#Scar is chaos incarnate

[dagon-flavored-extract]

Listen, all I’m getting from this session of Limited Life is

Ren may not be there this time, but we still may be looking at the reign of the Mad Red Queen

Long live ZombieCleo, long live Mother Clock! Fearsome and wondrous is her Wrath

[notanactressyayy]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫

— ₊⊹ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 . Natasha Romanoff x reader

— ₊⊹ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 . in which she finally feels heard, seen.

— ₊⊹ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . angst, emotional breakdown (panic attack), swearing, mentions of scars (sh), mentions of suicidal ideologies. Nat being honest and open about her feelings for once. hurt/comfort.

— ₊⊹ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 . english is not my first language (🇧🇷) so i apologize for any spelling errors. rainy days, match sad stories. venting.

divider credits: @saradika-graphics ༉‧₊˚.

the heaviness of the afternoon air settled over Natasha — weighting down what was already heavy. her mind, her body.. everything felt like a weight, a weight she carried since she was born, or even before her soul was incarnated in her body. she felt— no, she knew that she was born in bad news, cursed, and there was no way of getting out of this. it's funny, those were the exact same thoughts she had ever since she was a child— 10, 11, maybe? and in that age, crossed her mind that probably when she grew up, those ideas would vanish and she would be free to have a normal life.

but that certainly didn't happen. and now, she found herself trapped. trapped in web that the more she struggled, more stuck she got, and that was a routine that repeated over and over and over — optimistic, optimistic delusional thoughts that came to battle with the bad ones, telling her that things would someday be okay, and the real, coherent ones, that crushed all the hope, the little sparkle of hope she had within her, making her mind a complete and total mess. chaos behind chaos. sleepless nights, restless days.

god, how good would it be if at least, her body wasn't enchanted. how perfect would it be, to throw herself down a building and don't feel anymore, instead of having just a few scratches here and there. the blade helped, even with the acknowledge that a normal person would feel 10 times more than she did. because the pain was still little, when comparing to everything this woman already endured. the red lines on her arms and thighs were just a reminder of the red on her ledge, and that it was now impossible to wipe away.

in moments like those ones, her brain desperately searched for any solution, any thought to refute her current state — it was the human instinct to survive. (yeah, she's human). her eyes squeeze tight, feet stumbling forward and hands gripping tightly the trailer's window rail, knuckles turning white.

inhale, exhale. inhale— no, let's stick to panting.

her mind would drift back to the little girls who she shared her life with in the red room, remembering each of their personalities, what each one of them would do in a situation like this. ironically, for Natasha, they deserved to be listened and helped. but herself? nah. but in the deep end, she didn't know if they were still breathing, still in this world. what was the point..?

"come on..." she mutters, hissing loudly as her legs start trembling, knees ready to give up. "stop, stop, stop, stop..."

her heart never felt so filled with anguish and pain like right now — yes it did, but it was always like that: whenever that happened, the past experiences felt like they never existed — and the now felt like too much to handle. her ears buzzed, the sounds of the wind blowing across the tree leaves around her went down to volume zero — the hair on her legs and arms went up in a deep shiver, and eyes went wide — realization.

the same fucking realization as always. nobody listens, nobody cares. no one will ever know her true story. no one will ever fix her. she won't be remembered. her life's a waste— why was she even born, when everything that happened was disgrace after disgrace. that's when the thread snaps, and her body reacts before her mind can follow.

her throat closes, as if suffocating �� body falling backwards, hitting the floor with full force. her fingers run through her hair and tug on the strands, pulling them strongly, even breaking a few of the auburn locks. tears of desperation threatens to fall down her cheeks, but she doesn't really realize that yet. she's just so out of air, that's impossible to control any other action.

"why won't that fucking—" Natasha manages between gasps. she groans, grabbing on the skin of her thighs and squeezing them harshly, creating moon-shaped little marks, enough to draw blood. "won't it— stop!"

then, she sobs. wait, but.. why did it felt like.. relief? perhaps because now, she was in your arms.

a foreign, strange sensation of warmth, warmth of another human being, enveloped her. she didn't recognize who it was, nor did she care. with pure instinct, her arms wrapped around the person's midsection, clinging for dear life. and now, with the sense of security, she was able to cry freely. she cried silently, something you didn't like. her chest heaved with emotion, but you wished she was louder. she was taught that widows didn't feel pain, wether it was physical or emotional. that's why her small cries sounded as painful and miserable as loud ones. you, sitting on the floor with her, scooped her weeping frame into your arms and held her — her side against your chest, head tucked in the crook of your neck.

sadly, it wasn't the first time, and you knew it wouldn't be the last. you were always in the trailer with her when she had breakdowns like this one. and that was what broke you the most — her brain subconsciously would tell her she was alone, and she didn't know how to deal with intense feelings like those: thus, she didn't know how to ask for help, how to come to you so you both could prevent those mental draining episodes.

when you first met Natasha, the first thing she asked you was to forget that she was a deadly spy, an avenger, or whatever the hell else people knew her as. at least for a day, so you could see where things would go. this fact only, meant that since the beginning, she had a feeling about you.. one she couldn't quite put a finger on, but which made her want to be herself, with no masks or titles around you.

it was common sense everything she went through. but only you knew about her true point of view. when her own self felt like an outside observer regarding to her own life, you were always there to remind her of who she was.

"you're safe... you're safe, i am safe.. we're both safe.." you whisper, running your hand up and down her shivery arm, putting the cold away. "okay, Nat? you are safe. i am right here, ready to fight whatever evil that befalls you.''

"i don't know.. i-i just.. i'm exhausted... i'm s-so tired.." she manages between small cries, eyes pleadingly looking up into yours. her hand reaches out and intertwine her fingers with your own, grasping on every sense she had of your presence — because she knew it could fade again, that she could fall in the loop again. and it was torturous. "i never.. no one ever listened to me... i never.. told anyone.. about.. a-about..."

"i know." you nod, arms tightening around her. you crawl a little backwards, just so you could reach the blanket that laid upon the couch and grab it. you wrap it around her with one hand, not letting go of her own. she subconsciously brings the fluffy fabric closer to herself and snuggles up against your body. "but you can tell me. isn't it clear, malyshka? that you're stuck with me?"

malyshka. the endearment term in russian she had taught you. she loved it, so goddamn much. a little weak smile tugs on her lips, the kindness you were showing her easing the tension — as if you were offering to carry the weight with her. compassion, empathy. so foreign.

"i just.." she shakes her head, sniffling and taking a deep, shaky breath. she stays silent for a few minutes, and you wait. voice so quiet, small.. and scared. "before you.. no one ever.. held me. i never had anyone holding me. i never had a touch that didn't mean harm. never had anyone to listen."

"i know, Nat. and that pains me more than you think." you confirm, running your fingers through her hair, and nuzzling the side of your face against her cheek, resting on your shoulder. "but trust me, i will listen for hours, days, years and centuries. if you wanna share every single second of your life with me, i'm here to listen."

"that doesn't make any freaking sense to me." she chuckles humorlessly, a soft groan escaping her throat. she was feeling a little tired. "but.. the truth is.. few people understand what i went through. the little people who lived in the same circumstances as me are probably all dead.. and... i truly don't want you to understand. i don't want you to try and live the same horrors as i did. all i wish for..."

you take a moment to stare at her when she pauses. hurt arms, tear filled face. oh, what you wouldn't do to protect this heart. to keep it safe. never let anything harm it again.

"all i wish for, is for you to be here. to hold me like you're doing, to share your own experiences with me, to live with me. to whisper sweet nothings in my ear by the night. handle my body gently. just be here. be here and i know i'll be forever safe."

that was it. everything you ever wished for. you exhale deeply and shift her carefully, so she was on your lap. she looks down at you, and at your hand.. that slowly comes up to land on her cheek. she leans against it and breathes heavily. you smile, waiting for her next expected words.

"can i..." she clears her throat, hands shyly gripping your shoulders, eyes looking at you from below her eyelashes. "can i cry more?"

"of course." you cradle her again and settle her thighs around your hips. her arms wrap around your neck, and she gently leans her head on your shoulder... allowing herself to cry.. out of relief.

your right hand tenderly caresses her leg, tracing over the self indulged scars she had. the left one, makes slow, soothing circles on her spine, moving up, and down her back. she was letting all her emotions out, all the pain inside her heavy heart, was flowing out of her being. thanks to your patience, your gentleness, and your love.

turns out, love wasn't only for children. goodness gracious, how good it was to be loved...

"god," she sobs, squeezing you tighter, nose brushing against your hair as she allows herself to.. let go. "god, i need you."

"i'm here." you confirm quietly, looking up and kissing her temple. "i'm here, i'm not going anywhere."

[solxamber]

On my hands and knees sobbing throwing up combusting into dust signs my soul away to you THAT WAS SO SO SOOOOO CUTEEEEEE GUAYAYYAYYUUUUUAUAGAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Poor Rollo thinks hes just being nice meanwhile poor yuu is so used to people digging underneath the bar that he's literally prince charming incarnate. Rollo clearly needs to adjust their standards and do what the villains could not by kissing yuu softly while they take a nap. And also threaten crowley to give them money for food. ANYWAYS!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FEEDING ME AND THE 5 OTHER ROLLO FANS THAT SURVIVED THE FAMINE (/j) I OWE YOU MY LIFE!!!!! This message is getting so long, but you deserve to know how awesome your writing is and that I look forward to whatever you post for real. I slide over a crisp 5 maddol and ask for when you feel like it (and if you even want to ofc!!) A part 3 where maybe they're deeper in the relationship and are doing heinous things like m*king out and grimm thinks they should be executed for making him walk into this horror. (He didn't knock. Bc he's grimm. He claimed to be scarred for life until Rollo busted out the premium tuna suddenly we should get married asap) . ANYWAYS SORRY FOR THE LONG RAMBLE. IM BARKING AND CRYING AND EXPLODING AND PROPOSING TO YOU. Signed with love, rollo anon 💗💝💖

Rollo Flamme x reader

i just saw this and this almost made me cry 🫶 also sorry for the very long wait

Part 1 ; Part 2

Rollo was nothing if not diligent. Whether it was reorganizing the shelves at the library, fixing the perpetually squeaky door in Ramshackle, or chastising Grim for yet another snack-induced fire hazard, he was always helping in his quietly intense way. It wasn’t just duty—he genuinely seemed to enjoy making your life easier, which both baffled and warmed you to your core.

You, of course, did what you could to return the favor. Helping him clean up after unruly magic festival events, proofreading his endless notes about anti-magic policies, and gently reminding him to relax when he got that telltale furrow in his brow.

And you were in love.

Like, grossly in love. The kind of love where you found his huffy rants about magical irresponsibility charming and he tolerated Grim's chaos just to spend more time with you. It was a weird, wonderful balance you’d somehow managed to strike.

Which led to this particular evening: you and Rollo, tangled on the old, creaky couch in your room at Ramshackle.

