#Soul eater reality shifting

[cottenbee]

Soul Eater Script List

This is literally the ‘bare bones’ of my Soul Eater Script, hope it helps someone.

Name:

Nickname:

Age:

Race: (Are you a demon weapon, a meister, a half-witch, etc?)

Ethnicity:

Birthday:

Gender:

Pronouns:

Sexuality:

Height:

Weight:

Weapon Type: (What weapon you are or what weapon you wielding)

Weapon Classification: (Same as above)

Soul: (What your soul physically looks like)

Soul Type: (Do you have a Grigori soul? A mighty soul?)

Soul Wavelength:

Powers:

Residence:

School: DWMA (NOT class or EAT class, Maka and the others are part of the Crescent Moon Class in the EAT curriculum)

Appearance:

Personality:

Time:

[talesofadragon]

𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

Summary: Despite witnessing the death of his mother and being forced to grow under the watch of his Death Eater father, Theodore Nott is living proof that love and care bloom even in the most barren conditions. Maybe, they flourish even more.

Warnings: Allusions to sex

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Pregnant!Reader

Genre: Tooth-rotting fluff 

Word count: 4.2K

All Masterlists | Theodore Nott Masterlist

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 he had over his twenty-four years of existence.

His first dream was at the tender age of three after his mother surprised him with a trip to Diagon Alley. When nightfall came, the Sandman put him to sleep, drawing images of the alley's bustling stores and magical people behind his eyelids.

His second dream was at seven years of age. It had been a few years since the loss of his mother, and he had come to terms with the painful reality that her ghost did not linger within the desolate corridors of Nott Manor. But her soul and her memories seemed to still echo in his head.

The third dream was the catalyst that set off a chain reaction, unleashing a plethora of heavenly promises and alternate realities. It marked the beginning of one of the best stories he had ever read and one in which he had serendipitously played a role in curating. It happened when he was fourteen.

Hogwarts was abuzz with excitement as it hosted the renowned Triwizard Tournament. Though he wasn't particularly enthralled by his school and its whimsical attractions, let alone the two other visiting schools participating in the tournament, he had no idea how profoundly this event would impact his life. Everything changed when the girls from Beauxbatons Academy gracefully entered the scene, and amidst them was a certain witch with the most mesmerizing, iridescent eyes that instantly captured his attention.

Y/N Y/L/N—that had been the name of the witch who occupied his dreams for years on end. Though today she was known as Y/N Nott, his remarkably beautiful and majestic wife.

Tonight, just like every other night, Theodore sat on his bed. He would lovingly observe the gentle rise and fall of Y/N's chest as she peacefully slept beside him. In recent times, she often kept one hand tenderly clasping his while the other lovingly cradled her pregnant belly, an undeniable symbol of the beautiful life they were bringing into the world.

And like a magnet calling for the metal, Theodore’s hands would always wander to the life they had created, astounded by the little flutters he felt both against his palms and in his heart.

Y/N truly was his dream. And she was entirely his.

“Why are you not sleeping?” she murmured without prior notice, prompting Theodore to look at her. Her eyes were barely open, tiredness dominating her every feature.

Theodore was cautious not to engage in conversation with her, not wanting to risk waking her from her peaceful slumber. Instead, he propped himself up on one elbow, using his free hand to gently play with her hair. He lovingly brushed away the stray locks that caressed her face and used his index finger to twirl some of the strands. A playful smirk adorned his lips, knowing that the action almost always lulled Y/N into an undisturbed sleep—and he could already see her eyes fluttering shut.

But then, she abruptly shook her head, forcing her eyes to open.

“Y/N,” Theodore chastised, giving her a pointed look.

“Theo,” she replied, drawing out the last vowel.

Theodore snorted at her antics, and for some reason, he recalled the lazy days he spent with her in his bed at Hogwarts in the years following her transfer to the school.

She shifted closer to Theodore’s side—maybe she thought that moving around might sober her up. She cupped his face, angling it closer to hers. “Why are you awake?”

“I’m just thinking, butterfly.” He shook his head with a subtle laugh, his hands caressing her lips and pulling her bottom lip down. He only released it when he was sure her pout would mold into a relaxed smile.

“About?”

“Us three.”

Theodore observed the puzzled expression taking over his wife's features. She blinked owlishly while languidly processing his words. As his thumb gently brushed against her pregnant belly, her gaze shifted downward, and a melodious giggle escaped her lips.

“What about us three?”

“Nothing in specific,” he replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He already swooned whenever Y/N used the word “us.” But to hear it accompanied by a number that reflected a product of their ardent devotion? It filled his heart with love.

“I’m sleepy, Theo. Be specific, please.”

