#Morally Grey Reader

[msilwrites]

The Catfish

Catfish! Reader, Depressed! Reader, Dead Inside! Reader, Maladaptive Day Dreamer! Reader, Sad! Reader, Unemployed! Reader, Shy! Reader, Morally Grey! Reader, Yandere! Price, Yandere! John Price, Obsessive, Price, Obsessive! John Price,

A/N: I’ve seen a lot of morally grey Y/N OCs out there, and I thought, why not take it further? Let’s push the limits. Let’s get into the darker side, where the lines blur and nothing’s ever as simple as it seems.

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Your life feels like it’s at a standstill—unemployed, or simply watching opportunities slip through your fingers, to depress, too weak, to down to go for it. Every day blurs into the next, doom-scrolling through social media, drowning in the curated lives of others, trying to ignore the quiet ache of dissatisfaction.

Books are your escape. A mix of romance and dark, Machiavellian stories fills your time, each one offering a temporary reprieve from the monotony and gloom. Instagram reels and TikToks flood your feed, booktok recommendations mixing with relationship advice, until one thought lingers—why not try a dating app? Not for love. Not even for a real date. Just for something. Attention, validation—some small proof that you still exist.

Dating isn’t new to you, nor are dating apps. But right now, you don’t have the energy to take a new picture, to present yourself in the best possible way. Instead, you pick an older photo—one with just the right lighting, the right angle, something that has an air of mystery. With a few subtle edits—smoother skin, slightly sharpened features—it becomes something almost... unreal. Perfect in a way you aren’t. Unrecognisable enough to be safe.

You swipe. Browse. And then—you see him.

John Price.

Something about him makes you pause. Maybe it’s the rough-edged charm, the mix of gruff and steady. On impulse, you swipe right. When it’s a match, you hesitate before messaging first—but when you do, the conversation flows effortlessly. You pretend to be someone else, someone confident, intriguing. And for the first time in a long time, you feel that way too.

Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months. You talk every night, each message pulling you deeper into something you can’t control. You never planned for it to last this long. Never expected to enjoy it. And then he asks—Let’s take this off the app. Let’s talk properly.

Panic coils in your chest. Giving him your number is out of the question—it would expose too much, make you traceable. Instead, you suggest a messaging app that keeps your identity hidden. He agrees. The illusion remains intact.

And still, it grows. You’re not just talking anymore. You’re something. His words make your heart race. His voice, the rare times he sends recordings, leaves you breathless. It’s intoxicating. Dangerous. Because eventually, he asks the one thing you can’t give.

Let’s meet.

Excuses become your shield. You’re busy. Traveling. Something came up. You deflect, redirect, anything to avoid the inevitable. But you can’t do this forever. And deep down, you know it.

So you end it.

A long, heartfelt message—apologies wrapped in regret, a quiet confession that you just can’t. That it was never meant to go this far. That he deserves better. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you block him. On the dating app. On the messenger. Everywhere.

Your heart aches. Not just because you liked him, but because you’ll never know what could have been. Because you destroyed something that wasn’t even real in the first place.

But what you don’t know—what you can’t know—is that John Price isn’t the kind of man who lets things go.

----------

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that John Price wasn’t just some “government employee.”

He didn’t put specifics on his profile. No mention of his career. You assumed, based on his dry responses and the absence of bragging, that he was just another pencil-pusher, a bureaucrat with a good-looking face, one who maybe dealt with spreadsheets and red tape. Easy to dismiss. He didn’t seem like someone who could leave an impact.

But you were wrong.

John Price is SAS. Trained to track. To hunt. His mind, to never let go.

The moment you broke things off, he didn’t disappear. He didn’t move on. He didn’t even give you the satisfaction of feeling like you were in control of the situation.

John’s mind doesn’t work like yours. He doesn’t take “no” for an answer.

You thought he’d accept the closure. That you’d get away clean, hidden behind the veil of your catfishing persona. But for him, that’s just the beginning.

In your mind, you justified it all. Surely, you weren’t the only one in line. After all, he’s good-looking, charming, and probably has a queue of women eager to talk to him. He’s the type of man who can have his pick—you’re just a small fry in the grand scheme of things. You told yourself he’d forget about you, move on to someone more real, someone better. This was just a pseudo-relationship, something that never had the chance to be anything more. So why wouldn’t you end it before it got any deeper? Before you could get attached, before he could hurt you with his inevitable disinterest?

It was easier this way, right? He’d find someone else, someone who wasn’t hiding behind a heavily modified picture—unrecognizable, almost perfect—and a name no one would ever associate with the real you. You, the woman who couldn’t even look herself in the mirror anymore without feeling shame. And you—you would never have to face the sting of rejection, the disgust in his eyes, the cold way he would scold you for deceiving him.

You convinced yourself it was the safest route, the only way to keep your heart intact.

But in the back of your mind, there was always the nagging thought: What if he doesn’t forget about you?

You laugh at the thought, shaking your head as if it’s some absurd notion. As if? You mutter to yourself before closing the app, tossing your phone onto the bed. It bounces once, twice, before settling. You let out a long sigh, then close your eyes, willing yourself to relax. A nap sounds nice, maybe just for a few hours—long enough to shake off the weight of the situation.

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When he doesn’t hear back from you, when he notices the blocks on the dating app and the messaging app, something in him shifts. He becomes methodical, patient—like a predator picking up a fresh trail.

And he knows how to find you.

He starts with the smallest things. The little details in your conversations—the places you mentioned, the books you read, the music you listened to. He’s tracking. Not just your words, but your habits. Your likes. Your interests. Each clue that could lead him to you, like a breadcrumb trail you unknowingly left behind.

He’s not in a rush. This isn’t a chase; it’s a hunt.

The longer he watches, the clearer it becomes: You’re not just a fleeting encounter. You’re the one. The puzzle he must solve. He knows he has to get close, to get past the walls you’ve built.

And he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

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John began his hunt, a quiet, patient pursuit that would leave no stone unturned.

The nickname you had chosen for the dating app—so unique, so personal—was the first clue. It wasn’t just something random, he realized. It was a key to something deeper, something hidden just beneath the surface.

He traced it. The path it led him on was winding, but it was clear and deliberate. Your image, that photo you’d used, caught his eye next. He zoomed in, examining every detail. The way the light hit your face, the angle, the soft texture of the background. It wasn’t just a casual snapshot. It was deliberate, curated. There was something about it that felt... polished.

Then, his eyes locked onto it.

The Royal College of Music. The concert hall.

It was a place he recognised immediately, and for a split second, he allowed himself a small, knowing smirk. You had been there, seated in that hall. The way you looked, so poised, so perfect, in the middle of that sea of sound, it was no accident. Your friend must’ve taken the picture. But even in that moment, you seemed so out of reach, so untouchable.

But that wouldn’t stop him.

He pushed forward, searching for more. Minutes later, his screen lit up with a new discovery—a Spotify playlist. The name was the same as your nickname, and when he clicked on it, the songs flooded in. The same songs you’d mentioned in passing. Those little details you’d carelessly slipped into conversation, thinking they were nothing.

It wasn’t coincidence.

John leaned back, his pulse steady, as he took it all in. It was a breadcrumb trail, and you had unwittingly left the map for him to follow.

And then, something clicked.

The playlist. The songs. The name.

He typed it into his search bar, just to see. Just to see what else would come up.

Your LinkedIn.

His heart skipped a beat. This was it. The final piece.

John leaned forward, fingers moving rapidly as he clicked through. There you were, full name now revealed, a neat professional profile staring back at him. Every detail lined up—your job, your education, even your location.

You were closer than he thought.

He smiled to himself, leaning back in his chair, the thrill of the chase finally rushing through him.

You were no longer hiding. No longer just a name behind a pretty picture. You were real.

And now, he knew exactly who you were.

This wasn't over. Far from it.

It was just the beginning.

----------

You almost didn’t go out tonight.

It had been so easy to just sink into routine—doom-scrolling through your phone, putting off responsibilities, ignoring the world beyond your bedroom. But your friends had insisted. An orchestra performance. You always loved instrumental music. It was one of the few things that could lift your mood, transport you somewhere else.

So, you dragged yourself up and went through the long, tedious process of making yourself presentable—no, more than presentable. Polished. Together. A mask, really, but one you were good at wearing.

The skincare routine, the precise trim of your brows, the careful shaving. Contouring, blending, soft touches of highlight and color to shape the face you wanted the world to see. It was muscle memory now, an exhausting ritual that took time, patience, and just the right amount of self-delusion.

When you finally looked in the mirror, the transformation was complete.

You almost looked like her—the woman in the picture you had used on the app. The confident, successful version of yourself. Not the girl stuck in limbo, unemployed, wasting time. No one would know the difference.

And for tonight, you could pretend, too.

----------

The pub near the concert hall was quiet, barely a handful of patrons scattered across the space. You were early, too early, and your friends hadn’t arrived yet. No sense in standing outside in the cold, so you slipped inside, ordered a pint, and made your way to one of the empty booths near the back.

The first sip was soothing, grounding. You exhaled, letting yourself settle into the moment, allowing the warm buzz of the pub to wrap around you.

And then—

A shadow passed over your table.

Someone slid into the seat across from you, smooth, unhurried. Not a stranger looking for an empty spot. No, this was deliberate.

You barely had time to react before a deep, familiar voice cut through the space between you.

"Hello, Birdie."

Your blood ran cold.

John Price.

He was sitting right there, across from you, arms resting casually on the table, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

Your stomach flipped, your throat tightening. A slow, creeping dread spread through your limbs, pinning you to your seat. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t know who you are.

But he did.

And from the way his lips curled into something almost—pleased—as if he had been waiting for this moment.

For you.

A/N: Wooo!! Maybe I’ll write the next part when the inspiration hits? I’d love to hear what you guys think though! If you have any suggestions, feel free to share—I’m open to ideas! 😊

[maraudereestauderelb]

What if you're the defendant in one of the trials after the first War against Voldemort?