It had started innocently enough. You’d been reviewing a new book he'd brought for you—something philosophical, of course, but he’d chosen it specifically because he thought you’d enjoy it. You were teasing him about his insistence on leaving a handwritten note inside the front cover (“Who even does this, Rollo? It’s adorable, but—seriously?”), and he had flushed in that way that made you want to pinch his cheeks.

Then one thing led to another.

Now, his lips were on yours, one hand cradling your face with the kind of reverence that made your heart twist. His other arm was around your waist, anchoring you against him. Rollo might not have been an experienced romantic, but he made up for it in sheer, focused intensity. When he kissed you, it felt like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

“You’re—mmph—very distracting,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and tinged with amusement.

You grinned, tugging him closer. “Says the guy who started this.”

His only response was to kiss you again, deeper this time, until your brain was reduced to a pleasant, fizzy blur. The world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just you, him, and the creak of the couch as you shifted closer—

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY?! MY EYES! THEY’RE RUINED!”

Grim’s shrill scream shattered the moment like glass.

You froze, pulling back to see Grim standing in the doorway, paws dramatically covering his eyes. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? ON MY COUCH?”

“Grim, it’s my couch,” you said, face burning.

“You’re the henchhuman; it’s ours by default!” Grim wailed. “And now it’s a place of SIN!”

Rollo, to his credit, had already straightened up, his expression transitioning from flustered to composed in record time. “Grim,” he said, voice calm yet firm, “surely you’ve barged in enough times to anticipate that privacy should be respected.”

“Oh, I respected it,” Grim sniffed. “But my henchhuman clearly has no shame. And you!” He pointed an accusatory paw at Rollo. “I thought you were better than this! But no, you’re—”

Rollo, completely unbothered by the tirade, reached into his bag and produced a can of… premium tuna?

Grim’s rant ground to a halt. His ears perked up as he sniffed the air. “Wait. Is that—?”

“Indeed,” Rollo said smoothly, holding it up like a peace offering. “A gift I intended to give later, but it seems circumstances call for a different approach.”

Grim’s eyes lit up with unrestrained glee. “You know what? I’ve never doubted you for a second, Rollo!” He scurried forward, practically salivating as he swiped the can. “You’re clearly the best thing that’s ever happened to my henchhuman. You two should get married. Tomorrow. I’ll get a priest. I’m sure Crowley owes me a favor.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Grim popped the can open with zero regard for decorum. “Grim, you are the worst.”

“Correction: I’m the best,” Grim said, already devouring the tuna with gusto. Between bites, he added, “This guy’s a keeper. Don’t mess it up, henchhuman.”

Rollo’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement breaking through his otherwise composed demeanor. He leaned closer, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Shall we take his advice?”

You gave him a playful shove, laughing despite yourself. “Not helping, Rollo.”

But deep down, as Grim devoured his bribe and Rollo sat beside you with that quietly pleased look, you couldn’t deny that the idea didn’t sound all that bad.

The exhaustion of the day had finally caught up to you, and you’d collapsed onto your bed with a sigh of relief. “Wake me up for class, okay?” you mumbled to Rollo, who was sitting at your desk, meticulously organizing the scattered notes you’d left behind.

“I’ll make sure you’re on time,” he replied, his voice carrying that steady assurance you found oddly comforting.

You barely managed a hum of acknowledgment before sleep claimed you, leaving the world behind in a haze of warm, peaceful quiet.

When you stirred again, it wasn’t the sound of your alarm or the creak of the floorboards that woke you. It was something far gentler.

A warm, featherlight pressure on your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and the first thing you saw was Rollo leaning over you, his expression soft in a way that made your heart do an Olympic-level somersault. He was close enough that you could see the slight flush on his cheeks, though his composure never wavered.

“Good morning,” he said softly, his voice a gentle murmur. “It’s time to get ready for class.”

You blinked at him, your still-sleepy brain struggling to process what had just happened. “Did you… just kiss me awake?”

His blush deepened, but he stood his ground, meeting your gaze with quiet confidence. “You looked so peaceful. I thought it would be a more pleasant way to wake you than simply shaking your shoulder.”

Your heart melted on the spot. If there was a scale for romantic gestures, this one had just broken it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, though your voice betrayed how utterly smitten you were.

“Perhaps,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you didn’t seem to mind.”

You didn’t bother arguing because he was absolutely right. Instead, you reached out, tugging him down for a proper kiss this time.

When you finally pulled away, you smirked at his flustered expression. “If you keep this up, I’m going to start napping more often.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to be even more diligent about ensuring you don’t oversleep.”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest as you sat up and stretched. “Thanks for waking me, Rollo. Really.”

“Of course,” he said, his tone earnest as ever. “It’s the least I can do.”

The man was going to ruin you with how thoughtful he was. And as you got ready for class with a lingering smile on your face, you couldn’t help but think that waking up like this every day wouldn’t be so bad.

It started with something simple. You were both sitting in the courtyard of the chapel, enjoying a quiet moment together. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over everything, and Rollo was, as usual, the picture of composure. He was reading a book—some historical text you’d never have the patience for—but his attention drifted when he noticed you staring at the horizon, lost in thought.

“Are you cold?” he asked, setting his book aside and leaning slightly closer.

You blinked out of your reverie, shaking your head with a soft smile. “No, I’m fine.”

He studied you for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his neck and gently draped it over your shoulders anyway. “Just in case,” he murmured.

It wasn’t anything extraordinary—just a scarf—but the gesture made your heart swell. The scarf smelled faintly of lavender, and the warmth of it felt like an extension of Rollo himself.

“Thanks, Rollo,” you said, voice soft.

He nodded, but when he saw the way your smile lingered, something shifted in his expression. His usual composed demeanor softened into something… almost reverent.

“You deserve this,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically tender.

“Huh?” You tilted your head at him, confused.

“You deserve to be cared for,” he clarified, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You give so much of yourself to others. It’s only natural that someone should do the same for you.”

You stared at him, heart racing. “Rollo, I… That’s really sweet.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, though not at you. “It’s concerning that such basic decency stands out to you,” he muttered, almost to himself. “What kind of environment is this school fostering?”

The thought of Rollo, grimacing at the thought of NRC’s questionable population, made you burst into laughter. “I mean, you’ve met Grim, right? The standards here are subterranean.”

Rollo’s expression softened again when he saw how amused you were. “Even so,” he said, taking your hands in his with surprising gentleness, “you should never feel as though you’re asking for too much when you expect kindness or respect. It’s what you’re owed.”

Your heart did a little somersault, and you couldn’t help but giggle, ridiculously touched. “Stop, you’re going to make me cry,” you teased, though the slight quiver in your voice betrayed how close you were to actually tearing up.

He smiled faintly, leaning closer until his forehead nearly touched yours. “If you cry, I’ll simply have to dry your tears,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “Though I’d rather see you smiling.”

You let out another helpless laugh, pulling your hands free so you could lightly swat at his arm. “Stop being so romantic! I can’t handle this!”

Rollo chuckled softly, pleased with your reaction. “If it makes you happy, then I’ll consider it a worthwhile effort.”

And he meant it. He was genuinely, utterly content to see you so touched, so happy. Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, a quiet but fierce determination grew. The villains and miscreants of NRC may not have treated you with the respect you deserved, but he would make it his mission to ensure you never doubted your worth again.

Masterlist

[marvelousels]

THROUGH THE STATIC | 1

(pt 2 here!)

authors note — sorry but im just so delusional wishing this was true, i love imagining that my fav characters randomly come to our world and "I DO BELIEVE THAT A MULTIVERSE EXISTS!" i say as i get dragged to the mental asylum.

pairings: jinx x fem!reader (js freinds for now ig)

DISCO! — Nessa Barrett FT Tommy Genesis playing!

The dim glow of the television screen bathed your living room in shifting hues of blue and purple. You lay sprawled on the couch, a half-empty bowl of popcorn resting precariously on your stomach. The credits for the latest episode of Arcane had just finished rolling, and the Netflix autoplay countdown ticked ominously toward the next. But you didn’t hit “Skip Intro.” Not yet.

Jinx. There she was again, center frame in your mind. Her wild, electric energy. Her piercing blue eyes. That wicked grin that danced somewhere between childlike joy and dangerous insanity. Something about her had always captivated you, far beyond any rational explanation. She was chaos incarnate, yet there was a vulnerability beneath her bravado that pulled you in like a magnet. Watching her felt like staring into a storm: terrifying, exhilarating, and impossible to look away from.

You sighed and reached for the remote, ready to plunge into another episode, when the screen suddenly froze. A flicker. Then another. The sound cut out, replaced by a low, staticky hum. Frowning, you sat up, placing the popcorn bowl on the coffee table.

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, hitting the power button. Nothing. The screen stayed on, the image of Jinx’s manic grin distorting slightly as if she were underwater.

The hum grew louder. A sharp crackle followed, and the colors on the screen began to bleed together in a way that made your eyes ache. You got up, hesitant but drawn closer by a mix of curiosity and unease. Maybe the TV was just overheating. Maybe the signal was—

Without warning, the screen flared bright white, and a shockwave of static knocked you backward. You hit the floor with a grunt, shielding your eyes from the blinding light. The air felt charged, humming with an almost electric tension.

When the light finally dimmed, you lowered your arm cautiously. The TV was off. The room was eerily quiet except for your own breathing. Then you heard it. A groan. Not yours.

You froze. Slowly, you turned your head toward the sound, your heart pounding in your chest.

Lying sprawled across the floor, half on top of you, was Jinx.

At first, your brain couldn’t process what you were seeing. She was impossibly real. Her wild blue braids, the smudged makeup around her eyes, even the faint scars on her arms—every detail was vivid, tangible. She groaned again, shifting slightly, and you felt the weight of her pressing down on your legs.

“What the hell?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Her eyes snapped open. For a split second, they were unfocused, darting around the room in confusion. Then they locked onto yours. Blue and intense, just like on the screen, but filled with a raw, terrifying energy that made your breath catch.

“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp and accusing. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing for a weapon that wasn’t there. Her hands patted down her sides frantically before she cursed under her breath.

You sat up slowly, your hands raised instinctively in a placating gesture. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. I—I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She narrowed her eyes, backing up until her shoulders hit the wall. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The modern furniture. The framed photos. The TV. Her expression shifted from defensive to bewildered.

“Where am I?” she muttered, almost to herself. Then, louder, “What is this place?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. What were you supposed to say? Hi, welcome to my living room. You’re supposed to be a fictional character.

“Hey!” she snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I asked you a question.”

“You’re… in my house,” you stammered. “And… uh, you came out of the TV?”

Her brows knitted together in confusion. She glanced back at the darkened screen, then back at you. “Bullshit.”

