanaclaw second-year student commented, teasing.

“No,” Ace said, his laugh bordering on manic as it spilled from his lips. “Those are in Ramshackle, not Heartslabyul, idiot!”

Yuko wanted to join him. Laughing seemed like much more fun than whatever it was she was doing, planning and trying to figure out a way to defeat a monster that was so much more powerful than she could even dream to be.

Then she glanced back, at the mirror.

Cater held his hands up, yelling something that was inaudible to those not in the Heartslabyul pocket dimension, winking at something they couldn’t see.

A tree speared him through the chest. He choked on his usual smile. He coughed, blood speckling the untainted trunk in front of him.

The clone dissolved into nothing.

A distraction, perhaps, so people could run to find safer places to hide for the moment.

She had the sinking feeling that the plan was actually to lead the Overblot to the mirror. That he wanted to use the rest of the school as bait, just so he could live.

She turned to the innocent bystanders.

“Rosehearts-senpai has Overblotted,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm despite the way her heart thudded in her chest in time to the deceptively cheery kids song that was Painting the roses red.“He is coming. Believe me. Or don't, I couldn't care less. But we all need to run.”

It wasn’t hard to believe her.

The Overblot approached the place where the clone had fallen, the ink sloshing over the top of its jar with every lumbering step, painting the cobbled stone path black. It knelt to scoop up the tree, gently cradling it in its fingers for a moment. Blood rubbed off on its white gloves.

Dully, Yuko thought that, at least, Riddle’s ghost could at least be glad that those damn roses were finally red.

It turned to look at them them. Without a Riddle hanging on the front, screaming and crying, it was strangely eerie, to look at a faceless being, and yet know that its eyes are locked solely on you.

With intent.

It hefted the tree in its hand, preparing to throw it.

They didn’t wait to see whether or not the tree would be able to make it through the mirror.

Shoes skidded on tile as they took off running again.

People scrambled in every direction. Towards the safety of their own dorms. Trying to find a way out. A place to hide. Anything that might save them. The more they spread out, the more of them that would survive. They knew this all intrinsically.

They also knew that those who got caught would die alone.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Ace said, leading their group through the halls with ease. Despite how little time they had spent at the school so far, he knew the layout like the back of his hand. “We need to get out of here.”

“Come up with that plan on your own?” Deuce snarked.

“I’m fucking sorry do you have a better one?”

Yuko groaned. “Not the time, guys.”

They grumbled and fell silent, instead focusing on getting out the doors.

Crowds of people, heading about their days like normal, seemed confused by the group of teens that were set on getting out of the building without paying any mind to the people they might end up trampling along the way. Maybe they thought they were running from Riddle’s punishments. They wouldn’t be entirely wrong, if that was what they were guessing, but they didn’t know the full extent of things.

She should tell them the full extent.

Ace met her eyes and, briefly, in a motion so small it was almost lost in the steady bounce of pounding footsteps, shook his head.

Her voice died in her throat.

They both knew that the more people the Overblot encountered, the more it would be distracted from chasing them. That the more people they warned, the harder it would be to push through crowds, to stick together, to get away and be sure that everyone else had escaped, too.

They stepped out onto the grounds without uttering a word of warning.

Mud squished beneath their feet as they ran. It had rained earlier that morning, but now the sky was sunny. Deceptively, it was a nice day out. It felt wrong.

It was hot. The sun beat down on them relentlessly.

They were out in the open.

Others rushed into the woods, hoping to find comfort and safety with the trees as cover, but they had forgotten the dangerous wildlife and poisonous and venomous plants that would prove to be just as fatal as the Overblot. No, they had to leave, that was the only chance they had of making it out of this alive.

It would just require them running across an open field in broad daylight. It wasn’t a short sprint, either.

In the back of their minds, they knew that their school was on an island, so they probably wouldn’t be able to get away in the long run even if they did, by some stroke of luck, make it off campus. But they didn’t care. They just wanted more time.

Time they didn’t seem to have.