Hello everyone,

but a special "Hello" to those who love morally grey characters and who imagine themselves a little more "layered" when it comes to the World of Harry Potter and the Marauders.

We can't all be noble Gryffindores who never make any mistakes or wrong choices, can we?

Don't tell me, you've never imagined yourself using a little...dark magic...

Join me and be part of your very own trial! Sounds like fun, right?!

Are you guilty? What have you done? Who are you on the inside? - Let's find out together!

Oh and if you want a little music to set the tone, I've got a little recommendation.

It was a dark room. The tall walls and floor were covered in black marble tiles with the result that every step taken by one of the wizards and witches and every word said inside the biggest courtroom of the magical ministry was echoing, making the volume almost unbearable. 

The wooden stands at the end of the room were filled with about fifty rather old witches and wizards dressed in plum-covered robes with elaborate silver initials on them, the members of the Wizengamot. Next to them sat one wizard dressed in black at a tribune. His name Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the prosecutor. 

The rows around the circular room overcrowded with spectators waiting for the trial to begin, amongst them a lot of journalist. In the center of it all was one single chair on which a young woman was sitting, magically bound to it. Behind the chair in the center was another bench filled with five witches and wizards, the witnesses. On the left to the bench was a tiny desk with a chair on which another woman was sitting, her lawyer. 

The young woman in the center was nervous, her body slightly shaking, but nobody seemed to notice. On the outside she looked strong and unfazed. But she was worried. Worried she would lose the trial, worried about the two dementors guarding the door, worried she had to go back to the prison which had been her home for the past month, Askaban. 

She had been in the room on the tenth floor of the Ministry of Magic before, but as one of the visitors. The trial back then had been extremely private, the ministry trying to keep everything as secret as possible without getting much attention, but her very own trial was different. The room filled with those who wanted to see another Death Eater and murderer locked away for life. 

Her heartbeat was going crazy and she was on the verge of tears already. She didn’t dare to look back to the witnesses behind her. The people who had her fate right in their hands. The odds weren’t good and she knew it. 

The past month in Askaban had her losing her mind. 

The young witch cringed when suddenly the prosecutor cleared his throat and with magically enhanced voice said: “Case 5895026. The magical ministry against Miss Y/N Y/S/N Y/F/N.” Within the blink of an eye, everybody had gone quiet and Y/N’s heart had stopped beating for a second. 

“Miss Y/F/N”, he continued looking at her with disgust, just like everybody else: “You have been brought here to the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime about betrayal, plotting and murder. You are being charged with the murder of seven witches and wizards including two children of the ages four and three. What do you plead?” 

“Not guilty”, her lawyer suddenly got up from her chair. “The defender Hailey Cornelia Carter”, Crouch said: “And todays witnesses are Professor Filius Flitwick, former teacher of the accused, Y/M/N, mother of the accused, Arabella McKinnon, family member of the victims, Alastor Moody, Auror, and Rabastan Lestrange.” 

The witnesses nodded one after another before Crouch went on: “You’re advised to leave the court room until you’re called.” 

Until each and every one of them had left the room, Y/N hadn’t dared to turn around. She couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t look at her mother. She had no idea whether her mother believed the accusations or not. Y/N hadn’t talked to her for months. What if she believed her very own daughter was guilty? 

“Today we are talking about the events during the night of the 26th of July in the year 1970, where three Death Eaters attacked the McKinnons with Fiendfyre and burned down their house, killing seven witches and wizards. Paul McKinnon, Elisabeth McKinnon, their daughters Marlene McKinnon and Juliana Miller, Juliana’s husband Alfred Miller and their daughter, Pauline, and son, William. Ladies and Gentlemen, we are talking about a crime involving very dark and mighty magic. A forbidden curse. A curse which was purposely used to kill not only adults but two little children as well. On the night of the 26th of July in the year 1970 seven people had to die a horrible and extremely cruel death. It had been a quiet night like every other until their house went up in smoke and fire, because a coward had attacked them from a distance without a warning. And Miss Y/F/N here is accused of being said witch.” 

During Crouch’s speech the young witch in the middle of the room hadn’t raised her head a single time. Her brown eyes were glued to her hands. Never had she ever imagined she could end up in this position. She had been a good kid, a hardworking student, a loyal friend. And yet she was right where she was. In the middle of a courtroom, magically bound to a chair, in front of her the Wizengamot. She didn’t belong there and yet she felt guilt heavy on her shoulders. 

James’, Lily’s and Peter’s deaths, Sirius’s and then her arrest felt like they happened years ago, in another life, but she knew they had only happened a months. Her friends…they were all dead, or worse. 

“And I know what everybody in this room is thinking right now: Why? Why would a young witch do something as horrible as this. And the answer…the answer is simple, ladies and gentlemen, out of love.” 

Sirius. They were trying to blame this on him as well? 

“Miss Carter”, Crouch looked at Hailey: “You have the word.” 

“Thank you, Mister Crouch”, Hailey nodded in his direction and got up with an almost unrecognizable sigh. Y/N knew how nervous she was. This was only her second trial, but she had fought so hard to even get her a trial, although everybody already seemed sure about the outcome. It was hopeless.  

“First of all”, Hailey shrugged and casually leaned against the chair Y/N was sitting on: “Mister Crouch, you were wrong. Not everybody in this room was thinking what you pointed out mere seconds ago, because the question I have been asking myself ever since my client got arrested is: Why now? My client got arrested on the third of November 1971, a month ago, but the crime she is being accused of happened more than a year before that. So, I’ve been wondering…why not earlier? ...And then I knew the answer to it, because you never had the slightest evidence, you never had and you still don’t. My client, a young witch who never did anybody any harm, is suddenly accused of killing not only one person, but seven with a curse so dark, I bet, not even you as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would know how to successfully perform it. How should a twenty year old witch do it then? This entire trial is ridiculous! There is no proof and my client is innocent!” 

“So what you are saying Miss Carter is that your client, Miss Y/F/N, never would have been able to evoke a Fiendfyre? That she is lacking the skill to do so? Miss Y/FN, are you supporting this statement?” But before she was able to answer Hailey said: “Of course she does!” 

“Why don’t we ask someone who could give us a more competent opinion on this. I call Professor Filius Flitwick to the witness stand.” 

Hailey stepped aside as the small figure of Professor Filius Flitwick entered the courtroom. His hesitant steps echoed off the black marble walls, each one punctuating the rising tension in the room. Y/N kept her gaze locked on her trembling hands, unable to meet the professor’s eyes. She had always admired him, had always seen him as more than a teacher—a guide, someone who had encouraged her love for magic before that love became an obsession. 

Flitwick climbed into the witness stand, his expression betraying his reluctance. “Professor Flitwick,” Barty Crouch began, his voice sharp and cutting. “You were Miss Y/F/N’s teacher during her time at Hogwarts, correct?” 

“Yes,” Flitwick replied, his voice soft but steady. “I taught her Charms throughout her seven years at the school.” 

“And how would you describe her abilities?” Crouch leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. 

Flitwick sighed, wringing his hands. “Y/N was… exceptional. She was one of the brightest students I’ve ever had the privilege of teaching. Talented, driven, and deeply curious. In her final years, she was the top of her class in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms.” 

A murmur rippled through the audience. Y/N’s heart clenched as she felt every word like a dagger in her chest. Her gaze flicked up for a brief moment, catching the face of someone she desperately wanted to avoid, seated in the audience. Her former friend’s face was a mask of cold contempt, and Y/N quickly looked away. 

Crouch’s lips curled into a slight smile. “A prodigy, then. Surely, someone with such talent would have the knowledge and skill to perform a curse as advanced as Fiendfyre?” 

Hailey interjected, her voice calm but firm. “Professor Flitwick, in your opinion, would my client ever have been interested in such magic?” 

Flitwick hesitated, his small hands gripping the edge of the stand. “Not at first,” he admitted, his voice laced with sadness. “Y/N had always been eager to learn, but in her last year, I noticed… a change.” 

“What kind of change?” Crouch prompted. 

“She became distant, withdrawn. One day, I discovered a forbidden book in her possession. A text on the Dark Arts. I confiscated it, of course, but… she was different after that. She looked tired, as if something was draining her. She seemed... lost.” 

Y/N closed her eyes, memories flooding her mind. The long nights pouring over that book in the Room of Requirement. The allure of knowledge so forbidden it felt intoxicating. How she had used the Marauder’s Map and Sirius’s Invisibility Cloak to sneak into the restricted section. Her thirst for understanding had felt insatiable, but it was never meant to harm anyone. It was for knowledge, for power over her own destiny, not for destruction. 

“Professor,” Crouch’s voice broke through her thoughts, “do you believe Miss Y/F/N was capable of summoning Fiendfyre?” 

Flitwick’s face crumpled, and he looked directly at Y/N for the first time. She finally met his eyes, pleading silently. But she knew the answer before he spoke. 

“I do,” he said softly, the words falling like a death knell. The room erupted in gasps and whispers, but all Y/N could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Flitwick turned to her, his face etched with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

The words felt heavier than the chains binding her to the chair. For the first time, Y/N felt tears prick her eyes, but she forced them back. Her voice—her defense—felt smaller than ever. 

Hailey stepped forward again, her tone sharp. “Professor Flitwick, isn’t it also true that Y/N excelled in all forms of magic, not just the Dark Arts? That she showed immense skill in protective spells and healing charms? Skills that contradict the accusation that she would ever commit such heinous acts?” 

Flitwick nodded, but his earlier words hung in the air like a specter. The damage had been done. 

As Professor Flitwick stepped down from the witness stand, the tension in the room seemed to coil tighter around Y/N’s chest. Her breath hitched, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. She knew who was next. 

Her mother. 

They hadn’t spoken in months—since her arrest, since everything fell apart. But even before that, the rift between them had widened, starting the day her sister was killed. The guilt was unbearable. Her younger sister, bright and determined, had followed Y/N’s footsteps into the Order of the Phoenix. It was unusual for purebloods, but their family had stood firmly on the right side of this war. Her parents had been proud. 