“I swear!” you said quickly, holding your hands up again. “One minute I was watching you—I mean, watching Arcane—and then the screen freaked out, and you…” You gestured vaguely at her. “You appeared.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed further, but the initial panic seemed to ebb slightly, replaced by a cautious curiosity. She took a step closer, looming over you with an almost predatory intensity.

“You know who I am?” she asked, her tone somewhere between suspicion and amusement.

You swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah. Jinx. From… Arcane. You’re… kind of famous here.”

“Famous?” Her lips curled into a grin, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re a… a character. From a TV show.” The words felt ridiculous as they left your mouth, but there was no other way to explain it.

Her grin faltered. She stared at you, her head tilting slightly as if trying to gauge whether you were messing with her. Finally, she sighed and ran a hand through her braids.

“A TV show,” she repeated flatly.

You nodded. “Yeah. You’re… fictional. Or, you’re supposed to be. I don’t know how you got here.”

Jinx’s expression darkened. Her eyes darted back to the TV, then to her hands, flexing her fingers as if to reassure herself she was real. “Fictional,” she muttered, almost to herself. “That’s… no. That’s insane.”

“Trust me, I’m just as confused as you are,” you said. “But you’re here. Somehow.”

She paced the room, her movements jerky and restless. “This has to be some kind of trick,” she said, half to herself. “Some sick game. Did Sevika put you up to this? Or Silco? Is this one of their mind-fucks?”

“I don’t know who—” You cut yourself off, realizing it was pointless. Of course she thought this was some kind of trap. Her whole life was a series of betrayals and manipulation. Why would this be any different?

“Listen,” you said carefully, “I don’t know how or why you’re here, but I’m not your enemy. I’m just… a random person who happened to be watching TV when you showed up. That’s it.”

She stopped pacing, her gaze snapping back to you. Her expression was unreadable, her blue eyes scanning your face as if searching for any hint of deception. Finally, she sighed and ran a hand through her braids.

“Okay,” she said, though her tone was far from convinced. “Let’s say I believe you. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. What were you supposed to do? You were just an ordinary person. You didn’t have the faintest idea how to deal with something like this.

“I guess… we figure it out,” you said finally. “Together.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Together, huh?”

You nodded, trying to muster some confidence. “Yeah. I mean, you’re stuck here, right? Might as well work with me instead of against me.”

She considered this for a long moment, then shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t get any ideas, ‘cause if you try anything funny…” She mimed an explosion with her hands, grinning wickedly.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was more from nerves than amusement. “Noted.”

And just like that, your ordinary life had been turned upside down. As Jinx plopped onto your couch, grabbing a handful of popcorn like she owned the place, you couldn’t help but wonder what the hell you’d just gotten yourself into.

Hours later, the reality of your situation began to sink in. Jinx had settled into your living room like a storm that refused to pass, alternating between questioning you about this world and exploring the space with a manic, childlike curiosity. She’d found your stash of snacks and immediately laid claim to a bag of chips, cramming them into her mouth with zero regard for crumbs.

“So this world,” she said around a mouthful of chips, “you’re saying it’s nothing like Zaun or Piltover?”

You shook your head, watching her from the other end of the couch. “Nope. No Hextech. No shimmer. No… well, no war, at least not like yours.”

She snorted. “Sounds boring.”

“It’s… peaceful,” you offered.

She rolled her eyes. “Peace is overrated.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Despite the chaos she radiated, there was something oddly endearing about her. She was a whirlwind of contradictions—reckless yet calculating, wild yet wounded. And now, she was your problem.

“So,” she said, turning her attention back to you, “how do we fix this? How do I get back?”

“I… don’t know,” you admitted. “I’m not exactly an expert on… whatever this is. Reality-hopping? Dimensional travel? It’s way out of my league.”

She groaned, flopping dramatically onto her back. “Great. Just great. Stuck in a world full of… what do you even do here? Sit around and stare at screens all day?”

“Pretty much,” you said with a chuckle. “But hey, maybe it won’t be so bad. You might even like it here.”

She gave you a skeptical look but didn’t argue. Instead, she propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze lingering on you longer than felt entirely comfortable.

“You’re weird,” she said finally, though there was no malice in her tone. If anything, it sounded almost… amused.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, surprising yourself with the ease of your response.

Jinx blinked, then grinned. A real grin this time, not the manic, unhinged one you’d seen earlier. For a moment, she looked almost human. Almost.

“Maybe this won’t be so boring after all,” she said, grabbing another handful of chips.

You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or terrified. Either way, one thing was certain: life as you knew it was never going to be the same.

[tyxaar]

LIFE SERIES SPOILERS!!!!!

Okay okay BUT this new series ABSOLUTELY fits with the whole "winners determine the next game" theory because Scar is chaos incarnate who changes faces and masks a bunch and a constantly shifting gimmick fits that SO DAMN WELL. Like seriously. All the different hats and personas, and his wildcard nature, it's amazing.

[mirensiart]

I love your pain sharing AU as much as the next guy (it's a lot, I love it a lot), but do you have any other projects you're working on you want an excuse to talk about? Doesn't even have to be Zelda

aah you’re so sweet 🥹💖 I do have a few original characters that I need to draw more of…..I’m gonna use your ask as a way to show them off a little bit hehe

I haven’t done a lot of world building, but the main characters are a knight named lady ira, an apothecary lady named flora (they’re in lesbians with each other), the bastard prince of the kingdom named ancel and once thief and outlaw but now reformed boy named lowen

✨ THE PLOT ✨

ancel is the youngest prince of the kingdom and also a bastard, the only reason why the king keeps him around is because ancel is the only one of the royal kids who’s adept at magic! this means the royal kids, the queen’s children, really despise him and constantly try to get rid of him (kidnapping/assassins)

Thanks to this, he is often assigned a body guard (babysitter) as a way to protect him of his half siblings and also cause ancel is a menace when it comes to magic and can’t really control it very well, so the guard is also to protect the general public from him lmao

Lady Ira used to be a high ranking knight until she fucked up and was demoted and assigned as ancel’s bodyguard, which she resents as first since she feels her talents are being wasted looking after the king’s bastard

She gets attached cause obviously lmao imagine the “old grumpy man gets attached and adopts a little girl” trope but it’s a lesbian and a little boy lmao

Lady Ira eventually meets Flora thanks to shenanigans involving ancel being poisoned, flora being an apothecary is able to save the boy’s life

Lady ira notices that flora has an X scar on her mouth, turns out flora is cursed! The scar prevents her from speaking, if she speaks the X scar opens up as a wound causing her unbearable pain, it closes back when she keeps silent (clearly someone didn’t want her to speak hehe)

Lady ira offers to help her find a cure for her curse as a way to thank her for saving ancel

So flora + lady ira go on a journey to find someone who can counter the curse, lady ira leaves ancel under the care of one of her trusted knight besties, but the kid is like chaos incarnate and escapes to join up with them since he also wants to help flora out

Lowen gets dragged into all of this, since like, he used to be a thief and a wanted man until lady ira pleaded for him and got him a job in the royal stables, lowen feels indebted to her and also thanks to this job, he found a best friend in ancel

Those two are like, the most chaotic duo ever since lowen enables ancel’s weird antics lmao anyway, ancel grabs his bestie to join in the ✨adventure✨and lowen agrees cause if it means helping lady ira he’s in

So yeah, it’s basically two lesbians and their weird chaotic kids find out flora’s curse is important and pivotal to a conspiracy going on in the kingdom

I do like the doomed yuri trope, so yeah it’s doomed yuri lol ANYWAY have art of the sad lesbians

and here they’re happy but not for long…!

[ltash]

Him

He is the devil she's been praying for

And

She is the angel he's been looking to hunt.

The chow hall was alive with the quiet chatter of soldiers, yet none of it reached your ears. It was just background noise, irrelevant, unimportant, because the only thing that existed was

Him.

Across the room, Ghost’s gaze held you captive, fierce, and unyielding. His eyes, dark with an intensity that stole your breath, traced the curve of your neck, the slope of your bare shoulders. You felt his gaze before you even saw him, its weight tangible, as though it could press you down, make you fold in on yourself. The marks he’d left on your skin, small tokens of his hunger, glistened in the dim light, remnants of a night that still tingled in your veins.

A shiver raced down your spine, but you couldn’t look away. His stare was suffocating and intoxicating all at once, like a flame that both scorched and seduced. Even clothed in something as simple as casual wear, stripped of the armour that usually encased him, Ghost emanated a raw masculine energy that wrapped itself around you, holding you in place.

He was a storm, and you were caught in the eye, drawn into the depths of his unspoken desire. Every breath, every heartbeat felt like it belonged to him.

Around you, the others carried on, laughing, talking, and unaware of the heat simmering between you and Ghost. The distance between you was nothing, just space that he could close in an instant if he wanted to. And the way he was looking at you, with that dark, possessive hunger in his eyes, made it clear he wanted to.

It was more than desire. It was a pull, something primal that went deeper than lust. His eyes spoke of a hunger that had nothing to do with your body alone, it was the kind of hunger that could consume you, devour you whole. You could feel it pulling at you, tugging at some buried part of yourself that craved his darkness.

And the more you fought it, the more you resisted the magnetic force that drew you to him, the stronger it became. It lured you closer, whispering in your mind to surrender, to step willingly into the flames. He was danger incarnate, each rough edge of him sharp enough to cut, and yet you wanted to feel the sting of those blades, to press yourself against the jagged edges of his being.

His demons danced just behind his eyes, shadows flickering beneath the surface of his calm facade. And you? You were entranced by them, drawn to the chaos that lingered inside him. He was a man who had seen the edge of hell and come back scarred but stronger. That darkness in him, it lured you in as much as it warned you to stay away.

But you couldn’t heed the warning. The more you tried to suppress the yearning, the more it consumed you. It was as if his gaze reached out and touched you, fingers ghosting over your skin, igniting a fire that spread through your veins. You could almost feel his hands on you, even though he hadn’t moved. The weight of him pressed against your chest, his stare making your body respond in ways you hadn’t thought possible.

It was dangerous, this attraction, this pull between you. It whispered of things that could break you, ruin you, tear you apart from the inside out. You knew Ghost wasn’t a man who could be loved softly. He would be a brutal, raw, relentless, an unforgiving force that would shatter you if you let him.

And yet, despite the warning bells ringing in your mind, your body wanted more. It wanted to be consumed by him, to step willingly into the chaos that swirled around him. There was no logic to it, no reasoning that could pull you back from the edge. Only instinct, pure and primal, urged you forward towards him, towards the fire that you knew would burn you alive.

Ghost was more than a man. He was a storm, a force of nature, and you were ready to surrender to let yourself be swept up in his darkness, even if it meant being destroyed in the process.

[huicitawrites]

Diaries of the Priestess of The Malevolent Shrine

Yandere! Heian Sukuna x Fem! Reader tags: @a-tiny-teez @kazusan7yanderekun @eleventhdoctorsangel @sircatchungus warnings: yandere, “slow burn”, violence, death and torture, slavery

Diary Entry #?, The Harvest Festival

all entries

-It has been two years since you've become his priestess.