Merlin, Theo smiled. If this is a dream, I hope it lasts forever.

“I’m just really happy, Y/N,” Theodore elaborated.

Y/N mirrored the winsome smile that he radiated. She leaned in closer, positioning herself between his legs with her knees firmly planted on the mattress. Tilting her head to the right, Theodore's attention wandered between the still-visible hickeys on her neck, which had yet to fade away since two nights prior, and her lovely little belly.

“I want to straddle you,” she said after putting both her hands on his broad shoulders. “But I’m too big, and I can’t figure out a comfortable position that doesn’t involve me squishing you.”

Theodore’s uproarious laughter flooded the entire room. He found it both amusing and ludicrous that Y/N would think that. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her toward him until his chest cushioned her back, and his hands wrapped nicely and securely around her middle.

“This is my favorite position.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at her husband’s remark. “Huh. Since when did Cowgirl stop being your favorite?”

“Y/N.” Theodore rolled his eyes. He buried his head in her neck, teasingly biting her. She giggled, trying to push him away. “No straddling, riding, or exerting yourself while pregnant.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Theodore deadpanned. “Go back to sleep, butterfly. Not getting enough sleep is bad for the baby.”

“But how can I sleep when my baby is awake?”

“Is he now?” One of Theodore’s hands combed through Y/N’s hair while the other rubbed soothing circles on her belly.

The placid movements made her eyes flutter, but she blinked away the exhaustion at once. “Not my little prince,” she whispered. Her eyes landed on Theodore. “My little king.”

Pink dusted Theodore's cheeks in response to the comment. He had never realized how much he yearned for even the tiniest and most tender displays of affection until Y/N entered his life.

He basked in her warm words, bumping his nose gently with hers. “I love you. But I will love you even more if you get some rest.”

Y/N pouted. And Merlin, it was physically impossible for Theodore to do anything but smile at her reaction. “Not before you do.” She glared at him, and he held her gaze. A moment passed, then two, and then three. An errant yawn escaped Y/N's mouth, and she unintentionally blinked. She inwardly reprimanded herself at the realization. “Let me read you a story then.”

“A story?” Theodore asked amusedly.

“Hmm. It’s good practice for when the baby comes.”

“No, Y/N.” Theodore shook his head. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” Y/N shrugged innocently.

“Lying little witch.”

“Overprotective big oaf.”

“Oaf, you say?” Theodore raised an eyebrow while Y/N laughed. “Alright, you’ve done it.”

Instantly, Theodore flipped her over, making her back softly land on the mattress. He tickled her ever so gently, planting kisses all over her neck, cheeks, and body, eliciting delightful giggles from her until she let out that long, familiar sigh of contentment. Within minutes, she had drifted into a peaceful slumber, leaving him to gaze affectionately at her and the beautiful life they had created together.

As soon as Y/N’s eyes opened, Theodore's absence from the bed struck her, followed by the unnaturally quiet atmosphere around her room. She planted her elbow on the mattress, and with great effort, though she would never admit it, propped herself up and gazed at her surroundings.

The magical clock on the wall marked eight-thirty in the morning, and Y/N found it odd that Theodore was nowhere in sight. He rarely left her alone, especially since she became pregnant, hardly giving her a minute by herself.

Deciding not to think much of it, she slipped her slippers on and, unceremoniously, made her way out of bed. She was about to call for her husband when the smell of eggs and grilled cheese permeated the air. Her hurried steps echoed through the house as she dashed toward the kitchen.

“You’re making breakfast?”

“Y/N!” Theodore whipped his head in surprise, flying pans and floating juice surrounding him. “I told you to call me if you need anything. Especially if you want to walk down the stairs!”

Y/N completely brushed off his comment, eyes lighting up as one of the spatulas scrambled the eggs. “I’ll set the table.”

“Woah, woah, woah. You’re not doing that.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” she replied, looking down at the arm that blocked her way.

“Y/N—”

"Setting up the table will not break my back, Theo! I can do things even though I’m pregnant."

"I know, Y/N. I know." At this point, it was evident that Y/N's mounting frustration was reaching a tipping point. Theodore had to tread carefully with his words to avoid making her cry or, worse, giving her a reason to ignore him. "It's just that I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed. And, you kind of ruined it."

Y/N's big doe eyes locked onto her husband, a hint of calculation shimmering in her irises, revealed by the tilt of her head. As she placed both hands on her belly, Theodore's composed demeanor couldn't hide his concern and attentiveness.

He never enjoyed seeing Y/N upset, especially when she was pregnant. The mere thought of an upset Y/N during her pregnancy made him uncomfortable.