Then came the mission with Marlene McKinnon. 

The night she didn’t return. 

The news had shattered their family. Y/N had stopped going home after that, unable to face her parents. She had joined the Order first, after all, and without her, maybe her sister wouldn’t have followed. Maybe she’d still be alive. 

A rustle of movement brought her back to the present. Her mother stepped into the witness stand, her robes slightly askew, her face pale and drawn. Y/N didn’t dare lift her eyes to meet her mother’s. She couldn’t bear to see the grief, or worse, the doubt. 

“Please state your name,” Barty Crouch instructed, his tone professional but with an edge of impatience. 

“Y/M/N Y/L/N,” her mother said, her voice trembling slightly. 

Crouch nodded. “Mrs. Y/L/N, you are the mother of the accused. Can you tell us what you know about your daughter’s allegiances?” 

Her mother took a deep breath, glancing briefly at Y/N before looking out over the courtroom. “For what I knew… my daughter joined the Order of the Phoenix with good intentions. She wanted to fight against You-Know-Who and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. When her friends had asked her to join them in the order, she had been excited!” 

A murmur rippled through the audience, but it was quickly silenced by a sharp look from Crouch. He stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back. “Which friends are we talking about?” 

“James Potter, Sirius Black-” Gasps echoed through the room. 

“Good intentions, you say. But do you have any evidence to support this claim?” 

Her mother hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Finally, her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “No. I don’t.” 

Tears welled in her mother’s eyes, and her voice cracked as she continued. “But I know my daughter. I know she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—do something so… so monstrous. I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.” 

Crouch pounced. “When was the last time you spoke with your daughter, Mrs. Y/L/N?” 

“Months ago,” her mother admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “After her sister’s death… it became too painful to—” 

“And did you notice changes in her behavior?” Crouch interrupted, his tone cutting. “Did she seem… different?” 

“Yes,” her mother said reluctantly. “But the war has changed all of us. It’s taken so much from us. Her sister’s death…” Her voice broke. “It broke her.” 

“And what about her relationship with Sirius Black?” Crouch pressed. “How would you describe it?” 

Her mother seemed taken aback by the question but answered after a pause. “Strong. Impulsive. She loved him deeply, perhaps obsessively, as young people often do at that age.” 

“Could he have influenced her?” Crouch asked sharply. 

“No!” Her mother’s response was immediate, almost panicked. “I don’t believe he would ever…” 

But Crouch wasn’t finished. “Didn’t you just say that your daughter wouldn’t have joined the Order of the Phoenix if not for Sirius Black?” 

Her mother’s eyes widened, realizing her mistake too late. “I—yes, but—” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Crouch cut her off, his tone triumphant. “You’ve made your position clear. If Sirius Black could influence her to join the Order, who’s to say he couldn’t influence her to commit darker acts? Perhaps their loyalty to You-Know-Who was simply well-concealed, a strategy to infiltrate and betray.” 

“That’s not true!” her mother cried, tears streaming down her face. “She’s innocent! She would never—she couldn’t—” Her voice broke completely, and she looked at Y/N, desperation in her eyes. “I’ll get you out of this,” she promised, her voice trembling. “I know you’re innocent, sweetheart. I know.” 

Y/N couldn’t look at her. Her mother’s words cut deeper than any accusation. Innocent. The word felt like a stone in her chest, because she wasn’t sure it was true. She had never intended to hurt anyone, never wanted to stray so close to the darkness. But her thirst for knowledge, her reckless love for Sirius—they had all led her here, to this chair, with her prisoner number inked into her skin like a brand. 

And for the first time, she wondered if maybe she did belong here. 

Arabella McKinnon walked into the witness stand with a presence that silenced the room. Her grief was palpable, etched into her features like a permanent scar. She knew Arabella’s job today wasn’t to present facts—it was to stir emotions, to make sure no one left this courtroom doubting who the villain was. 

Arabella spoke with a quiet dignity at first, her voice steady but heavy with sorrow. She described the McKinnons—their warmth, their bravery, the way Marlene had laughed so easily, even in the darkest of times. She described the children, their lives snuffed out before they had even truly begun. Her words painted vivid, haunting images, and the room hung on every syllable. 

“They were everything to me,” Arabella said, her voice breaking. “And they died screaming. My family burned alive because someone—because she”—her trembling hand pointed directly at Y/N—“decided they didn’t deserve to live.” 

A sob erupted somewhere in the audience, and Y/N felt like the floor beneath her chair was crumbling. She wanted to scream, to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat felt like it was closing, the air in the room thick and suffocating. 

“And for what?” Arabella continued, her voice rising. “For power? For loyalty to that… that monster? You knew them, Y/N! You knew them, and you did it anyway!” 

“I didn’t—” Y/N began to whisper, but Arabella cut her off, her grief giving way to fury. 

“Don’t you dare speak!” Arabella’s voice cracked like a whip. “You don’t get to sit there and pretend you’re innocent. You deserve Azkaban. You deserve to rot there for the rest of your miserable life, with nothing but the screams of my family to keep you company!” 

The courtroom erupted into chaos. Shouts and murmurs filled the air, but all Y/N could hear were Arabella’s words, echoing like a curse in her mind. Her stomach twisted painfully, nausea clawing its way up her throat. She tried to suppress it, to hold herself together, but the pressure was unbearable. As Arabella was escorted out of the courtroom, still sobbing and shouting curses at her, Y/N doubled over. 

She barely managed to turn her head before she vomited onto the cold marble floor next to her chair. The bile burned her throat, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain in her chest. She stayed hunched over, her hair falling in a curtain around her face, trying to catch her breath as tears streamed down her cheeks. The courtroom was silent now, save for the faint echoes of her retching. 

Her gaze, blurry and unfocused, drifted upward, searching the crowded bleachers. She was looking for one face. One pair of eyes. She found them, but the expression she saw was ice cold. No sympathy, no compassion. 

Her former friend stared down at her, and Y/N’s heart shattered all over again. The words they had once exchanged, years ago, came rushing back with painful clarity. 

“We may fight for different sides, but I’ll never betray you, Y/N. You’ll never find a dagger in your back held by me.” 

The promise had been made in the shadow of their diverging choices, shaped as much by the war as by the men they loved—Sirius and Rabastan. But now, it felt hollow, broken. Y/N dropped her gaze to the chains on her wrists, unable to bear the emptiness in her friend’s eyes. 

She wasn’t sure what hurt more: Arabella’s fury or the silence of someone she had once called a sister. 

As Hailey stood to cross-examine Arabella’s devastating testimony, Y/N could feel the weight of hopelessness settling deeper into her chest. Her defender was determined, her voice steady as she tried to redirect the courtroom’s focus. But it was no use. The emotions stirred by Arabella’s words hung in the air like smoke, suffocating any attempt to shift the narrative. The damage was done. 

Hailey returned to her seat, her hands clenched tightly, and for the first time, Y/N saw doubt flicker in her eyes. There was no saving this. The audience murmured restlessly as Barty Crouch called the next witness. 

“Alastor Moody.” 

The sound of Moody’s wooden leg hitting the marble floor was loud, deliberate, as he approached the stand. Each step sent another dagger of dread into Y/N’s gut. She knew Moody would bury her. He’d never trusted her, not from the moment she joined the Order. A pureblood with ties to the Black family, the Lestranges? To him, she was a walking liability. What would he say now that Sirius and her had both been arrested? The thought that Sirius was being dragged through the mud, even in her trial, made her feel sick all over again. She clung to the belief that Sirius’s trial, whenever it came, would vindicate him. She knew him better than anyone—it simply didn’t make sense that he’d betray James and Lily. 

“State your name and occupation,” Crouch said as Moody settled into the stand. 

“Alastor Moody. Auror,” he replied, his magical eye spinning wildly, taking in every corner of the room. When it passed over Y/N, she felt as though her soul was being laid bare. 

“Mr. Moody,” Crouch began, “you’ve known the accused for some time, haven’t you?” 

“I have,” Moody said gruffly. “Worked with her in the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“And what was your impression of her?” 

Moody’s lips curled into something between a grimace and a smirk. “I never fully trusted her,” he said bluntly. “She’s got the bloodline, the connections, and that… feeling about her. You’ve been an Auror as long as I have, you start to recognize it. The way the Dark Arts cling to someone.” 

Y/N’s heart sank. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she avoided looking at the audience. She didn’t need to see their faces to know what they were thinking. 

“Interesting,” Crouch said, leaning forward slightly. “And what do you mean by this… ‘feeling’?” 

Moody gave a sharp laugh. “Dark magic leaves traces. Most people can’t sense it, but after years of chasing dark wizards, you learn to pick up on it. And with Y/N, it’s always been there. A subtle hum, like static in the air.” 

Crouch raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. And yet, you worked alongside her?” 

Moody shrugged. “I liked her sister well enough. She had a good heart, didn’t deserve what happened to her. But Y/N… I kept my guard up.” 

Y/N stared at the floor, her mind racing. Where is Dumbledore? she thought bitterly. He had promised to protect her, to protect all of them when they joined the Order. But now, with everything falling apart, he was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t been there for Sirius either, leaving him to rot in Azkaban. What had been the point of their loyalty if it was only met with abandonment? 

Crouch continued. “Mr. Moody, have you ever witnessed the accused using dark magic?” 

Moody hesitated, just for a moment, before nodding. “I have. In battle. It was during a skirmish with Death Eaters. She used spells that were… questionable.” 

Y/N closed her eyes, her chest tightening. I only ever used it to protect my friends. The memory flashed before her eyes: spells cast in desperation, the heat of battle, the need to keep her friends alive. She thanked whatever shred of luck she had left that Moody hadn’t been there the one time she had crossed the line entirely. 

The Imperius Curse. 