“AaaaAaaaCe TrrrRaaaappolA!” the creature roared from somewhere within the castle. Blot spilled from a tower window, which was helpful for trying to figure out where it had gone, but unsettling in that it was heading up the Astronomy tower, a place with an open roof and a view of the entire campus grounds. It was getting the high ground, trying to spot them. Even when lost to the blot, nothing that was formed from Riddle Rosehearts could be entirely stupid.

They were going to be found.

Ace turned a few shades more pale.

“What do you guys think are the chances we all misheard that?” he tried.

“Nonexistent,” said Grim.

Ace gave another laugh. It was bitter, unsettling, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was at this very moment that she remembered that the Queen of Roses was said to be a tyrant, yes, but that her subjects were also said to be mad.

She grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop, and he looked at her with wide, imploring eyes.

Their friends slowed as well, though they looked no happier.

“We can’t, we can’t stop,” Grim said. As a fire monster, he couldn’t cry, but it sounded like he was getting as close to it as was possible for him.

She ignored him. She knelt and grabbed two handfuls of mud, and then dumped them over Ace’s head.

He shrieked, indignant and disgusted as brown ran down the back of his neck, seeping under his collar. “Wh – what are you –?”

“Hair’s recognizable. Need to cover it.”

His eyes widened and he practically dove into the ground, rolling in the mud. Dirtying his hair and collar. If there was one thing she could respect about the boy, it was that he was surprisingly quick on the uptake, when he wanted to be.

Next, she shoved brown into Deuce’s hands.

“Do you even know what mud is –?” he started to ask.

“No, and I couldn’t care less.”

He grimaced, but started combing his fingers through his hair to dye it.

She briefly pressed her hands to the back of her own neck, allowing the excess, cool mud to bring her down before she could overheat.

That dealt with, she knelt beside Grim, who was shaking like a leaf despite the heat and exhaustion. Carefully, she ran her fingers through his fur. He complained about the mud, but ultimately leaned into her touch regardless.

She pressed a kiss to the top of her familiar’s head.

He leapt into her arms, and she shouldn’t have had enough strength to carry him, and yet she did. The monster looped his arms around her neck, hugging her close, and he half-sobbed into her shoulder.

“We’ll make it out of this,” she promised. “And we’ll tell everyone that you, the Great Lord Grim defeated the nasty Overblot, and you’ll be the greatest mage in the world at age, like, one and a half.”

Grim, for once, didn’t take the opportunity to spout off about his greatness.

He trembled in her arms.

She thought he was falling apart at the seams.

She thought she felt the same.

But she didn’t have time for any of that. She was the smart one, the one who had figured out what to do at the mines, and she would figure out what to do here, too. Her parents had named her Yuko – helpful child – and she was going to help her friends get out of this damned school. And then she was going to figure out how to make a portal back to her own world, and drag these three idiots along with her so they wouldn’t have to experience anything as dangerous as this ever again.

It was what they deserved.

(It was a pipe dream and she knew it.)

Only once they got what they deserved would she allow herself to finally break down.

For now, she had problems to solve.

Eventually, finally, the pair of mages she called her friends were entirely average-looking, unrecognizable.

Just in time, too, because the Overblot finally reached the top of the Astronomy tower. It stood upon the precipice, leaning over, spilling black down the sides.

Yuko covered Grim with her school uniform jacket, hiding his flaming ears and electric blue eyes from view.

The Overblot peered over the grounds. For a moment, its gaze landed on them.

It continued on.

It didn’t find what it was looking for.

It screamed, frustrated, and leapt directly from the tower. The ground, already unsteady and muddy beneath their feet, shook.

It paid their shouts of surprise (and horror as it sunk in just how large the thing was) no mind. Instead, it turned and ran into the forest, bowling over trees as it went.

For just a moment, none of them even dared to breathe.

They looked at each other, wondering if they had all imagined it. Whether the stress had broken their minds already.

Surely, they couldn’t actually be escaping.

Deuce grinned widely, too widely, it didn’t fit his face at all.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her to her feet, pulling her back into a run. Grim curled tighter in her arms, trying to make himself more aerodynamic since they were not risking stopping even if just for a few seconds so she could put him down. Ace followed after them, hot on their heels.