You sit on your knees, head bowed, the scarlet hakama folded perfectly beneath you, your pristine white kosode a mockery of the purity expected of a priestess.

What a joke, you think bitterly.

The being in front of you is far from holy—he is the devil incarnate, Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses.

Hesitantly, you peel one eye open.

His huge, muscular form sits without a care for modesty, one knee raised, the other placed open, his four arms slouching around his body. His four bloodshot eyes hold no emotion, and his two-sided face remains blank. The harvest festival, so sacred to the people, means nothing to him. All that mattered was that he would be revered.

They would pray to him, treat him as a god, and with that thought, his ego was fed. His lips twisted into a smug smile.

You felt dirty despite your clean robes. After all, being his priestess meant serving his blasphemy.

His grin caught your attention, and your eyes were drawn to his face. But when his gaze locked with yours, you quickly looked away.

You heard a deep chuckle rumble through his broad chest.

You despised making eye contact with him. You couldn’t bear those crimson, bloodshot eyes. They were seared into your memory, a scar etched into your soul on that day.

The day your clan was massacred. In your weakness, you surrendered to his mercy and betrayed the legacy of your parents. You became his ‘priestess.’

A fancy title for a slave, nothing more—a pawn in the hands of the King of Curses who sought to be a god. A God of Chaos, a God of Suffering, a God of Carnage.

The drums began, a slow, steady thud that echoed through the temple halls, shaking you from your thoughts. The festival was starting. You remained kneeling beside Sukuna, just behind his massive form, your hands folded neatly in front of you. The beat of the drums reverberated in your chest, growing louder with each passing moment, as the priests below began their solemn procession.

They moved in tandem, their steps perfectly synchronized with the rhythm, white robes swaying like ghostly apparitions. Incense wafted into the air, thick and cloying, its sweet scent filling the temple as it curled upward to the dark rafters. You felt trapped beneath the weight of it all: the suffocating smoke, the oppressive atmosphere, and the sheer force of Sukuna’s cursed energy beside you.

The chanting began, a deep, guttural sound that filled the courtyard. Ancient words, meant to honor the gods, now twisted in purpose, directed at the devil sitting next to you. The villagers and priests alike believed this to be a sacred festival, a prayer for a prosperous harvest, but you knew the truth.

This was no prayer to the gods. This was a celebration of him, Ryomen Sukuna, so that he may be more willing to spare their lives. The villagers and priests would leave tonight, grateful just to have survived the day under his gaze.

You glanced at Sukuna again, careful not to meet his eyes this time. His expression was as indifferent as ever, his four eyes half-lidded in boredom. One arm rested lazily on his knee, while the others hung loosely by his sides. Uraume stood by his right side, ever faithful, the perfect servant.

The villagers knelt outside the temple, their foreheads pressed into the dirt, offering their fear and devotion in the only way they knew. None of them dared look up, too terrified of the consequences. Sukuna’s smirk grew, feeding off their terror, and you could feel the faint pulse of satisfaction that radiated from him. This festival—this display of submission—was nothing more than fuel for his inflated ego.

The chanting grew louder, the rhythm of the drums quickening, as the priests raised their hands in supplication. Before Sukuna, they laid baskets of rice, fruit, and incense.

You stood there, silent and still, your head slightly bowed in mock reverence.

But as the chanting reached a fevered pitch and the drumbeats pounded in your ears, you felt a shift in the air. The festival was only just beginning, and for some reason, your gut was screaming at you, warning you to not lower your guard.

Then, a figure emerged from the crowd. It was a half-naked woman—her kimono slipping from her shoulders and wide open. Her wild eyes locked onto Sukuna the moment she saw him, and something changed in her expression—a manic grin spread across her face, unrestrained and desperate.

“Yorozu-sama, wait!!” you heard a young voice plead.

But as you turned your face to comprehend just what in the heavens was going on, a venomous voice whispered in your ear, "Out of the way, bitch."

“From now on, I will be the one to stand by his side!” Yorozu’s voice rang out, high-pitched and gleeful.

And then it happened—a swift, brutal kick struck you in the side, sending you flying off the wooden altar. You gasped as the air was forced from your lungs, landing hard on the floor below. The gravel dug into your body as the world around you spun and blurred.

You winced, barely able to lift your head, blinking a few times as your vision recovered.

The sight of Sukuna made your stomach twist. He hadn’t moved, but his expression had changed—the casual indifference wiped away, replaced by a deep, disgusted frown. His eyes burned with fury, a heat that seethed and promised destruction.

Uraume stepped forward quickly. “How dare you,” they snarled, standing between Yorozu and their master. Their voice was cold and sharp, the tension palpable. They wouldn’t allow such disrespect to stand.

Yorozu, however, ignored Uraume entirely. She didn’t even look at them, her eyes only for Sukuna, her fixation unwavering. She was completely enamored, her entire focus on him and no one else. Uraume’s presence meant no threat to her.

You groaned and coughed, your chest heaving with each breath. The pain was sharp, but you could feel a servant’s hands on you, lifting you gently, trying to help you sit upright. You leaned into their support, struggling to regain control over your breathing.

The servant whispered in your ear, their hands delicate and soft as they tried to calm you. “Forgive my lady's actions, please, stay still. You’re hurt.”

Yet your focus—no, all eyes—were on the woman standing in front of Sukuna, her half-naked form still and eerily focused. Yorozu, crazed and delirious with adoration, stood as if she had discovered something divine.

"Sukuna…!" the mad woman praised, her voice shaking with reverence. "You are magnificent! Seeing you in the flesh—" Yorozu took a step closer, eyes bright with infatuation. Her words of praise drowned in the background noise of hushed whispers as you felt the gentle hands from before pat your shoulders.

You turned to the servant holding you, and your eyes widened in fear. It was a boy, surely no more than ten. Your eyes jumped from the child to Yorozu and then to Sukuna. Back and forth, you repeated this pattern.

“You look… lonely. I can feel it. Allow me to be the one to cure your loneliness! Let us turn this world into a cursed chaos—

Amidst her blabbering, the realization befell you, and as the boy tried to lift you up, your hands twisted the fabric of his yukata.

"Run. Flee at once!"

"Miss, you need to calm down! I need to take you to the healers—"

-a world fit for the King of Curses! A world where—”

“Shut up.”

Sukuna’s deep voice cut through Yorozu's words with finality, cold and disdain. Before she could react, Sukuna moved.

With barely a flick of his wrist, he unleashed his cursed technique, faster than a heartbeat. An invisible slash of cursed energy sliced through the air, clean and precise. Yorozu’s words choked into a sharp gasp, her eyes still lovesick and lidded as her body crumpled to the ground, lifeless in an instant.

The priests and villagers cowered, their terrified murmurs drowned out by the overwhelming pressure of Sukuna’s presence. Blood splattered the gravel floor beneath her, pooling around her as if her life had never mattered. Silence hung heavy once more.

Your breath hitched as you tried to stand up and move the shocked child away. The pain in your chest flared up again, making you struggle against your coughs. But before you could get away with the child in hand, a shadow loomed over both of you.

In one swift motion, you felt yourself being lifted off the ground, strong hands wrapping around you, pulling you up effortlessly. Your body was pressed against Sukuna’s massive form, his cursed energy suffocating as it crackled in the air.

You heard a thud behind you and turned your head sharply to assess the child's well-being.

Yet two of his arms held you firmly, immobilizing you. One hand gripped your waist, the other snatched your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Look at me,” he commanded. His crimson eyes inspecting every detail of your face. “Are you hurt?” he asked calmly.

Your heart raced, panic flaring as the blood from Yorozu pooled around the gravel. “The boy—please, he’s just—”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed and his grip tightened, “Pay attention to me,” he said, his voice a dangerous command “Answer me—are you hurt?”

The words barely escaped your lips. “I—I’m fine, my Lord,” you stammered, feeling utterly vulnerable within his caging arms.

Satisfied for the moment, Sukuna turned his attention back to the villagers, who now knelt in terror, prayers spilling from their lips, frantic and desperate. His voice dripped with dark amusement, the very embodiment of menace. “Quite the rude hosts, don’t you think?” he remarked, his eyes gleaming with malice. “They seem to have forgotten their place.”

As he raised his spear, glimmering ominously in the dim light, the air turned thick with tension. You could feel it before it happened—a wave of pure, unfiltered chaos. Carnage ensued.

Screams erupted as Sukuna cut through flesh and bone, a whirlwind of death and destruction. The villagers, once fervent in their prayers, now fled in terror, but there was nowhere to hide from the King of Curses. They fell around you, bodies littering the ground like discarded offerings.

Pinned in his grip, your eyes were shut but you were forced to withstand the sounds of the massacre. Sukuna’s eyes gleamed with a primal excitement, the thrill of slaughter igniting a fire within him that was terrifying. Each swipe of his weapon, each agonized scream, only served to fuel his insatiable bloodlust.

“Such chaos… it’s intoxicating,” he mused, his voice laced with a dark satisfaction that sent chills down your spine.

As the last echoes of terror faded into silence, Sukuna’s gaze turned back to you, his grip still firm around your waist. His eyes darkened, holding a predatory intensity that made your heart race.

With a twisted smirk curling his lips, he leaned closer, the scent of blood and incense clinging to him. “Consider this a reminder,” he murmured, voice low and chilling, the warmth of his breath grazing your skin. “You belong by my side, and nowhere else.”

"Uraume", he called out and the cursed-ice user made no haste to come close and kneel, "Let's go."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama"

And so, as he carried you away and Uraume left in tow, your eyes desperately secanned for any hint of survivors, but you only found a torn piece of that poor, innocent boy's yukata on the pools of blood.

[itsgooditsbad]

When life gives you melon... | Jungkook x Reader | Prologue

Summary: A young resident doctor, worn thin by long nights and lingering family strains, braces herself for another routine emergency. But when an unexpected face from her past emerges in the hospital’s frenetic halls, she must decide whether to hold on to old wounds or open herself to something new.

Genre: boxer au

Chapter 1

It’s been three straight nights without proper sleep, and I’m beginning to forget what it feels like to be fully awake. My world has narrowed to the hospital’s fluorescent glare and the antiseptic scent clinging to everything I own.

I’m holed up in the resident on-call room, an old medical text balanced on my knees, a stale sandwich lying half-eaten beside me.

The hum of the overhead lights sets my teeth on edge, and when I close my eyes, all I see are afterimages of patient charts and test results.

My phone vibrates again. I glance at it and see “Mom” flashing on the screen—Mrs. Kim, to be exact. Seokjin’s mother, not mine.

She’s probably calling about some family matter, wanting to check in or ask why I haven’t visited. I’m too tired to consider giving her an answer.

These days, all I can manage is surviving my shifts and making sure I don’t collapse in the middle of a hallway.