She could still remember the way it had felt—the surge of power, the absolute control. She had forced three Death Eaters to their knees, stopping them from killing Lily. The effort had drained her so completely she had nearly passed out, but for a brief moment, she had felt pride. That single act, if anyone had seen it, would have been enough to condemn her to Azkaban without trial. 

“And what do you make of her capabilities, Mr. Moody?” Crouch asked, his voice sharp. “Do you believe she is capable of casting Fiendfyre?” 

Moody didn’t answer immediately. His magical eye swiveled to Y/N again, and she felt like it was peeling back every layer of her being. “Aye,” he said finally. “She’s capable. Doesn’t mean she did it, but the skill’s there.” 

It was the final nail in the coffin, and Y/N knew it. She didn’t even flinch as he stepped down from the stand. Her thoughts were elsewhere, drowning in regret and anger. 

I did what I had to do, she told herself, but the weight of her choices felt heavier with each passing second. And still, she couldn’t shake the question echoing in her mind: Where is Dumbledore? 

As Rabastan Lestrange strode to the witness stand, his smirk alone was enough to send a chill down Y/N’s spine. He looked far too composed for someone who had been convicted of his own heinous crimes. Y/N couldn’t understand why they had brought him here. What could he possibly add? 

She gripped the arms of her chair tightly, her fingers digging into the wood. Her gaze darted briefly to the audience, scanning for her former friend, Rabastan’s wife, and found her sitting stiffly among the crowd. Their eyes didn’t meet. 

The courtroom fell silent as Crouch began the questioning. “State your name and affiliation.” 

“Rabastan Lestrange,” he said smoothly, leaning back in the witness chair. “A convicted servant of the Dark Lord.” 

There were murmurs from the audience, but Rabastan seemed to bask in the attention. His dark eyes flicked to Y/N, glinting with malice. 

“You’ve claimed to have knowledge of the accused’s activities. Please, enlighten us,” Crouch said, his tone cold. 

Rabastan chuckled. “Oh, I know more than a little about Y/N Y/L/N. She and her beloved Sirius Black were always slippery, but I’ve seen through their charade from the start. Working for the Order of the Phoenix? No, no, they were playing both sides, working for the Dark Lord all along.” 

Y/N’s head shot up, her chest tightening. “He’s lying!” she shouted, her voice cracking, but Rabastan barely flinched. 

Crouch raised a hand to silence her. “The accused will remain quiet unless addressed.” 

Rabastan leaned forward, speaking directly to the Wizengamot. “I’ve seen her wield the Dark Arts like a master. I was there the night the McKinnons died. She was wild with rage, casting Fiendfyre like it was second nature. Enjoyed every moment of it, too.” 

Y/N’s vision blurred as her pulse thundered in her ears. “That’s not true!” she cried, her voice breaking. 

Rabastan ignored her, smiling cruelly. “I even offered her that place among us. Told her the Dark Lord would appreciate her talents. She was delighted?” 

Y/N felt bile rising in her throat. The sheer audacity of his lies was almost unbearable. It was true, he had offered her said place, but she had declined. She had hated him from the start—hated everything he and his kind stood for. But she had stayed silent about his crimes, out of a twisted sense of loyalty to his wife. A loyalty that now felt painfully one-sided. 

Her eyes flicked to her former friend. She sat motionless, her face unreadable. Y/N wanted to scream at her, to demand how she could just sit there and let this happen. Her for him. Every time. 

When Rabastan spoke again, his voice was almost gleeful. “I saw her kill them all.” 

Y/N froze. Her heart dropped into her stomach. It was a lie, twisted and reframed, but it wasn’t entirely baseless. There had been a moment—a stupid, reckless moment during one of her secret meetings with her friend—when she had spoken too much, blinded by grief. 

Rabastan’s grin widened. “She’s been playing everyone from the start.” 

“I’m not a murderer!” Y/N screamed, tears streaming down her face now. “You’re lying! You’re all lying!” 

Hailey stood abruptly, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “This is ridiculous! These are baseless accusations from a convicted Death Eater. If he’s so certain, let’s prove it.” 

There was a beat of silence before Hailey said the words Y/N had been dreading. 

“We request the use of Veritaserum.” 

Gasps echoed through the courtroom. Even Rabastan’s smirk faltered slightly. 

Crouch raised an eyebrow. “A bold request. The accused will need to consent.” 

Y/N’s hands trembled as she clutched the arms of her chair. She knew the truth wouldn’t completely exonerate her. The things she had done—the spells she had cast—would seal her fate, even if she hadn’t killed the McKinnons. 

But what choice did she have? 

Her voice was barely a whisper as she said, “I consent.” 

The room fell silent. It was over. One way or another, it was over. 

The vial of Veritaserum sat glinting on the prosecutor's desk, the liquid inside swirling like molten silver. Y/N stared at it for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what it would do. It would lay her soul bare, tear away every veil of secrecy she had ever crafted. And there were things—truths—that could never see the light of day. 

With trembling hands, she lifted the vial to her lips. It tasted bitter and metallic as it slid down her throat. Almost instantly, she felt its effects—a strange, floating sensation, as though her mind had been disconnected from her body. She fought the pull, digging deep into her resolve. You can’t lie. But maybe, just maybe, you can choose how much you reveal. 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Crouch began, his voice sharp and eager, “did you kill Marlene McKinnon and her family?” 

The words struck like a physical blow, but she didn’t flinch. Her gaze darted to her former friend in the bleachers. There was no sympathy in her eyes, no shared history, no bond of trust. Nothing but cold detachment. 

Y/N’s mind reeled back to that moment—the fateful conversation with her friend. She had been blinded by grief, suffocated by rage. Marlene McKinnon, her sister’s partner on that doomed mission, had survived. Her sister had not. That bitterness, the unjust cruelty of it all, had spilled out. 

“Do you think Marlene deserves to die too?” her friend had asked softly. A simple question, laden with dark implications. 

And Y/N, angry and lost, had nodded. Just a single, damning gesture. 

She didn’t have to say it aloud to know what would happen next. Her friend had treated it like a gift—an act of warped kindness, an answer to Y/N’s unspoken grief. 

But did that make her the killer? 

“I didn’t cast the fire,” Y/N said at last, her voice steady but hollow. It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either. 

The courtroom held its collective breath. Crouch’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Then who did?” 

Y/N hesitated, the weight of the serum pressing on her, demanding an answer. She looked directly at her former friend, whose face betrayed no emotion. 

“I believe it was Rabastan Lestrange who killed Marlene,” Y/N said. Her voice rang out clearly, each word deliberate. 

Murmurs rippled through the audience, but Y/N didn’t care. She couldn’t look away from her friend. The betrayal cut deeper than any spell, deeper than the scars she carried. 

“Have you ever cast Fiendfyre?” Crouch pressed, his voice rising with impatience. 

“I’ve never cast it,” Y/N replied, and it was the truth. 

Crouch’s frustration was palpable now. He paced before her, searching for a crack in her armor. “Have you done anything that could send you to Azkaban?” 

Y/N’s heart thundered. She thought of the curses she’d used, the lines she had crossed to save her friends, her loyalty that had tied her hands and sealed her fate time and again. She could feel the truth clawing its way to the surface. But with the last vestiges of her will, she clung to one thought: He has to accuse me first. Don’t give him the power to condemn you. 

Her voice was quiet but firm as she replied, “You will have to accuse me of a crime first if you want to convict me.” 

For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Crouch’s face twisted with anger and frustration. He knew he had lost. 

Finally, he turned to the Wizengamot. “There is insufficient evidence to convict the accused of this crime. I am forced to call a verdict of not guilty.” 

The words echoed in the chamber, and for a fleeting moment, Y/N felt a wave of relief. The chains binding her to the chair vanished, clattering to the ground. 

But as she rose shakily to her feet, that relief turned to bitterness. The cheers from her lawyer, the gasps from the crowd, none of it mattered. James and Lily were gone. Peter was gone. Remus thought her a traitor, just like Sirius. And Sirius... 

Sirius was in Azkaban. Alone, broken, abandoned, just as she had been. 

She turned to leave the courtroom, her gaze falling once more on her friend in the bleachers. No words passed between them, but the message was clear. They were strangers now. Whatever bond they had shared was gone. 

The freedom she had just won felt hollow. What was the point of any of it if she couldn’t save the people who mattered? If she couldn’t get Sirius out of that hellhole, what did this verdict even mean? 

As she stepped into the cold air outside the Ministry, her prisoner number still etched on her arm, Y/N made a silent vow. If the world had given up on Sirius, then she would be the one to bring him back. 

MASTERLIST

[hiraeth-witch-11]

Into the Unknown Series List

When you appear out of thin air in front of Anvil, there is only one thing on your mind: saving Billy Russo.

Part 1: Pilot

Part 2 Pilot Continued

Part 3

[your-neighbours-cat]

Black had always been my favourite colour

Silent.Deadly.Impenetrable

I felt at home in it , like shadows merging with the only Wells of night

Yet in a span of a second , she'd upended that as she had every other thing in my life.

Green 🌄☘️🪴🐢🍏🍐💚

Green eyes, Green dress, Symbolic of life and nature

Apparently, it was my new favourite fucking colour.

[x-ladyathena-x]

In the Shadow of His Memory

Chapter 2–The Rhythm of a Broken Heart

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings: graphic violence, morally grey sebastian, morally grey reader, angst, fluff, alcohol

Word count: 1k

Summary: It's been 10 years since you were faced with that awful decision: turn Sebastian in for casting an unforgivable curse or lie for him.

You chose to lie for him and take his secrets to your grave, but that wasn't enough-the authorities found out soon after and Sebastian went on the run.

You never stopped loving him and when an unexpected visitor arrives in your home in the dead of night, you realize he never stopped loving you either.

—————

It had been days since your encounter at the acromantula den and your mysterious rescue. Nothing, not even a bump in the night had happened since.

The injury on your head had healed enough to remove the bandage and you were able to diminish the cut with a simple healing charm.