The gates came into view.

A breathless laugh escaped her. She almost couldn’t believe it.

She shouldn’t have.

They couldn’t even get within three meters of the gates.

A forcefield no one had ever noticed before – no one had ever been this desperate to leave before – glimmered purple as they bounced off of it, the four of them tumbling back into the grass.

It was deathly silent.

They were… stuck.

In here.

With the monster that was actively calling for one of their heads.

They rushed forward, fists pounding against the forcefield, desperate wails spilling from their throats, begging that somehow someone would pass by and hear and be able to help.

No one came.

Yuko sunk to her knees.

“We’re doomed,” she breathed.

“No. Nonono! Yuko, don’t say that! You have to have a plan!” Deuce almost begged. “You always have a plan.”

She stared at the wrought iron in front of her. At the trees they could see through the bars, at the safety that was so close and yet so far.

“I – I don’t know.”

[unfriendlyamazon]

dead by daylight au (wip wednesday)

got sick this weekend and was literally watching dead by daylight gameplay as asmr i've threatened this before but here's the start of my kaijou dbd au be aware this is horror i'm going all in on the violence, gore, and terror of having a big honking monster want to fuck you

Jounouchi’s sneakers barely made a sound as he crept through the tall grass. Dense fog folded over the strange landscape that twisted all around. Overturned scientific equipment flickered to life briefly, sending ghostly lights over the cracked concrete. He kept to the edges of the shadows. Sometimes, in the distance, he could see the shadow of a person, peering through the gloom and disappearing just as quickly. He listened for music, and the steadiness of his heart.

A single spotlight cut through the darkness of the tall grass. A generator, one someone had started working on. It hummed with baleful coughs of black plumes. He removed the red casing to peer at the interior. His whole body shivered as his hands worked, keeping an eye out on all sides. His hands halted when he heard a distant scream. It cut through the center of the map, with black crows bursting from the brush. Light burst in his vision, and far away he could see the shape of his friends. The scream was Anzu’s, he recognized it as soon as he heard it. Her shape hung from the low hooks that dotted the area, legs kicking the air as her weight bore down on the rusted metal. Yuugi and Honda were across the map, bent over their own generator. That made Jounouchi the closest, and as the tall shape of the killer turned his face Jounouchi’s way, he knew he was screwed.

He dropped away from the generator and ducked behind the nearest half wall. A tall shadow poured through the fog. Its shape mimicked the clean swooping curves of the crashed space station that shattered across the ground. Long spikes made broad shoulders, and the white cape that fluttered down disguised the thin black limbs underneath. Two eyes shone in the darkness, bright and blinding blue. They blinked across the landscape, and as they met him, Jounouchi burst forward. A mechanical whirr sounded behind him, and as he saw a window into the compound, he vaulted one handed over the dingy metal right as a blue flash burst towards him. It slammed against the wall to his right, and Jounouchi didn’t stop. Music blared in his air, the rapid squeal of a horror anthem, and his heartbeat was loud in his ear. The rounded corridors of the spaceship could send you in circles if you didn’t know what to look for, but Jounouchi had started to remember. Left to the bodies still trapped in hazmat suits flung across the floor. Right past the central engine that was now inert and sparking. He could hear the killer behind him, crashing against wooden pallets and firing off attacks whenever it was close enough. Jounouchi slid across a covered path and kept his momentum going straight, and too late he realized where he was. No, no, it was left instead of right. Not here. Anywhere but here.

He staggered back into the basement. There was no way out but right in front of him. Three hooks decorated the center, with loot tucked away. Here, a metal slab lay covered in an inky black goo that still squirmed. No, no, he had to get out now!

He swiveled, and stopped. The killer stood at the entranced of the basement. Tall, oh, so tall, he towered in a long sloop, arms boxed in front of him. White armor made sharp edges to his torso, with the long white leather coat hanging over feet the arched forward on short heels. His limbs were like black organic cables tied together in the facsimile of a man, connecting the armored hands like rope. The black crawled up the length of his neck, stopping short of the chin, where an almost human face grinned at Jounouchi. Blue eyes like headlights peered through green hair, and the skin was stretched over his face like a mask. His mouth pulled back, showing rows of razor teeth and a black tongue. His toes dragged forward, left arm bulging momentarily as the coils beneath shifted and rolled over each other. The arm bent jerkily, and then with a burst of energy it started forward, grabbing Jounouchi by the neck.