I let the call ring out, then fade into silence.

I adjust my posture, rubbing the stiffness from the back of my neck, thinking maybe I can steal five minutes of rest—just five minutes.

But, of course, fate has other plans.

My pager goes off, shrill and urgent.

The intercom follows instantly: “Dr. Han, you’re needed in the emergency room. Please report downstairs immediately.”

Great. So much for five minutes.

I toss the sandwich in the trash, grab my stethoscope, and push off the bed.

My body protests with every step, knees threatening to buckle from exhaustion, but I shove that feeling down.

The patient waiting below is my priority now. I leave my phone behind, the missed call from “Mom” still glowing on its screen, unanswered.

Downstairs, the ER is chaos incarnate. Fluorescent lights glare off polished floors as nurses and doctors move in a frantic dance around a single incoming stretcher.

I hear the roar of the ambulance fading outside, the paramedics already rushing the patient inside, shouting vitals and conditions.

The air is thick with urgency, the sharp tang of disinfectant barely masking the coppery scent of blood.

I hurry toward the center of the storm. He’s young—oxygen mask strapped tight to his face, chest exposed, angry bruises already forming beneath the bright lights.

Machines beep and flash like anxious witnesses, and I focus on the rapid-fire medical shorthand swirling through the room.

I lean in to check his eyes, to get a better look at his face—and my heart stutters.

I know that jawline, the shape of those eyes, that scar at the brow.

It's like I’m back in high school again, I never imagined a reunion like this. My pulse thunders in my ears, and for a moment I’m frozen.

He’s older now, rougher around the edges, but it’s him. I’m sure of it.

A nurse jostles my shoulder and time speeds back up.

I inhale sharply, forcing my professional mask back into place. Focus, Jaehee. Don’t lose yourself now.

I turn to the paramedic, voice strained but steady: “What’s his name?”

The paramedic, sweat beading at the hairline, answers without looking up: “Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

The name hits me like a punch to the chest. Jungkook.

It’s him.

And now, he’s here—on my table, in my ER, fighting for his life.

[aventurineswife]

Can you do Calcharo, Aalto, Jiyan and Scar react that reader has a dragon form that is similar to Dan Heng? (You can add reader is the reincarnation of Imbibitor Lunae if you want to)

Resonance of the Ancient Blood

Tags: Calcharo x Reader, Jiyan x Reader, Aalto x Reader, Scar x Reader, Reader is the incarnation of Imbibitor Lunae/Based on Dan Heng, Dragon Transformation, Power Struggles, Mentorship, Dragon Essence, Control and Chaos.

Warnings: Intense Power Dynamics, Emotional Struggles, Mentoring Themes, Transformation and Identity, Possible Violence (Implied), Internal Conflict.

Calcharo stood, watching the faint glow in the distance as the wind picked up. A shimmer of shadow twisted around him as his own Resonance began to hum, a subtle warning, a whisper in the air. His piercing eyes narrowed when he saw you step into the clearing, your form shifting, rippling with energy. The shadows seemed to coil around you, a manifestation of your dragon-like essence.

The transformation was something he hadn’t expected—hadn't even imagined. The moment your body grew, scales forming along your skin, tail uncurling in a dramatic display, Calcharo froze, his gaze locked on the swirling energy. His pulse quickened, recognizing the power radiating from you, raw and untamed. A dragon. A real dragon, much like the ancient Vidyadhara.

For a moment, his stoic demeanor faltered. There was something familiar in the presence you commanded, something that tugged at his past—memories of a world where the legends of dragons were whispered in hushed tones. But he had little time for such mythos. You weren’t just a beast of legend—you were his ally, his comrade.

His voice was low, almost reverent, but tempered with his usual wariness. "A dragon, huh? You don't just carry the bloodline... you embody it."

His tacet mark flickered with dark energy, and a faint, sharp smile appeared on his lips. Despite his caution, he felt a glimmer of pride in his chest. The Ghost Hounds had always dealt with the shadows, but perhaps now, with you at their side, they could step into a new world.

But only time would tell if this power could be controlled—or if it would slip beyond reach. "Just don’t let that power control you... control it."

Aalto was seated at a table, leaning back in his chair, a cool smile playing at the edge of his lips as he reviewed a new deal. His eyes gleamed beneath the lenses of his sunglasses, always calculating, always observing. The mist around him—his power—shifted with an unpredictable breeze as he noticed your approach.

Then he saw it. Your form shifting, the air thickening with an ancient power that made him pause. His eyes narrowed, catching the faint glow of your transformation—your dragon form taking shape with mystical grace. A Vidyadhara dragon.

Aalto's lips twitched upward. The world was a strange place, full of bizarre creatures, but this? This was fascinating. You were a being caught between mortal and divine, and Aalto? He was always fascinated by such contradictions.

"Now, that’s quite the trick," he mused, his voice a mixture of admiration and curiosity. "You don’t just have the power—you’ve become it."

He stood, his mist swirling around him in response, almost instinctively. His presence had become more ethereal, as though the fog itself recognized your resonance. The Black Shores consultant in him assessed the potential, the dangers, and the business to be done.

"Impressive... but you know," Aalto continued, his grin widening as he walked around you, "there’s always a price to be paid. I think you and I could come to some... arrangement."

Jiyan was deep in thought as the breeze tousled his teal hair, the silence of the training grounds almost deafening. His mind was still on the day’s strategies, his soldiers’ well-being, and the constant shadow of the Tacet Discords. But then... a shift in the air. A ripple of power, a surge he hadn’t anticipated. He turned sharply.

Your transformation into a dragon-like form was nothing short of mesmerizing. The wind swirled around you, lifting your tail as if the very air bowed to your power. The dragon's essence was undeniable—majestic, yet terrifying in its raw potential. Jiyan's sharp eyes tracked every movement of the newly manifested form, his strategic mind already assessing.

But more than that, something stirred within him—recognition. Your presence felt like a storm on the horizon, something inevitable. He hadn’t expected this, but then again, he should have known. In a world where power was ever-shifting, it wasn’t beyond reason that someone like you could exist.

His gaze softened, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "So... this is your true form. A force to be reckoned with."

Jiyan’s voice was calm, but there was a fire in his eyes. He could sense the struggle within you, the weight of this power—of his power, of their power. He knew what it was like to carry the weight of something greater than oneself, something that could either save or destroy.

"I know what it means to carry a heavy burden," he said, his voice quiet, but filled with a quiet intensity. "But know this: we fight for more than just ourselves. If you can control this, then you’ll have the strength to change the world." His eyes met yours, unwavering. "I will help you find that control."

Scar, perched atop a ruined building, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon for any sign of danger, felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. His eyes snapped to the source—the figure in the distance, now standing tall as your dragon form took shape.

The transformation was violent, raw—an explosion of power that even Scar, with all his experience, couldn't help but respect. It wasn’t just the appearance of scales and tail; it was the pulse of energy that radiated from you, ancient and fierce.

He dropped down from the building, landing with a quiet thud on the ground. His expression was unreadable, his eyes glowing faintly with the same ferocity that coursed through your dragon form.

"You’ve got the blood of a beast," Scar said, his voice gravelly. "I’ve fought many like you before. But you? You’re different."

His eyes narrowed as he studied you, recognizing the power you wielded. His tacet mark flickered on his skin, aligning with your energy in a strange way. "I can see the weight on you, the control slipping, the need to prove something... but you’re not alone in this."

Scar took a step closer, his usual harsh demeanor softened by the power he saw within you. "A dragon can’t be tamed, but maybe... just maybe, we can find a way to make it work together."

[starlostfish]

Alrighty, first off, i wanted to make some basic redesigns for this au lolol i never drawn armor before sorry!

Why i called this au status effect related? 

Although i have half baked plans for the other status effects (poison, frostbite, death blight etc.) This au focuses primarily on 4 status effects (for now) with a few elden ring concepts mixed in. I’ll do my best to explain when it comes up!

Also with some of the elden ring related lore, i used SOME unused lore for this au so plz don’t take this as a 100% accurate interpretation ㅠㅠ

Also also in this AU Shido is a puppet leader and yaldaboth is this worlds hidden leader/king(?) atm

Ren and Goro are travel companions, trying to take the throne (they’re united by a goal but hiding their true agendas from each other lol)

ok heres the info dump/ramblings: Warning, its a lot lol

Goro- has control over a power/concept called the Frenzied flame

The Frenzied Flame is pure chaos incarnate in Elden Ring. It is a unrelenting force that seeks to melt everything, to  “Incinerate all that divides and distinguishes”  through the spread of madness/chaos. Basically a contagious mind virus that could empower a person while also making them go insane. If you can even slightly tame it you will be rewarded with the strength of chaos itself.

When a person accepts The Frenzied flame into themselves, they get these weird finger print markings/scars on your body (goro was “grabbed” by the Frenzied flame) and their eyes start having a yellow glow to them. The frenzied flame is stored in a persons eyes, even shootings out of their eyes when wielded (Like this!)

Ren has control over sleep to a degree and could see into dreams. (But his true power/strength is sealed away…)

Sleep is acts differently in this world. There’s normal sleep and other types of sleep, sleep you can control/wield.

 In Rens case, he has power over a special type of sleep, A sleep that does more than restore the body and its energy. This sleep feels like a gentle embrace that takes away turmoil, even dulling the senses to an extent , preventing agitation to give a feeling of true peace & clarity. The type of sleep that could actually temporarily quell madness and frenzy..

The other is more straightforward. It’s called eternal sleep. im sure you can guess what that does lol.

Ren is like a spectral, he can be interacted with, seen and touched BUT he doesn’t have a living body, meaning even if you “kill” him he’ll just reappear. 

Also he can just choose to appear/disappear (like this!)

Extra incoherent ramblings below:

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

Goro makes himself psychotic in p5 and in elden ring you can make yourself a lot stronger by literally inflicting yourself with madness. I thought Goro would probably be angry/crazy enough to adopt the Frenzied flame, annnnd having the Frenzied flame is said to be pretty painful but also euphoric(?) and that kinda sound like its up Goros alley lol. Also (I just remembered this!) IN GOROS 3RD AWAKENING, HE SAID HE’D “SOW CHAOS AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE” AND THE SAYING ASSOCIATED WITH THE FRENZIED FLAME IS “MAY CHAOS TAKE THE WORLD”

There is so much sleep symbolism/sleeps connections to death in persona sooo I thought it made sense to make Ren the one who has control over sleep /𝓓⃥̸𝓮⃥̸𝓼⃥̸𝓽⃥̸𝓲⃥̸𝓷⃥̸𝓮⃥̸𝓭⃥̸𝓓⃥̸𝓮⃥̸𝓪⃥̸𝓽⃥̸𝓱⃥̸

Also sleep and madness have matching icons lolol that’s definitely not the main reason I thought of this au…lolol…

Sleep is one of the few things that could temporarily alleviate madness and the Frenzied flames influence. Ren is trying to help(save) Goro, while also struggling with the fact that he was supposed to kill anyone who has the Frenzied flame since it can kinda end the world, and the fact that he’s the only one who has the power to do it.