Your footsteps echoed on the cobblestone street and you pulled your bright emerald overcoat tight into yourself as the January wind cut cold down to your bones.

The road into Hogsmead was a short one, but you'd be happy when you reached the Hogshead Saloon's warm interior.

Darkness had long since fallen but even though it was still early in the evening, the streets were unusually sparse of pedestrians.

The after work crowd was your busiest rush on nights that you bartended. You didn't mind though, especially tonight. You needed to get your mind off of what happened the other night or you'd drive yourself mad trying to make sense of it.

The fact of the matter was, it didn't make sense, and you should've been scared, but at the same time a thrill shot through you at the idea that someone scooped you up at your most vulnerable and deposited you back into the safety of your home.

You drug your hand over your face and groaned. What was wrong with you.

The brass bell afixed to the front entry of the Hogshead tinkled when you entered. Your coworker Darius waved hello from behind the bar before going back to pouring pints of ale.

Once your coat and purse were stowed in the break room on a mounting hook, you tied a stained cotton apron around your waist and joined Darius up front.

"Light crowd tonight," Darius remarked.

"Don't jinx it."

"Sorry," Darius threw up his hands jokingly, "where you been lately, anyway?"

"Just needed a few days off."

"You okay?" He asked with concern.

"Fine," you dismissed the topic with a wave of your hand and looked at the two new customers that slid into the open seats in front of you at the bar.

"Double fire whisky." One said in a raspy voice.

"House ale," the second requested.

His voice made you pause, but you shook it off. It had been a long week.

You poured and served the whiskey first. The patron took it and went over to a group at a nearby table. You'd assumed the two Men arrived together but it seemed the second man was alone.

Foam sloshed onto the bar top as you placed the ale in front of the hooded guest. Not unusual for Hogshead goers to dress incognito.

The man reached out for the pint and his hand brushed your fingers, "thank you, Love."

Electricity jolted through your body and you felt like your heart would beat out of your chest.

You excused yourself to the back and gripped the wall trying to catch your breath. It was nothing new to be called a pet name by your male clientele, in fact it was downright common, but "Love" in that voice. Damn if that didn't sound exactly like him.

But that was impossible. He wouldn't be here in the middle of Hogsmead Village on a Thursday night where anyone could spot him.

However...

That voice had been haunting your dreams for near a decade. You'd know it anywhere, anytime.

You mustered up your courage and walked back out but the hooded patron was gone.

"That's for you," Darius called, hoisting an ice bucket over his shoulder. He pointed at the bar top where a shiny gold galleon lay.

You stared at it.

"Cloaked guy left it for you. Maybe I'll get lucky later and get a 500% tip too," Darius joked.

The night wore on and you couldn't stop thinking about the moment your hands touched with the hooded man. You hadn't felt a magical connection like that since, well—

You didn't want to think about it.

Though your time at Hogwarts was bursting with joyful memories, it was also a time when you began to dabble in things that ought not to be dabbled in.

At least not by polite society.

He had introduced you to many things. Many abilities. And when the two of you were working in tandem, it was, well, electric.

The two of you fed each other's powers in a way you'd never known before or since. Everything about Sebastian made you better, more powerful, and visa versa.

The power and passion grew between the two of you and it was addicting. He was addicting. And so was everything he had to offer.

He would've killed for you. He did kill for you. Had Sebastian not ended Solomon, Solomon's curse would've hit you and it would've been your body being carried out of the Scriptorium in a bag, not Solomon's.

Your body worked of its own accord as you lost yourself in memories, until you were sharply brought back to reality when you pumped the tap for ale and nothing but air spewed out.

"Be right back," you called over your shoulder to Darius.

A lone candle burned on the wall as you descended the staircase to the cellar. Water dripped from somewhere overhead, and the sound of mice scurrying over the stone floor made you look around.

"Lumos," you lit you wand and placed it between your teeth while you untethered a fresh keg from the wall.

Feet scurried across the floor, but this time it wasn't mice. It was something big.

"Whose there?" You spun around, shining your wand light into the dark corner of the cellar.

Fear held your stomach in knots as you saw the fringes of a tattered cloak hidden behind crates of inventory.

"Show yourself," you commanded. "I'm not above blasting curses first and asking questions later."

A familiar but somewhat deeper chuckle echoed through the cellar. And a tall, brown haired man emerged from the shadows. The wand light danced over his angular and freckled face, "that's the you I remember."

You froze.

"Need any help with at keg?" Darius' voice called from the top of the cellar stairs making you jump and look over your shoulder, but when you looked back to the crates, no one was there. He was gone.

"No." You called back to Darius while staring at the place Sebastian had been standing, "i got it."

[queendeeshorrorimagines]

Hi, could you do a hcs for dating Amanda Young please?🤗❤️

Dating Amanda Young Headcanons:

Gender neutral reader

I do have a poll on the bottom as to which Saw Character you like to see dating headcanons for next as well. 💚😁

Warnings: slight angst in the beginning, reader is morally grey, mentions of Amanda's addiction to drugs.

It takes a long time for Amanda to trust anyone. Given her past relationships and how toxic they were for her, Amanda isn't going to be easy to win over romantically.

The most likely scenario would be that you were another one of John's disciples, recently surviving your own game when Amanda first met you.

It would start off with her being curious about you, wondering how you ended up being reborn in a similar way as herself. It didn't help that John wanted her to show you the ropes when he wasn't able to.

Amanda would be rather cold around you at first because of both her past as an addict and you being in the way of her carrying on John's legacy as jigsaw.

Once Amanda realizes that you're not a threat to her and actually wants to help John with his goals, she would be more authentic with wanting to teach you how to set up games or more about John's teaching.

Amanda doesn't trust Hoffman around you. Since you're closer to Amanda, you try to keep your distance from him because you don't fully trust him. (The feeling is mutual from him too)

Dates with Amanda would be rare and not the usual dates you would expect.

Given how shes a person of interest for the jigsaw killings, Amanda isn't keen on doing dates in public or risky enough to be caught by cops.

Most of her dates are the two of you setting up the next game/ trap or her teaching you in a hands on way about building traps.

She might also do home made dinner at your place with a few movies you rented in your living room. This is for when the both of you aren't tied up with keeping John's legacy.

Amanda loves both cuddling you and you cuddling her. Given how rough her past is, she hasn't had many chances to show her soft side or to be vulnerable around people, especially a significant other.

You two being each other's rock to help through the both of your traumas.

Although it's rare for her to have the urges to relapse, she always goes to you when she's feeling the urges. She could be with you and you're always keeping her grounded about how much progress she's made since her recovery.

Rebirth! Amanda is the type to make gifts for her significant other. Her gifts could range from a small figure made from scrap metal all the way to making a self defense weapon to keep you safe.

She also loves to receive more handmade items (especially if you're good with sewing/ crocheting/ knitting) . She's the type to cherish the items she gets because you made them for her.

[writerwithbrainrot]

Chapter 2: An Exit to the Sun

Reader and Vaati venture through the door to the world of light, intending to see what this so called 'great world' had to offer. Maybe a few spur of the moment plans are necessary for the journey to power.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, murder, let me know if I need to add more!

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

"This is it." Reader said, standing in front of the ruins of an old church, overgrown with dying vines and broken, only a few walls left, glass broken and a carved door against the cliff, warn down and almost smooth.

Vaati and Reader were deep within Reader's domain in shadow forest, where many do not roam.

"I see. . ." Vaati began, walking forward, stepping on a mix of stone and soil. "And I can tell you opened it, there is a disturbance around it."

"Yes." Reader said, following behind him. "I heard something around here, and I found it. I opened it out of curiosity and I just felt this. . . rush of power and warmth." they sighed "I didn't go through, I was unsure if I should so I closed it again. I didn't realise it would cause a disturbance."

Vaati hummed, thinking his options, before turning and stepping close to Reader. They blushed, looking at him but not stepping back. He knew that this was a sign of their trust. "I praise you for letting me know of this, Reader." he said in a low tone. Reader went scalding red as he pulled out a blade, with a silver handle with amethyst jewels on it. He took Reader's hand and placed it in their palm. "Do be a dear and opened it."

Reader nodded and rushed to the door and started to work the lock with the knife. Vaati watched behind them, wiping the hand he used to touch Reader's hand with with a look of disgust.

"What ever kept him in their good graces." Vaati thought to himself.

The lock clicked and Reader stepped back, returning Vaati's knife. He took it and they both looked at the door and Reader placed both hands on the cold, stone doors, moonlight hitting every thing, and pushed.

In an instant, warmth enveloped both of them, like protective hugs. Vaati felt a rush of power, filling every vein in his body, and he couldn't help but throw his head back in a feeling of pure bliss.

Reader squinted, a strange white light blinding them, forgien to them. They slowly entered, and that unfamiliar warmth turned to a warm comfort as they stood with their eyes closed. Their bare feet hit solid stone flooring, and the sounds of life surrounded them. Chirping, humming of insects, a toad or two croaking.

"Oh. . ." Reader gasped, looking around the old church covered in a bright warm light, intact and visibly taken care of, stained glass coloring the room a bit.

Vaati emerged, and the door closed behind them, both overlords turning to watch. Vaati looked around, silently adjusting to everything.

"So, this is sunlight." he said, and Reader brgan walking around, marveling at everything. "Look at this place, Lord Vaati!" they exclaimed, "It's magnificent! It's even more pretty the the church in Lorule!"

"Yes. . ." Vaati said, examining the stained glass of a beautiful woman with blond hair and in white, the sun behind her head.

His attention turned to Reader trying to open the dark oak doors of the church, only to hear the doors jiggle. They hummed and looked around. "It would be a shame to destroy it. . . however-" they punched through the door, and blindly started to fight with the door handles on the outside. Vaati said nothing, yet watched in disapproval at the barbaric way Reader was fighting with the door. "An overlords gotta do what an overlords gotta do!"

The doors swung open and more light came in. Reader stood, letting the sun light hit them, and they held their arms as the warmth cascaded over their body. Flowers began to grow around their bare feet, breaking through the stone and beginning to bloom. "It's. . . so bright." Reader said softly.