It felt like years ago now that Jounouchi and his friends had first seen the Cyborg crawl from the wreckage of the Kaiba Corp space station. It had landed on an island off shore of their home town, and so they took the ferry to explore. Yuugi was an avid believer in cryptids and sure they would see something strange, and how right he’d been. They’d run from the creature, and the fog had enveloped the island whole. Here, there were no days to count by, only lives lost or won. It was always night, always gloom, always oppressively penned in. After the first few deaths, the shock had worn off. They always ended up back in the same place, the campfire, where they waited for the next hunt to begin.

“Fuck you!” Jounouchi snarled, kicking his feet against the creature. He bared his teeth and shouted again, “Fuck off!”

He bit down into the strange coils that made up the Cyborg’s tendons. His teeth sunk into the sludge, and he gagged immediately on the slick oily coat, and then the burst of black oil that drenched his tongue. They Cyborg growled, and a sparking sound was the only warning Jounouchi had before electricity burst against his skin. He howled, keening back, and his body slammed onto the metal slab. His throat choked with the unnatural blood, and he groaned as he tried to roll off his side. He caught a glimpse of the creature raising a shaky armored hand to close over the black tendril that now wailed wildly in the breeze. It twisted and folded like a snake, but he managed to grasp the coil and squeeze it back to his limbs, closing his fist over it. Underneath the white, the black shadow of a body shifted like skin shouldn’t.

Jounouchi twisted off the metal slab and tried to squeeze around the Cyborg before it could catch him, and instantly a clawed hand curled at his back. He was thrown bodily back onto the slab and held there with a metal palm. Clawed fingers scraped against the blue shirt he wore, tearing at the fabric as it squeezed. He looked up, and the Cyborg was standing over him, too human face staring down at him. Electric green hair, bright spotlight eyes, and a mouth that twisted up into a smile. Jounouchi could see clearly the marking on the stiff collar: S.Kaiba.

“I can sense you,” the Cyborg said, a metallic gnarl to his voice. “Your fear, your heat, your heart.”

His claws dug deeper into Jounouchi’s skin. He sucked in a breath. Why the creature hadn’t thrown him over his shoulder and dragged him to the hook, he didn’t know, but it gave the others time. The longer he played with Jounouchi, the easier it would be for his friends.

He brought his foot up, kicking it against the Cyborg’s chin. The creature grabbed his leg and dragged him up while still keeping his chest pinned. He shifted his weight so he was completely over Jounouchi. It was all the more apparent that whatever was beneath the white armor, it wasn’t human. The coils rolled against each other, stirring where they felt Jounouchi’s heat. The nest of snakes beneath his body reached over Jounouchi’s skin.

“Something about you,” the Cyborg hissed, and his black tongue stretched past his teeth, slathing against Jounouchi’s cheek, “is so human.”

Fuck, for how skinny he looked, he was heavy. Jounouchi twisted this way and that, but he was held hard against the strange shape underneath. Coils separated from his tendons and started to reach across Jounouchi’s body. It was a curious, almost tender search. The slick oiled sensation of the tendrils made his skin shiver. They had a thick weight to them, almost cool against his sweat drenched body. His stomach flexed instinctively, and his lips shuddered as he breathed out.

“Hook me already,” Jounouchi said. “I’m caught.”

“Like a bug.” The Cyborg cackled, an electronic sound that glitched as his hand dragged down Jounouchi’s shirt. It tore at the fabric, revealing his chest.

He hadn’t seen sunlight in he didn’t know how long, and his own body seemed pale, not helped by the sheen of sweat that coated him.Ancient scars made patchworks on his skin, including the top surgery scars bright pink against his usually tanned body. The Cyborg traced the marks, and he let out another shaky breath.

“Let’s see,” the Cyborg said, still grinning, “what makes you tick.”