Meanwhile Goro just wants revenge and the power to make him as strong as possible and to make the revenge as painful as possible. Unfortunately that power is also slowly making him lose his mind and take a lot of effort to keep under wraps. Goro is very very exhausted but as you’d expect, spite keeps him going lol

- 

The cure to madness: okay.. im still working on how to make sense of this and I WILL expand on it later on, but just know it involves kasumi, sumire and maruki. The angst will be strong with this one lol

The status effects they’ll be associated with is

yoshizawas sisters:Scarlet Rot

Maruki: Heart stolen

Theres A LOT more but i feel like this is enough for today lol

i really really hope this makes sense lol If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask! Im open to answer anything about this au lolol

[sapphia]

okay hear me out. dream teams for next season:

grian & etho (grian wants it soooo much, please etho 🥺)

jimmy & scar (chaos incarnate, and i want them to torment grian)

joel & scott (scott's had so much betrayal this season, he deserves a loyal teammate)

cleo and tango (*marge voice* i just think they're neat)

skizz and bdubz (wholesome, i think they’d be hopeless but they’d have fun)

pearl and impulse (i think they both have interesting ideas, are loyal to their team, and could be kinda dangerous working together)

bigb and martyn (bigb was so untrusting this season and martyn is so untrustworthy. i want to watch them like bugs under a microscope)

[blu3-ja3]

It's time for my forgotten baby boy Roach! Please know that while I truly try to keep the 141 in character, I may go a bit OOC. I didn't put this in Soap's post but all of these will have 5 short stories.

1) A Rule O'Connor put in place for the boy

2) The boys first time seeing O'Connor's scar properly

3) O'Connor and Price have a chat

4) Boy learns a little more about O'Connor's Son

5) Something O'Connor learns from the boy after a moment of vulnerability.

!TRIGGER WARNING! Collapsing, Blood, Self Imposed Exhaustion, Dehydration

1) Strung Up

Roach is chaos incarnate, I see him in my office more than anyone else when we're on base. He constantly has a new scrape or bruises that Gaz or Soap drag him into be seen. They both have a standing rule that if they see Roach hurt they have to bring him into my office. Roach is creative with his boredom, one of his favorite hobbies to pass the time is to climb as high as possible. If Roach finds a spot he'll stay there, only coming down to do the essentials like eating at the mess. If he can, Roach would sleep in his little perch.

It was a quiet day at Bastion. I was sat in my office doing nothing in particular when Gaz appeared in my office door. He looked around very frantically.

"Cig? What're you looking for?"

"Have you seen Roach? I've not seen him since yesterday when we got back."

"Not even for breakfast we had muffins."

"No! It's why I'm looking for him, Soap saved him two muffins."

"Well where have you looked, it's a large base."

It took everyone an hour to finally catch a glimpse of Roach, he was tucked into a random corner at the very top of the hanger hidden behind a half wall. Ghost spotted the young man's boot, it could only be seen from a certain angle. Roach wasn't responding to anyone and it was getting nerve wracking.

"Does anyone see a way to get up there? I'm not sure we have a ladder tall enough to get up there."

"I think I have an idea. Price can you see about clearing out this hanger. Gaz go, get the climbing equipment and two body harnesses, they should be in the left closet of the rec room. Ghost go, into my barracks and grab the bag that's closest to the bed. Soap I need you to find something that's heavy but we're able to throw over those rafters." I rushed into my office and grabbed my stethoscope, blood pressure gauge, and some liquid Pedialyte.

I reappeared to the same spot at about the same time as most everyone else, Ghost was the last to come , carrying my bag. Everyone immediately started getting to work. We decided it would be best for Gaz to go up and rig Roach, they're both light and it would be easy for me and Ghost to heighten and lower the two.

Roach was up all night, not able to sleep and found the first spot he couldn't be disturbed. How he got up there even he doesn't know. I told him that for now on he has to check and make sure at least one of the 141 could get up there as well. He was also given a map of all the bases and buildings and was told to write down every spot he has.

2) Carrie

I'm on a semi-undercover operation with Roach, we've made our way into a butchery that has the potential to be a front for some not so savory activities. This was a last minute lead but it's our only lead for the missing General so here we are. Neither of us have our typical gear so I'm a little on edge checking every room before entering. We know there's likely no one here as Ghost and Soap are enacting a distraction plan. But we had to make this quick.

Roach moves ahead of me and pushes open the door. I hear it and move before processing what's happening. Diving forward I shoved Roach through the door as liquid spilled onto my head and down my back. The smell of iron and acrid, a smell I know all too well. Blood, I was covered in blood and who knows what else.

"Doc? Shit we've got to get you cleaned up! What the bloodly hell was that?"

I felt a hand grab me, before I pulled myself away. "DON'T! Don't touch me! Roach we don't know what is in this! We have to get out and quickly can you radio Price?" I grab my shirt and pull it off, wiping off my head and face while Roach finishes calling Price.

"Do you want my hoodie?"

"Keep it we need to slip out quickly, we'll deal with all of this once at the safe house." I grab a nearby butcher's smok and ran. The whole time I feel like there's eyes on me, staring at my scar. It puts me even more on edge as we move through the streets.

Once back at the safe house I pushed past quickly and made my way towards the shower. I kept it cold and drenched myself quickly, removing what clothes I could salvage. I did my best to wash away the blood in my hair and on my skin. I was lucky that it only seems to be blood and nothing else. But only time will tell, here's hoping.

"Um Doc?"

"Yes Roach, I'm okay!"

"Well my hoodie is hanging on the doorknob... Since your shirt is ruined!"

I poke my head out and grab the hoodie before slipping it on. Its fit was slightly baggie on my frame, because despite the fact that I'm taller than Roach he was definitely bigger than me. I left my hair down to dry easier and thankfully my shirt was the only article of clothes covered in the blood.

"Thank you for the hoodie, Bug."

"There's an extra set of clothes here but the shirt is a short sleeve. I know you like to keep covered up because of the ya'know scars... OH! Not to say that you should keep covered up I just meant-"

I hold up my hand with a soft smile.

"It's fine Bug, it's a creature comfort. I really do appreciate it."

"Yeah! I like that, creature comfort."

The conversation continued until Soap and Ghost returned and we all made our way to extraction. After going through the quarantine protocols and being cleared I made my way to Roach and returned his hoodie.

3) Playful Pup

"Are you positive he can handle this kind of responsibility. I love Roach but the boy forgets to take care of himself when we're on base, do you really think he can handle a dog?"

"Yes, I think he'll take better care of himself with the dog. Trust me John, I saw how he looked at the pup. He was enthralled and so focused."

" If he can't handle it you'll be the one to take the dog away? I'm not breaking that boy's heart."

"I promise, if Roach can't handle the dog I'll be the one to be mean. But I know it won't come to that. I really do think this will be the best thing for Roach."

4) A Face To The Name

I step into my office only to notice a figure sitting in my chair. They're hunched forwards staring at something in their lap so it takes me a moment to realize who's in my office.

"How's she cuttin' Bug?"

I see the young man jump a bit before whipping his head towards me, his mouth, nose, and neck covered by one of his masks. Freckles cheeks stained by tears, his dark brown eyes welling up with fresh tears. I rush towards the young man before crouching down next to him.

"Roach! What's wrong lad?" I let go of his hands as he begins frantically signing.

'I didn't mean to go through your desk but your office is always so quiet, I needed a place to calm down! Then I got bored!'

I look down at what Roach has in his lap. My heart jumps to my throat. A small framed picture of a young man smiling into the camera, he's wearing a simple blue shirt that makes his curly ginger hair almost glow. He's smiling, there's a healthy blush on his freckled cheeks. His blue and brown eyes have a spark of pure glee and life.

Tears begin well up in my eyes, it has been a little too long since I've seen my son. I forgot I even had this here. I take a deep breath and reach to rub the tears from my eyes.

'Is this him? William?'

I nod to Roach. I don't trust my voice right now and I can't seem to get my hands move, so I can't sign back to Roach.

'Yes, this is the last photo he took before...' I vaguely gestured.

I pick up the framed picture and stand up. I take a deep breath as I walk to a shelf behind my desk and find a spot to place the picture of my son.

I turn back to Roach and eventually we make our way to the mess hall. I chatted with Roach, answering every question he has about William.

5) A Little More Trust

I stand outside with Soap as we watch the rest of the 141 comes of the Boeing. I'm still recovering from several fractured ribs and Soap's currently waiting for his broken arm to heal. They've all arrived from an op near Urzikstan, I didn't get many details from Price or Laswell. I'm happy to see most everyone back in one piece, Price was helping Kyle off the Boeing.

I learned that about mid-way through their op Gaz took a lovely little tumble tweaking his knee. After getting Gaz check out everyone meets up in the cantina and chatting. Roach isn't here yet so we wait for a bit, the cantina clears out. Its an empty room aside from our little table, Gaz and Soap are chatting together while Ghost has a very cuddly Soap at his side. Gaz is leaning back against Price with his leg propped up on the bench.

The tall figure of Roach appears beside the table, he's pale with heavy bags under his eyes and a bit of sweat on his temples. I open my mouth to ask him if he's feeling alright before the boy collapses next to the table. Ghost is quick enough to grab him before he falls completely to the floor but not fast enough to prevent the sergeant from knocking his head against the table.

"Shit! Gary? Lad!"

Price moves to the other side of Roach's collapsed form. Everyone begins to move to check on their friend and help get him to my office. He's carried to the cot on the far side of the room and set down. I shooed everyone back while I work to remove unnecessary articles of clothing. He's wearing tons of layers so I remove enough for me to check everything, I feel bad removing the boys mask so I don't. I work the best I can and check everything I can to find out the cause for Roach's collapse is. I tell everyone to go eat and I'll come get them once Roach wakes.

I'm sat writing a baseline report of Roach's condition and what could likely be the culprit. He seems to have severe dehydration and a heavy lack of sleep. He over worked himself while on op and got very little sleep. The dehydration was a bit extreme even with the climate they were in, so it's likely that Roach has been wearing the multiple layers while in the field. Eventually Roach wakes up, I moved towards handing him a water bottle and an apple.

"Roach darling? Are you okay?"

"M'fine, gotta a bloody pounding in my head."

I nod before pushing "Roach, you collapsed. You've been out for a few hours and you're severely dehydrated."

"You know where we were sent, yeah? Everyone's a little lackin' Doc."

"Roach, I'm trying to be nice. What's with all the layers lad? I could tell by the smell you've not taken them off for a bit ya?"

Roach nods "Not feeling very comfortable in my own skin, the layers helped. Brought some comfort, kept eyes off of me. The more layers felt better, it was hot but I could handle the heat."