"Too bright." Vaati said, stepping out onto the dirt path and beginning to walk, following the path to a very green and alive forest. Reader rushed to follow, yet marvled at everything

"This place is teeming with life!" Reader exclaimed, rushing to a tree with fruit and growing vines below to use as steps up, pulling on the juice red fruit and taking a bite. They groaned at the taste. "Vaati, you must try this!" they exclaimed, pulling another fruit down, however he just sent her a bit of a glare.

"This may be poisonous." he said, tossing the fruit on the ground, causing it to break open. "Yoh may be immune to poison, but I am not. Are you trying to insult me?"

Reader began to panic "N-no! I'm sorry, Lord Vaati!"

he continued forward, and Reader scowled. They followed Vaati, mood dampened as they bit into their juice treat.

»»————-　★　————-««

Zelda shuttered, and she felt the hairs on her neck stand up. She turned around, looking at the bustling town full of the citizens of Hyrule, a glint of fear in her eyes. Link had immediately noticed Zelda had stopped and stopped as well, causing Impa to stop and look. "Princess?"

"I feel it again." Zelda muttered, and Link held his hand to Zelda's to hold and comfort her. "That feeling but its worse. Like there's. . ."

"Princess." Impa said, and Zelda looked up at Impa. "I understand your concerns, but I have already alerted the guards to a potential threat. Would you like to return to the palace?"

Zelda shook her head "No, no I don't. I apologize for the hold up." she said. Link squeezed her hand and both of them blushed. Impa chuckled.

"Lets continue to the garden stalls." Zelda said. "I'm sure they'll have some nice new flowers for your garden, Link!" she said, before rushing off, dragging Link with her.

"Wh- Hey! Slow down!" Link said, feeling like his arm would come off. Impa followed behind, smiling at the two young hylians.

Princess Zelda was a descendant of the Goddess Hylia, and weilded the triforce of wisdom on top of having the blood of the goddess. She had to be guarded at all times, despite the kingdom being safe, as someone may try and take her and her powers.

At the stall, they saw a person, pale and in thin clothing, marvling at the little plants in pots. "And this is a carnation? Marvelous! How beautiful!"

"Excuse me, please." Link said, also wanting to see the plant the person covered in plants was looking at. The person smiled and moved back a bit. "Oh! what a kind little child!" they turned and rushed off, "Vaati, the people here are so-"

Their voice was silenced in the Loud crowd, and Zelda stared in the direction the person. ran off in. "I do hope that person is okay. . . they were bone thin and in such thin clothes. . ."

"I'm sure they're fine." Impa said "Your kindness knows no bounds, princess."

The group explored the festival, Zelda falling inlove with glass crafts and and Link was interested in the garden stalls. But both wat he'd a blacksmith working away in a forge, hammering a sword that was scalding red.

"It hurts my eyes to look at." Link said, squinting yet continuing to watch. Zelda nodded. Impa sighed, and caught the two young hylians attentions.

"Lets go. I'm sure the performers will be starting soon." Impa said, and Zelda practically ran off, leaving Link and Zelda behind. "Hey!" Link exclaimed, "Wait up!"

»»————-　★　————-««

"This place is so beautiful! So perfect!" Reader exclaimed happily as the two walked around the festival town. "Look at how the different races work together! Oh, it must be wonderful here!"

"Indeed. . ." Vaati said, yet he showed no emotion. "The amount of magic energy in this street alone is enough to fuel my spells for weeks on end." He glanced around and immediately noticed that Reader had vanished. Most likely they were distracted. Good riddance.

What was the cause of this power? The warm sun on his skin? What made him feel so. . . godly?

"Ah, the princess is so lovely." A voice said, catching Vaati's ear. He stepped closer, his back to the two hylian women speaking.

"Indeed." the second woman said. "I wonder when she will come down to join in the festivities. My son said the princess may today."

"Ah, well, with her having the blood of the goddess, the king may not let her go." the first one said. Vaati stopped listening, and a wicked grin arose on his face. A princess with such power? It was as if the goddess has dropped his a golden gift in his lap.

Reader was at a stand full of gorgeous plants, marvling at the beautiful Petals and delicious fruits. "Oh my! How fertile the soil is!" they said. The elder woman smiled at the young nymph and picked off a tomato, red like fire. The elderly woman held out the fruit to them.

"What?" Reader asked.

The elderly woman spoke. "My child, you are skin and bone, ans pale as paper. Take this, you need it more than I." The old hand of the woman gently took Reader's hand and placed the tomato in their hand, and closed Reader's fingers on it.

Reader thought about the difference between this stranger who was so gentle and motherly, and Vaati who they had known since they had become an overlord over a decade ago. This Woman was so kind, and Reader didn't even know their name.

"Might I ask for your name?" Reader asked, and the elder woman chuckled, "My name is Madison."

Reader gently shook Madison's hand. "Thank you. Your kindness, while forgien to me, is very much welcomed and appreciated. May your life be long and prosperous."

The woman giggled. "You are very kind, my child. I hope your Karma is good to you."

Reader stayed and asked about all of the plants, happily munching on the tomato. "My people would never go hungry with this kind of food." Reader thought.

"So this is a carnation?" Reader asked, "It is very beautiful."

"Excuse me, please." A boy's voice said and Reader looked down to see a boy with dirty blond hair and brown eyes, and a girl with blond hair and a pretty dress with him. Reader stepped back "Oh! What a kind little child!" Reader bowed to Madison and rushed off "Vaati! The people here are so kind!" they exclaimed, looking for their overlord friend.

They found Vaati looking at little coin puzzles, and called his name. "Vaati! This place is perfect, the people are so wonderfully kind! And the food is bountiful!" they started to tell him, Vaati still examine the coin puzzles. "And the magic I saw on the way here! And the music the musicians play sound of smooth and calming and you don't need to pay a rupee to listen!"

"We shall take this world." Vaati said. Reader let out a happy sound "Yes! We must! It is too perfect to go back without the knowledge-"

Vaati glanced at Reader, eyes devoide of any readable emotion. "From what I have heard, the princess of this land has holy blood within her veins. The powers of a goddess. if I take it, I shall be the most powerful overlord and mage-"

"You mean we?" Reader said, coldly. Vaati waved them off. "Yes yes, WE shall become even more powerful."

"I don't understand." Reader started. "But this seems so sudden. Isn't it dangerous to go in head first?"

Vaati finally faced Reader. "The foolish people are busy and distracted. Like any guard shall be prepared for an attack. I can already tell this place is just as naive and overly trusting as you are."

Reader smiled maliciously, chuckling as Vaati began to walk towards the castle, before stopping. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?!" they exclaimed, rushing after him.

»»————-　★　————-««

The king sat on his throne, lost in thought. What Impa had told him of what Zelda had said was troubling him. Every version of the hero of legend had the princess of the royal tell the hero of an on coming danger. Was if this was just that? A warning.

He worried for his child, his little girl was only 11 for goddesses sake! So young, so vulnerable. . .

To have this happen now, when she was so young. . .

And there was no potential hero in sight. . .

A gaurd ran in, bloodied and panting. Gardening around the king went into a defensive stance as the guard at the door spoke, the king rising from his throne.

"YOUR MAJESTY!" The garden shouted in terror "YOU MUST FLEE, WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! WIZARDS HAVE-"

His eyes widened and blood dripped from his mouth as a vine grew from the floor and shot through his chest, dark, thick, and full of thorns. Sounds of shock were heard as the guard went limp on the plant now dripping with blood.

"My King!" a head guard said, "We must evacuate-"

The palace shook, and vines thicker than the one that had killed the guard grew over the doors, and windows were blocked as well, only letting in hints of sunlight as laughter echoed. a thinner vine shot up and wrapped around the necks of several other guard and pulled them down, and the echoing of snapping necks were heard by all within the room.

Two people entered the room, and Wind began whipping within the room, shattering the covered windows and causing things to fly as a purple haired man and a person in thin clothes and covered in vines entered.

Reader's arms were glowing green, and they were laughing, stepping on the vine that had shot through the guard like they hadn't just murdered people.

"WHO'S READY TO DIE?!" Reader exclaimed, and Vaati levitating in the air. Both had malicious, evil smile on their faces.

The king was pale.

The evil had come back into the light.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Chapter two done! yaaaay! I hope you enjoyed, have a good day/night!

[neeneee]

Can people stop making righteous main characters and start writing more morally grey oc's? It's so fun reading about shitty mcs, I'm tired of fuckin goody-two-shoes. WHERE ARE THE SELFISH AND ULTIMATELY FUNNY GURLS?????????

[hexxedcore]

18+ MDNI

caitlyn, who is shameless in pampering you and spoiling you. you deserve only the best, of course, and with her family luxury it isn’t as though the expenses will be missed by her parents.

caitlyn, who makes sure her purchases are going to good use by making you test out each pair of lacy navy panties she buys with her.

caitlyn, who indulges in a well-deserved form of stress relief in the shape of you after coming home from her new demanding position beside ambessa. who essentially gets pussy drunk after driving you past your fragile limits.

caitlyn, who takes advantage of her family’s spacious mansion to take you just about anywhere and everywhere should the desire arise. tobias still refuses to sit on the common room lounge.

caitlyn, who apologises for each hour she was away by punctuating them in kisses up your thighs before she eats you out. who takes you with the hunger of a starving woman.

[anime-villian-irl]

"id let the world burn for you"

"I'd kill for you"

"id die for you"

"I'd sacrifice the world for you"

BORING!

Yawn snore snore. Honk shoo honk shoo.

I got twelve other guys ready to that for me. You already do that. You already destroy the world I would just happen to be there while you did.

The real question is.

Would you save the world for me?

Would you put aside your hatred for humanity and put my love for it Infront? Would you save the world because I love the world? Would you stop killing because I hate killing? Would you find a way to live because I want you alive?