"But the only eyes were the boys, none are going to judge you Roach."

"Then why do you still wear your long sleeves around them? We've all seen your arm and neck but you still wear your long sleeves Doc... Bit hypocritical isn't it?"

" A little but I haven't collapsed."

"Yet."

I sighed "Go to the mess, get some food then get to the rec everyone will meet you there."

I make my way into my barracks after escorting Roach out of my office. Once inside I pull off the turtle neck long sleeve and go to my trunk, I dig to the very bottom grabbing a tank top, then my hoodie, and put both on. I walk into the rec room to find everyone there.

"How's she cuttin' boys?"

I walk over and sit down on the couch next to Ghost, Soap is next to him in a cushioned chair. Roach is across from him with Gaz and Price taking the smaller couch. On the table in the middle is a game of Uno. After the round ends I join in as well. We got about half through when I set my card face down and stood up. I pulled off my hoodie and sat back down.

"You're sleeves looking good Maevis, see you finally got the skeleton."

"Nice new canvas for you to color on Johnny, nice for it not to be me for a change."

I smiled towards Roach and gave him a small nod. I sign 'No Pressure but they won't judge us'

He nods and takes off his hoodie as well leaving in a grey shirt but he keeps his mask on. We continued our game chatting about everything from what my next tattoo would be, to what Ghost might to get tattooed next, to Price cheating somehow. This continued into the night before we called it and turned in for the night.

COD Master List

[airybcby]

Hiiiii, I love your writing and also think that the blue lock matching with spotify wrapped us so fuuun!! I was wondering if I could get a match too, my top artist was Mother Mother ;))

ofc!!

if your top artist was mother mother i'd pair you with...

charles chevalier

જ⁀♡⊹｡° getting on a mountain

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event!

♡ content — charles chevalier x gn! reader, gn! reader, charles has high standards for himself,

♡ synopsis — perfection is something that cannot be contained, but to Charles Chevalier...it was what he needed to be.

The first thing you noticed about Charles Chevalier was how flawless he was.

Every movement was deliberate, every word perfectly said. He carried himself with an air of untouchable elegance, as if he'd long mastered the art of existing above the chaos of life.

You thought people like him didn't make mistakes, not because they couldn’t, but because they simply didn’t allow themselves the room for failure.

That was why it was such a shock to find him here, in the empty locker room, slumped against a bench with his head in his hands.

“Charles?” Your voice echoed in the cavernous space, startling him enough that his head shot up, his carefully guarded composure flickering into something raw before he could mask it.

“Ah,” he began, clearing his throat as though to erase the moment of vulnerability, “I didn’t think anyone else would still be here.”

You stepped closer, hesitant but concerned. “I was waiting outside, but you didn’t come out after the game. I thought something might’ve happened.”

His laugh was dry, humorless. “Happened? Nothing has ‘happened.’ I merely played beneath my standards today.”

Beneath his standards? You’d watched the match. He was brilliant, as always, threading passes and controlling the game like a conductor directing an orchestra. But maybe that was the problem. To everyone else, Charles was perfection incarnate, but perfection wasn’t a plateau—it was a steep, endless climb.

“You were incredible out there,” you said, trying to sound reassuring.

He scoffed, leaning back against the lockers with a thud. “Incredible? If that’s true, why does it feel so... empty?”

You hesitated, watching him carefully. Charles was never one to let the cracks show. You’d seen glimpses of his humanity before—an offhand comment about the pressure he faced, a rare smile after a victory—but this was different.

He looked exhausted, drained of the poise he clung to so desperately.

“Maybe it’s because you’re always chasing something that doesn’t exist,” you said softly, taking a seat on the bench opposite him.

His sharp gaze snapped to you, as if offended by the suggestion, but you held your ground. “Perfection. Control. Whatever you want to call it. It’s not real, Charles. You’re setting yourself on fire trying to reach it.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his hair—a gesture so uncharacteristically messy that it startled you.

“I’ve always thought,” he started, voice quieter now, “that if I can control everything—if I can be perfect—then nothing will hurt me. No one will have the chance to tear me down if there’s nothing for them to criticize.”

The weight of his confession sat heavy between you, a reminder that even someone like Charles Chevalier had fears, insecurities, and scars he worked tirelessly to conceal.

“You know,” you said, leaning forward slightly, “there’s nothing wrong with not being perfect all the time. People care about you, not the image of you that you think you have to be.”

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, as if trying to determine whether you meant it. Slowly, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

“maybe,” he murmured, almost to himself, “maybe I can start to believe that.”

You smiled, standing and offering him a hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

For the first time that night, Charles smiled—a small, tired thing, but genuine. He took your hand, and as you helped him up, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to let go of the weight he carried.

Bit by bit.

usually i would've played into his absolute insane personality, but mother mother gave me no other options

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[theosconfessions]

oops ...we're doing it again??

this time on birth control.

i had to. lolol

SCARLETTS LOVE IS EMBARRASSING BC CHALLENGE 🩷

im about to time jump in the next few weeks...so im throwing this out into the universe if anyone wants to join in on the chaos and the stephens continued

we're coming full circle here. Scarlett's father,Theo, has done two bachelor challenges in his life.Her being the product of one and his lasting marriage being the product of another. But can Scarlett have the same luck as her father? Wait is that luck? Either way after absolutely annihilating him on a tiktok live for his choices he made throughout the series but also afterwards. will she be any different? or will she follow in her fathers footsteps and be a theo incarnate? follow a young adult scarlett on her love is embarrassing bc in tartosa

RULES:

boys/girls/agender-all are welcome- no occults as the werewolves always startle me. lol. cc is good :)

no love traits. any other traits are fine.

backstories are welcome because itll help me shape the story arc of this bc.

all interactions will be on their own accord/i will probably end up making poses bc i cant help myself

scarlett will be on birth control because hot damn we know how this can get.

you gotta be okay with some dramz. scarlett is a little rough. especially as an adult.

ive already had some lovelies make me some GORGEOUS sims which ive already accepted :3 sims can be sent to me privately if you can :3

but im accepting entries until

JANUARY 4 🩷

either send me an ask/dm with their cc/tray files or tag me :3

i may move the deadline back depending. ill reblog this a few times and also add some sneaky young adult scar piccies :3 ill make an up to date character sheet for the time jump for scar as well.

lets see how many side eyes theo can give his daugher because of it! hes going to eat this UP.

also if you love your simmie that you submit and they end up together ..ill 100 percent send you scar so they can be messy together in your game :3 its so much funner that way.

[lilacsandlillies]

The Beginning

Grian’s always had a taste for destruction. It was just a thing.

Usually property damage was enough to satisfy him. A TNT explosion here or there. Maybe a small fire. An end crystal if he was feeling particularly restless.

Other times living things were the only thing to satisfy his… Not bloodlust, he didn’t crave death per se. He just, he needed to see someone or something destroyed. Destruction-lust?

Grian’s really thankful for the endless lives of the hermitcraft server. Makes him feel much less guilty about killing his friends.

Unfortunately for them all, any “destruction-lust” Grian may feel is multiplied tenfold in the life games.

Suddenly a small TNT explosion was a whole desert rigged to blow.

A small fire turned into entire bases burned to the ground.

And a little bloodlust was tuned into the itching need to see everyone around him dead.

Everyone was bloodthirsty in the life series but Grian was a noticeable outlier. The only person to ever kill on green without being threatened or a boogeyman.

It wasn’t until his first run in with a wither that he really understood what he was, why he felt like this.

When he got that first wither skull, back on last life, the need was instant. The need to set off a wither, see what kind of destruction could truly be caused.

One could only imagine how disappointed he was when Etho killed it.

Grian forgot about the whole fiasco, mostly, after last life. As the seasons got friendlier, and the people got friendlier with them, Grian had no choice but to follow the trend.

Then secret life came along.

Then he rolled his first hard task.

Spawn a Wither and make it fight Etho’s Warden.

A Wither.

Destruction incarnate. Pure chaos. They kill every living thing around them, indiscriminate violence. Like Grian.

It was meant to be. Quite literally. A Wither on the life server.

All he had to do was make it.

After meeting with Etho, he knew exactly what he had to do.

The trip to the nether was exactly what he expected. A disaster.

Grian didn’t exactly know why Mumbo had decided to be his butler. But he wasn’t exactly against it.

Much like how he wasn’t quite sure how Mumbo had gotten himself killed. (But he wasn’t really against it.)

The process of getting the skulls should’ve been easy. He had enough experience to know how to avoid getting killed.

He just hadn’t anticipated the blazes.

Having a single half heart was a terrible experience. Grian was pretty sure he would die here, surrounded by the wither skulls he so desperately wanted and needed.

It was a miracle he survived. And pure luck he hadn’t died on the journey back.

After getting the skulls, hurt and close to death, it was almost comforting having the deadly head of the wither on him. Like a blanket of safety where Grian should’ve been filled with nothing but fear.

It was a crying shame to have to take it off. Still, you do what you must.

No need to have the server know what he and Etho were going to do before it was done.

Grian decided to help Etho bring the warden up. It would make this all go a lot quicker. And anyway, they were allies.

So he went down to the deep dark. Helped Etho make his path. Helped him make his noise machine. Helped him set the shrieker.

Watching Etho spawn the warden was a little terrifying. But the knowledge of what they were about to set on the server made it all worth it. The fight will be legendary.

And Grian was sure the wither would win.

He ran from underground ahead of Etho, the angry warden chasing behind.

It was funny. Talking to people as they stood completely unaware of the warden on the surface. Of the wither in Grian’s pocket.

Scar sat and chatted with him as it was any other day. It was only when he saw it, the monster chasing behind Etho, that he started to panic.

Once everyone had seen the warden, as they ran in fear, Grian knew that it was the time.

The screams that surrounded him as he summoned the wither did nothing to deter him. If anything, their screams of terror egged him on. As if they were joyfully cheering and not yelling in fear.

Even the red names ran for their lives.

As the server fell into chaos, trying to kill his and Etho’s creations, even he felt fear.

The monsters chased, uninterested in each other. That was a problem.

Grian watched as Etho attempted to bring his Warden to the Wither. As Scar ran from the wither chasing him.

Jimmy and Mumbo died. (The server breathed a sigh of relief.)

Eventually, Etho managed to get them together. Logged out to save himself.

Then it began. They fought, the Warden and the Wither, and the Wither won, just as Grian thought it would.

After the monsters fought, the Warden dead and gone, Grian gazed upon what he had done.

He watched and he realized.

The server would end if they let that monster go unchecked. And it was much too early for that.

So he did it. He tried to kill it. His wither.

Then he realized that he had won.

Grian ran for the button, determined to win back his hearts. Most of the red lives were dead, (the same first three as last life) his task was complete. He was golden.

He was at the button. He hit it and-

Time was frozen. Everything was pain.

Grian was shot by a skull from 1 Stick Wither.

The wither killed him as he hit the button.

Success had never tasted so bitterly.

He was yellow, and all because of a monster of his own creation. A monster that may as well have been him.

The middle?

Etho‘s been around a long time. Longer than many, many things in this world.

It’s exciting, seeing how life changes.

New things at every turn. Things to explore, things to learn. New things to take apart.

It’s a joy like no other to rip into something new and see what makes it tick.

New redstone, biomes, friends. Each a new enigma, a new mystery to figure out.

Some people are scared of him. It’s natural of course, to fear something so ancient, so other.

There really is no creature quite like Etho.

At least there wasn’t. Then the warden was discovered.

Something new, certainly. Nothing had ever been seen like it before. Complete with new blocks, a new biome, new mechanics to pick apart.

But there was something so undeniably old about it. Something so ancient, so unknowable.

It was dangerous, sure, but also so unbelievably docile. Never had Etho met a hostile creature that simply left when it was no longer angered. Most stayed, like dangerous little pests.

It was strangely docile, for such a dangerous foe. Yet one that had a reason.

A creature that killed to maintain the silence. A monster that killed to protect its home.

Etho found wardens as fascinating as they were terrifying.

When tango and jimmy brought one up during double life, Etho was just as scared as the next guy. He’d been in the deep dark, he knew how dangerous they were. And the ranchers brought one up, kept it from leaving, and set it loose.

Still, the life server moved on. And Etho moved with it.

Secret life was a strange new addition to the series. More wacky than the seasons before. It fit Etho just fine.

Most of his tasks were fun. Nice little challenges. Then came the fifth session.

His task was hard enough. Add that to trying to get rid of Pearl’s book. He was doomed either way.

Knowing that he had to reroll was terrifying.

Getting his new task, knowing he had to not only bring a warden up, but make it fight Grian’s wither where everyone could see. He should’ve been terrified.

Etho was excited. This would be a fight for the history books.

The server was a little too calm for Ethos’s tastes anyway.

So as Grian went off to get his skulls, Etho started collecting the resources he would need to make this work.

He just had to hope that Grian could do his part. His getting trapped in the nether wasn’t inspiring much confidence.

Grian was his ally. He would just have to trust him.

It would certainly be a new experience to try and lure a warden. Tango and Impulse had done so before, sure, but it was always fun to try new things for yourself.

The terror. The novelty. The sheer nerves. It was exhilarating just thinking about it.

The warden was exhilarating.

There were a lot of moving parts to luring a warden. A noise machine to distract it, a bubble elevator to move it up, a name tag to make sure it doesn’t disappear. Not to mention actually spawning the warden.

After making part of the path and elevator, Etho met back up with Grian. He would need help to make sure that this went right.

Grian came back from the nether as damaged as ever.

Grian’s on half a heart. Nothing can ever just go right, can it. Still, they had what they needed from the nether. And if all goes well, neither of them would be taking damage from the warden.

Etho gave Grian a heart though, just to be extra careful. They were in this together.

Grian’s presence made everything much easier. Even if he was purposely making things more tense. Those note blocks were terrifying.

Lizzie dies as they’re preparing. It feels like an omen for the chaos to come. It feels like a warning.

Grian was sure that the wither would win the fight. Etho wasn’t so sure.

The wither was old. Tired and horrifically known. Etho would put his money on the warden any day, but it really wasn’t worth the fight. Not with Grian, stubborn as he is.

They worked on the path, dedicated and quiet. The moments leading up to spawning the warden were terrifying.

He broke the wool covering the shrieker, shaking. Whether it was from nerves or excitement, Etho couldn’t tell you.

He made noise, and set the shrieker off. Once. Twice. And one final third time.

Nothing happened. Etho yelled up to Grian, confused.

The warden spawned behind him

Etho ran as fast as possible to get away. He may have been excited for this fight, but he wouldn’t die for it.

He ran up, name tagging the warden as he went. Ethos’s Dishwasher. That was sure to make some really funny death messages.

He went through the bubble elevator, hearing the warden roar in rage behind him. He was blind as a bat thanks to the darkness effect, but it was fine. He knew where he was going.

Unluckily for Etho, the warden got stuck. It was up to him to manually lure him up to the surface.

He got so close he could almost touch it.

The darkness encroached over Etho’s vision like moss over stone.

Etho ran through the server, warden chasing after him and Grian up ahead. He kept running until they got near the secret keeper, so everyone could see what they had done.

Being chased by a Warden was terrifying like nothing else. It was a wonder like nothing else.

Nothing but the fear in everyone’s eyes as they realized what Etho unleashed.

Grian unleashes the Wither just as the Warden reaches everyone. The chaos is immediate.

Etho really doesn’t know what the red names were thinking being so close to two monsters. It really was their fault when they died.

It’s surprisingly hard to make them fight once both are spawned. They seemed much more concerned with trying to kill all the players.

(Logging out next to both of them may have been a little unfair, but you do what you have to do.)

As Etho watched the wither hover over the warden, he knew the fight was over. The warden wouldn’t be able to hit it.

Then, just as the wither killed the warden Grian, wonderfully stupid Grian, shot it.

Etho couldn’t help but feel bad when Grian died. He was so close to the button, so close to winning.

When the entire server came together to kill the wither, Etho felt proud like nothing else.

Nothing of course, except the feeling of hitting the success button.

The Warden may have lost the fight, but in the end Etho was the real winner.

The End

Gem’s always felt a sort of kinship with animals.

The cute and fuzzy, the small and buzzy, the huge and horrifying.

These games may be new to her, but the people, the plants, the animals, they’re all things she’s known forever.

She starts this game with a task. Make someone take a leap of faith.

It was surprisingly easy to get the people on the server to do what she wanted. She’s always been something of a shepherd.

The world moves on. She makes friends, a home, a sweet little trio of cottages surrounded by cherry trees, farms, and animals.

Their home becomes something of a safe haven for animals actually.

The people of this world, her friends, they all seem a little scared of her. She knows why, she knows that they don’t have anything to truly fear.

Not yet anyway.

Then she makes a mistake.

She knew that the task seemed too easy. She should’ve read it more carefully. But she turned it in and now she’s gotta roll a hard task.

Open the end portal. Oh dear.

At least today would be interesting.

Gem’s never been scared of the end per se, but she can see the danger in it. Especially in a world like this.

But then she realizes that she doesn’t actually have to go into the end, she doesn’t have to kill any dragon. (How she would hate to kill the dragon.)

She just has to open it. Make it an option for any player to take.

Thankfully she already planned to go to the nether this session. She through the nether portal, and Scott comes with her, the kind soul that he is.

First they kill a couple of endermen. She brought wood for boats, and the warped forest is filled with endermen. She gets the pearls she needs easily.

Finding the Bastion is a journey, but they find it with little issue. Then they get there.

Blazes are dangerous.

It’d be easier if they had fire resistance potions, but they don’t. The fire eats away at her health.

It’s hard to convince Scott to stay. He loses just as much to the blazes as she does. And unlike her, he doesn’t have a hard task looming over him convincing him to stay.

They decide to leave, regroup. She has gold, and they left a piglin in a boat way back when.

They get lucky. Not only can they restock on arrows, they get fire resistance potions.

The fire resistance makes everything easier. Fire resistance plus shield means the blazes can’t really damage them any more. She gets what she needs and then some.

They make their way out the nether feeling great. She got what she needed, and they didn’t even lose that much health.

The blazes are dangerous, and endermen even more so. She was so close.

Gem dies. She’s a yellow. Gem’s wearing a pumpkin from now on.

But.

She’d only lose more hearts if she hit fail. She was too close to quit now.

She has what she needs. Now she just needs to find the portal.

It’s a little more difficult than she had hoped, but she does it. She finds the portal.

It’s perfect. There’s only one eye missing. All she has to do is put it in.

She can go to the end now.

She doesn’t.

She leaves the portal, loots the stronghold, and makes her way up.

She completed her task.

When Gem gets back to the surface everyone looks at her strangely. Apparently they all thought she was going to kill the dragon.

As if.

She turns her task in, gets back to full hearts, and gets some goodies as a bonus.

The next day she fails her next task immediately. Really, Gem doesn’t know how a normal task could be so obviously impossible.

Throughout the day people comment that she looks different. Threatening some might say. She thinks she looks just fine.

She decides to gear up. She’s already on her yellow life, and actual diamond gear will make sure she doesn’t reach red.

It’s strange. Being a yellow. She’s used to people being scared of her, but never so openly. She hasn’t even really threatened anyone!

It’s okay though. She can use this to her advantage. It’s much easier getting what she wants when people are terrified of getting on her bad side.

She gets the gear she needs, and she feels better than ever. Protected, strong.

Afterwards she decides to just wander. She’s a yellow now, might as well be a bit of a menace.

As she’s wandering and talking to people she can’t help but think.

Everyone on the server thought she would kill the dragon last session. Gem can imagine the surprise when she just left it.

Bdubs asks her if she’s thinking about finishing the job. Killing the ender dragon herself. When she says that she’s not, she’s telling the truth.

No part of her wants to go into the end and kill the dragon. That doesn’t mean someone else shouldn’t try.

That is to say, no one’s actually gone into the end yet. Gem thinks it’s time to change that.

So Gem does.

“Pearl, you want to fight the dragon.”

Pearls on green. She’s brave, and more importantly, a threat. She’s won these games before. The two of them may be friends but Gem needs an advantage any way she can get one.

And having one of the biggest threats on the server fight the dragon. Even if it somehow doesn’t kill her, she’ll lose health.

When Pearl hesitates, Impulse agrees. Heck, he volunteers to go with her. Though he seems to misunderstand that Gem’s not going in.

She’ll supply them, sure. They’ll need arrows and pumpkins.

She’ll encourage them, definitely. She’s sure they can do it.

And, most importantly, she’ll recruit more players to go in with them.

Bdubs goes as easily as impulse did.

It’s almost too easy to convince people to go to the end. You’d think people who have played these games would be more cautious, more careful with their lives.

They’re blinded. By the xp, the achievement. The ability to say, we did it. We fought the dragon.

They go, like sweet little lambs, straight to end. Someone will end up dead. Gem knows it. Meanwhile she sits happily in the overworld, getting stronger and safer and much more dangerous than any of them truly realize.

More people go in. Martyn and Jimmy. Scott and Lizzie.

More people willing to lose their lives for basically nothing.

Gem isn’t surprised when Martyn dies. She isn’t shocked or saddened when Jimmy dies as well.

She’s proud of Bdubs though. Gem was sure he was gonna die.

The only death Gem feels any real grief for is the dragon’s. And she’s only really shocked that it didn’t kill more people. (She could’ve killed more people with her bare hands.)

It’s okay though. It’s still early.

And really, the dragon did her job. There are two reds now. Things are sure to get a little more interesting.

And if it doesn’t. If the “Big Dogs” fail. Well, Gem will have to do it herself.

It wouldn’t be the first time she got blood on her hands.