Death and destruction are easy as hell. Do you know how fucking easy it is to kill someone? To blow up a building? Shure security is in the way but if it wasn't there it would be easy as hell.

You'd do the basics Shure. But would you do the hard thing and save the world because I asked you to?

Would you push aside your hatred of everyone but me because I asked you to nicely?

Would you?

[a-b-riddle]

Going back to the idea of 141 protecting accused reader

Check CW in tags

Price collects the names of everyone involved. Who accused you, who took you in, questioned you and anyone who laid their hands on you. Although Kate had nothing to do with it, the Americans, those fucking shadows overstepped. The best Kate can hope for is to avoid a charge with aiding in a war crime. Joining Kyle in interviews to find out the specifics. Who was cruelest? Did anyone touch you sexually? Were you starved? Questions they knew would overwhelm you if prompted.

Once Price’s job is done, Kyle starts to collect all the intel with a simple name. Digging into the lives of everyone responsible for breaking you as well as their loved one. It doesn’t take Kyle long to start planting things to make their lives go nuclear. Evidences of affairs that were AI generated sent to the wives waiting back home with their husbands attached with apology letters from the mistress. Insisting that she didn’t know he was married and to please use this as evidence if she chooses to divorce him.

Simon is the judge, the jury and executioner. Most of the shadows steered clear after everything came to the surface that you were truly innocent. That doesn’t stop him from beating them bloody during sparring. Challenging any one of them. Embarrassing them in front of their peers only to catch them off guard later in the night. Carving their skin, taking their fingernails as trophies. Having to refrain from showing you that he was giving you justice in the only way he knew how.

And then there was Johnny….

Sweet Johnny became your primary care taker. Isn’t phased when you need help bathing or going to the bathroom. Johnny who administered your pain medicine around the clock. Who was your advocate about dealing with the doctors and medical staff when you felt too overwhelmed. Who scheduled your medical appointments for your burns, lacerations and the other injuries and illnesses you sustained. Severed ACL. Upper respiratory infection. Kidney infection. UTIs from lack of hygiene items. Never once making you feel embarrassed. Getting you in touch with a therapist.

All of them doing their part to help you in anyway they can. All of them promising to never let you away from them again.

[starlightfaerie777]

yeah big fan of whatever type this is >w<

EDIT: i was more meaning looks and sass level i know they have pretty different personalities 😭 (astarion would also use the nickname kitten for u tho i just know it)

[tisthedamnbisexual]

Luke Castellan is the DEFINITELY the type of guy who would love love love love love love love his s/o getting their nails done for the very first time.

Because it leads to their s/o being helpless, having struggles tying their shoelaces, zipping of clothes, basic tasks and stuff.

He would make sure that slowly you don't even eat food by yourself, why would he? His pretty s/o nails would hurt and would definitely make sure to even help in change of clothes, bro would not let you do shit... because he cares for you,obviously not because he likes you helpless.

But even after all of that he gets into a dilemma.

You see, this man loves your nails, especially with the way it feels against his body, cheek, face, back (ahem) anyway...

So now he is confused, he would spend every last dime for you to get your nails done every month..but then you won't be as helpless and he won't be able to baby you like this...his hands are your hips helping you do the mundane task in existence.

But when you run your nails on his scalp and skin, it melts away. It soothes him in a way that would just put him in a sleep slumber and he won't mind that one bit since he would love to stay in a moment like this forever and ever.

[ma1dita]

luke nation lives to see another season

and it only gets worse from here. im so damn excited 🤺🤺🤺

[x-ladyathena-x]

In the Shadow of his Memory

Chapter 1–Ghosts

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings: graphic violence, morally grey sebastian, morally grey reader, angst, fluff, alcohol

Word count: 927

Summary: It's been 10 years since you were faced with that awful decision: turn Sebastian in for casting an unforgivable curse or lie for him.

You chose to lie for him and take his secrets to your grave, but that wasn't enough-the authorities found out soon after and Sebastian went on the run.

You never stopped loving him and when an unexpected visitor arrives in your home in the dead of night, you realize he never stopped loving you either.

There it was again.

You sat bolt upright in bed, having been awoken again by some unexplained noise coming from outside your window.

It couldn't have been a pedestrian, you lived far enough away from the main Hogsmead foot traffic that it would've been unusual for someone to have accidentally wandered by your window.

Even tipsy patrons leaving The Three Broomsticks and wandering off the main road.

Carrot, your fluffy orange cat yawned and stretched out his front paws, also awoken, but for him, it was because you got out of bed and disrupted the blankets. He glared at you sleepily as you lit a candle and walked to the window.

Nothing but moonlight peered back at you from the small window and you felt like you were going crazy.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed and let your head drop into your hands. You'd been dreaming of him again.

Sebastian.

It had been 10 years since that night in the slytherin dormitory when Sebastian made his escape. 10 years since you watched the love of your life disappear, never to be seen again.

And he truly was the greatest love of your life. Sure other men had come and gone over the last few years. And there were even some that you'd cared deeply for, but no one that you would ever love like him.

The memory of Sebastian hung in your mind like a ghost that never gave you peace.

Because you knew he was still out there somewhere. If he'd have died, surely a body would've been recovered by now. And if he'd been arrested, they'd have plastered it all over the Daily Prophet.

No, he was alive, you could feel it.

Gravel crunched just outside your door and this time Carrot heard it too.

So, you weren't crazy. Someone or some thing really was out there.

You swung your house coat on over your thin cotton night gown and pulled it tight to stave off the cold air.

Embers from last evening's fire burned low in the hearth, but they weren't enough to warm the late night chill.

Carrot watched you retrieve the candle from your nightstand and walk to the door, your wand in your other hand and at the ready.

The door handle was cold in your hand, you could feel your heart hammering in your chest.

You took a deep breath and swung the door open wide with your wand raised.

Nothing.

There was no one or nothing there. Just the quiet empty street.

You sighed in relief but before you could close the door, Carrot darted outside.

"CARROT!" You hissed. "Get back here!"

But the cat was gone.

You groaned in aggravation, "Accio slippers."

Your house shoes flew into your hands and you slipped them on your feet as you ran out the door after the cat.

"Carrot!" You called as you watched his fluffy tail disappear into the forest.

The Forbidden Forest.

"Why?!" You complained as you ran after the cat.

"Accio."

"Levioso"

"Arresto Momentum"

Spell after spell danced passed the cat. Ugh magical companions and their abilities. If he didn't want to be caught, he wouldn't be.

"Arres— ow"

The smell of dirt and decaying leaves engulfed your senses as you found yourself face down on the forest floor.

You'd tripped over something.

Your hands dug into the soft ground as you pushed yourself up. To your horror, you realized it was a spiderweb that you'd gotten tripped up on.

The web was tangled around your ankle and before you could utter a word to free yourself, something sharp pierced your shoulder.

An acromantula venom dart.

The acromantula scuttled toward you as more of the enormous spiders burrowed up from the ground.

"Confringo!" You yelled, and a bright beam of red burst out of your wand and hit one of the spiders. The beam broke into two more beams and hit two of the others next to the first.

They flipped over onto their backs and screeched.

You managed to free your legs with incindio but by the time you stood, you were fully surrounded.

You hadn't faced this formidable of a foe since your time At Hogwarts. But that time you had help from—

It didn't matter. You could do this.

You cast spell after spell, including a few unforgivable curses, and the spiders fell one by one.

As you faced off with the final spider, you couldn't help but notice it was more intelligent than the others. It moved differently.

Almost as if it were being controlled?

No that couldn't be.

You raised your wand to deal the death blow but the spider was faster. It slung out its web onto a nearby tree limb, ripping the limb free and bringing it down on top of you.

Everything went black.

When you came to, you realized it was morning and you were back in your bed.

Back in your bed??

You sat up but your head ached where the limb had hit you.

As you reached up to inspect the wound, you felt a bandage covering it.

You ran to the nearest mirror and as sure as the sun shone, someone had dressed your wound and brought you back home.

Your slippers sat next to the front door, muddy, your house coat hung on its hook, ripped from the fight with the spiders. And Carrot lay curled at the foot of your bed sleeping soundly.

Who did this?

Whoever they were, must've left the same way they arrived:

Like a ghost.

[aventurineswife]

Reader that's a demon that represents the sin of gluttony, reader can be very rude sometimes and is constantly seen snacking on stuff, reader became a demon after being sacrificed to the devil and ever since, they've called themselves one of the devils valiant soldiers, the characters accidentally end up falling in love with reader after witnessing reader cause mass destruction cuz they were pissed and the characters think reader is some sort of overlord but reader turns out to be super chill about being a demon and only act evil when they wanna make people scared of them or when they wanna prove a point(the annihilation gang and the legion is chasing reader and trying to get reader to join them, reader doesn't want to join the destruction.)

I was thinking Boothill, Aventurine, Blade, Kafka, Acheron, and Jing Yuan, you pick which character u wanna do!

Between Crumbs and Cataclysms

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Demon!Reader, Dark Humor, Unlikely Allies, Chaos, Casual Destruction, Snarky, Found Respect, Morally Grey.

Warnings: Mild language, implied violence, destruction, morally ambiguous themes.

Aventurine stood at the edge of the casino’s grand balcony, the lights of the city sprawling beneath him like a sea of fireflies. The world always seemed like a gamble to him, a constant series of risks and rewards. But tonight, something felt… different.

His eyes narrowed as he observed the chaos unfolding below. The sounds of screams, explosions, and destruction rippled through the air, and in the middle of it all, a figure stood, casually munching on a bag of snacks—each bite taken with the same lackadaisical ease as if the entire galaxy's fate wasn't hanging in the balance.

Aventurine tilted his head, intrigued. He'd heard the rumors—whispers of a demon who devoured everything in sight, a being representing the sin of gluttony, one whose wrath could raze cities and whose casual disregard for destruction had become the stuff of legends. He’d even heard people call you an overlord.

But the image he’d built in his mind was not what he saw before him. You weren’t the terrifying monster that stories made you out to be. You were just… eating chips.

“What a spectacle,” Aventurine muttered under his breath, his usual flair for dramatic commentary giving way to something closer to genuine curiosity. He adjusted his blazer, ensuring his gold-lined roulette imagery caught the moonlight just right. His instincts told him you weren’t simply here for the chaos; there was something deeper to your presence.

He stepped forward with purpose, his polished black shoes clicking against the stone floor. As he approached, your gaze lifted, your eyes barely flicking over to him before you went back to chewing.

“Don't mind me,” you said casually, your voice rich with an uninterested tone. "I'm just having a snack."

Aventurine smirked, unable to hide the gleam of fascination in his eyes. He had seen many things in his life—risks, gambles, grand gestures—but nothing quite like you. You didn’t seem interested in his persona, his theatrics, or even his title as one of the Ten Stonehearts. To you, he was just another person in the chaos of the universe.

“Quite the appetite you have,” he remarked, still studying you as you reached into your snack bag for another handful. “Tell me, is this your idea of a… victory feast?”

You shrugged, not even bothering to look up from your snacks. "Victory? Nah. Just satisfying a craving, y'know? Got a lot of pent-up frustration and hunger. So, I'm making sure I don't go overboard this time."

Aventurine couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. “Pent-up frustration… So, what’s the gamble here? The city? Your snack supply?”

You smirked, a little amusement flickering in your eyes. "Nah. The gamble is whether or not people can learn not to cross me. It’s more fun when they think I’m some overlord trying to destroy everything. It gets the right kind of attention. Besides,” you added with a devil-may-care grin, “it lets me prove a point.”

He watched as you carelessly tossed a half-eaten bag of chips into the air, watching it explode in a cloud of crumbs as it collided with the side of a building. He chuckled softly. You didn’t act like an overlord, you probably were an overlord.

“You know, if you ever considered not throwing tantrums, you could be a dangerous ally,” Aventurine mused, his voice laced with interest. “But, of course, you enjoy keeping them guessing.”

“You bet,” you responded, leaning back casually. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold, don’t I?”

Aventurine’s eyes narrowed. There was more to you than met the eye, but there was something oddly compelling about the way you operated. Something that matched the duality of his own existence. Perhaps it was your unpredictability, or perhaps the fact that you didn’t try to pretend to be anything you weren’t.

His lips curled into a sly smile. “I think I could have some fun with you.”

Aventurine extended his gloved hand toward you, his gaze steady, waiting for you to either accept or dismiss his offer. As you looked at him, unamused, the tension between the two of you simmered.

Finally, you grabbed his hand and gave it a firm shake. “We’ll see. But only if you don’t expect me to be some kind of ally. I’ve got my own agenda.”

“Understood,” Aventurine replied smoothly. “I don't need another team member, just a… worthy adversary.”

Kafka observed you from the shadows, her sharp eyes studying the scene. Her right hand rested on her chin as she evaluated the chaos you'd unleashed, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your destruction was swift and savage, like a storm in human form. Yet, your demeanor was as relaxed as someone enjoying a leisurely afternoon snack.

She watched you devour yet another sandwich with unsettling indifference, the residue of the city you’d obliterated already coating your lips. You were everything she had heard about and yet… completely opposite. The infamous demon of gluttony, they said. Yet here you were, casually making yourself at home in the wreckage you’d created.

Kafka’s finger twitched, and her mind spun with possibilities. It wasn’t often she encountered beings like you—those whose true power lay in their ability to confuse and manipulate perception. The rumors had portrayed you as an overlord, a figure of unimaginable wrath, but the reality was something else entirely.

She approached you slowly, her heels clicking softly against the debris.

“So, the great Glutton, in the flesh,” Kafka's voice was cool, her words carefully measured, as though testing the waters. “I must admit, I was expecting… more of a spectacle.”

You paused mid-bite, looking at her with a half-lidded gaze. “Spectacle?” you repeated, as if the word was foreign to you. “What, you think I’m supposed to scream and act all evil to prove a point? Nah, I just blow things up when people piss me off. Sometimes, I just want some peace, but I’m okay with chaos too.”

Kafka tilted her head, studying you further. Your casual air was nothing like the terrifying demon she'd imagined. You were too relaxed, too… human.

“You’re a demon, yes?” Kafka continued, circling you like a predator testing its prey. “But you don’t act like one.”

“Eh, it’s all about the show, isn’t it?” you shrugged nonchalantly, wiping your hands off on your shirt. “People are too quick to label. Besides, who wants to be all angry and ‘evil’ all the time? It’s way more fun letting people think you’re terrifying.”

Kafka chuckled softly, her eyes narrowing. There was something dangerously intriguing about you. Your ability to play with perception, to twist expectations to your advantage—she couldn’t help but admire it.

“But aren’t you a little tired of all the destruction? Of always being hunted by the Annihilation Gang, the Legion, the IPC? You could have power. True power.”

You glanced at her, a raised eyebrow showing the faintest flicker of curiosity. “Power’s overrated. What’s the fun in having all that when you can just snack on a sandwich and watch the world burn?”

Kafka’s lips curled into a smile. “You're more than just a destroyer, aren't you? You have an agenda—just as I do. Perhaps, we could join forces.”

You paused, considering the offer. "I told you. I’m not looking to join any group. I’m just here for the fun and the snacks. But sure, let’s see where this goes."

He had been tracking an unusual disturbance across the galaxy—an entity so powerful that even the IPC couldn't fully comprehend it. Boothill had heard rumors: A demon, said to embody the sin of gluttony, was wreaking havoc wherever they went. Some called them a harbinger of doom, others spoke of their insatiable hunger for power, but Boothill wasn't buying the hype. He'd seen his fair share of destructive forces.

He reached the site of the latest chaos—a once-bustling marketplace now reduced to rubble. The smell of charred food and debris filled the air. Boothill began to scan the wreckage. His eyes narrowed as he observed the scene. And then, there it was—a figure sitting casually on a pile of smoking ruins, munching on an oversized sandwich as if it were any other afternoon snack.

The figure was... relaxed. Too relaxed for someone who was supposed to be an unstoppable force of destruction.

"Well, well," Boothill muttered to himself, aiming his eye at the figure, which had yet to notice him. "A demon, huh? I’ve seen worse."

As Boothill approached, you lazily glanced up, crumbs falling from your mouth as you chewed. "Oh, hey," you said with a smirk, not even remotely phased by the carnage around you. "You look like a guy who might need a snack. Want one?"

Boothill blinked in confusion. This demon, the one who had been tearing through entire cities, was offering him food? The audacity of it. "I’m not here for a picnic," he growled. "I came to see what kind of monster you really are."

You shrugged, taking another bite of your sandwich. "Oh, you know, the usual. I make a mess, people get scared, and then they try to make me join some stupid legion or annihilation gang. Bunch of guys in robes trying to get me to sign on for world destruction, as if I’ve got time for that."

Boothill’s mechanical body hummed in surprise. "Wait, you're not here to destroy the galaxy? You just... do it for fun?"

You chuckled, tossing the sandwich aside. "I mean, yeah. It’s funny, isn’t it? People panic when I start causing chaos, and they always assume I’m some big overlord or something. But honestly, I just wanted to grab a few snacks and scare some people. Kinda like putting on a show. I’m not really into all this 'world-ending' business."

Boothill stood there, dumbfounded. His eyes scanned the scene once more—massive holes in the ground, torn-up roads, fire still smoldering in the distance. This was the work of someone who had no care for life, who thrived on destruction, who... just wanted to be left alone with a snack. It didn't make sense.

"That’s it? All this destruction, and you're just... chilling?" Boothill asked, still trying to wrap his mind around it.

"Yep. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a demon," you replied with a lazy yawn. "But I like to keep it casual. If I wanted to join the annihilation gang, I would’ve done it by now. But I’m not looking to end the world, just eat and take a nap. I’ve got better things to do than join some group of crazies."

Boothill was taken aback. Here was a demon who, despite their immense power, had no real desire to take over the world. All they wanted was food, peace, and maybe a little chaos for the fun of it. It was such a bizarre mix of menace and indifference that Boothill couldn’t help but feel intrigued.

"I thought you'd be more... intense," Boothill admitted, taking a cautious step closer. "Aren’t demons supposed to be all evil and hell-bent on destruction?"

You stretched lazily, your eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Nah, that’s just a stereotype. I can be as evil as I want when it suits me. But really? I’d rather just get some rest. So, what about you? You’re not exactly the type to just wander around, are you?"

Boothill narrowed his eyes, still unsure whether to approach the situation as an ally or adversary. "I’m looking for revenge," he said simply. "The IPC destroyed my home, killed my family. I’m not here for petty politics, just destruction. Justice."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "That’s a big mission. I’m more of a 'do what I want, when I want' kind of demon. Sounds like we’re not on the same page, huh?"

"Not really," Boothill agreed. "But... I respect the independence."

For the first time since meeting you, Boothill allowed himself a small smirk. This encounter was strange, but there was something about your carefree attitude that made Boothill pause. Perhaps you weren’t all bad. Maybe you didn’t fit the mold of the typical villain. You were... human in a strange, twisted way.

"So," Boothill asked cautiously, "What happens now?"

You stretched out and popped another snack into your mouth, grinning as you relaxed further into the ruins. "Well, I guess we go our separate ways. You keep chasing down your revenge, and I’ll keep avoiding those idiots who want me to join their death cults. We can always bump into each other again if you feel like a snack or two."

Boothill’s eyes glinted with amusement. "You sure know how to make a mess of things, but you don’t seem so bad after all."

You gave him a lazy wave, then popped another snack into your mouth, smiling with satisfaction. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep things interesting. Take care, cowboy."

As Boothill turned to leave, he couldn’t help but feel an odd respect for you. You might not be what he expected, but in a way, you were just like him—fighting for your own cause, in your own way.

And maybe, just maybe, Boothill found a strange comfort in the chaos you created.