However, her giggle dispelled all his doubts, and a wave of relief washed over him. Still, his heart felt like it was dunked in the frozen waters of the Black Lake when he saw her skipping ahead, confidently navigating the stairs.

"I can fix it!"

"Y/N! What did I say about the stairs?"

"That I can't walk down the stairs by myself," she cheekily replied, holding onto the railing tightly. His heart clenched just as tightly as he watched her.

"Stay where you are, I'm coming,” Theodore announced.

“Uh-uh-uh. I’m climbing those steps myself, and if you even think about helping me, you won’t be coming until a year after this baby’s born.”

Theodore scoffed, “Don’t threaten me with sex, Y/N. It’s not going to work.”

“I said you won’t be coming, Theo darling," she pointed out matter-of-factly with a wicked grin. Sometimes, it didn't take much to remember that she was sorted into the House of Snakes. "I never mentioned sex.”

Theodore glared at his wife, his tongue poking his cheek. She won. And she knew it.

“One step at a time.”

With a quick wink, she resumed her way up the staircase, calling over her shoulders, “The baby wants strawberries, and I want grapes. Can you fix something, my love?”

“Get in bed safely first, and then I’ll see if you can get your fruits.”

Y/N waved at him from the threshold of their open bedroom door. Once he was sure she was inside, he cursed under his breath. Though, his smile never wavered and only turned into the biggest grin when he started chopping grapes and strawberries.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

Theodore stood proudly, attempting to hide his uncertainty behind a facade of confidence. He wore an expression that asserted, “I am perfectly capable of baking a cake for my wife.”

The chaotic ambiance in the kitchen begged to differ.

The room seemed to be the battlefield from the Third Wizarding War with flour scattered everywhere, eggshells haphazardly discarded on a plate, and cake batter splattered on once-pristine beige walls.

Perched on the bar stool, Y/N attempted to mask her chortle behind the book in her hands. It was a good thing that Theodore was too busy opening and closing cabinets to notice her amusement.

“Theo, my love. I know pureblood Slytherins struggle to admit defeat, but maybe it’s time you retire that apron you’re wearing and let me take care of this cake.”

“Absolutely not,” Theodore refuted with a little too much vigor. The spatula in his hand swayed to the right, causing a generous amount of batter to land on the side of Y/N’s face. “Oh, Merlin! Y/N, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I swear I didn’t mean it!”

Y/N’s nose scrunched in disgust when Theodore approached her side. He cupped her cheeks, but she briskly swatted his hands away. His heart broke, and he stepped back with dimmed hazel eyes.

“You utter nincompoop, Theodore Nott!” With a horrified expression, Theodore watched Y/N rush to the sink and splash her face with water. A goblet of cold water came flying to her hands after she snapped her fingers, and she gulped it down at once. “That smelled foul! I don’t want to imagine how it tastes. Throw that bowl away. Right now.”

He did so immediately. He looked down at the gooey mixture, stifling a scowl. “Maybe it’s better if I buy a cake.”

“Or, hear me out. I should make one.”

“You’re not exerting yourself.”

“Theodore, darling. Baking a cake is a breeze. It’s you who struggles to even boil water.”

“I don’t struggle to boil water,” Theodore grimaced. One look from Y/N, and he was left evaluating his response. His eyes wandered to the slight mess he had created in the kitchen and then to his pouting wife, who looked absolutely ethereal with her round belly. He was starting to cave. Damn, that witch. “No! Don’t look at me like that. I’m getting you a cake. One you’re not making.”

“But—”

“No buts. In fact, I’m going right now,” Theodore said in a rushed tone. He knew that if he even looked at her for one second longer, he couldn’t remember what letters formed the word “no.” He immediately summoned his keys, placing them in his pockets. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t touch anything, don’t worry about anything. Just… breathe. Yeah, butterfly?”

Y/N blinked, gazing at her husband. “You too?” she replied unsurely.

Theodore gave her a quick, though impassioned, kiss that almost made her forget where she was and what they were talking about. His hand went to rub the curve of her belly, and she cursed those stupid hormones that made her whimper.

Dazed, she watched as Theodore fetched his coat. He sent her a languid smile, and then, he dashed out of the house and apparated promptly. As soon as she heard the apparition crack, it was like the “Nott Enchantment” was lifted off her, and she could see everything around her much more clearly.

She turned on her heels, carefully studying her kitchen. With a devious grin, she rushed to grab her wand and immediately pointed it at the counter. “Wingardium Leviosa.” The utensils simultaneously launched into the air, followed by the eggshells and the other ingredients on the counter.

Y/N cleared the surface quite easily, directing whatever needed washing to the sink, which was already filling with soap and water, and disposing of the trash. Scourgify was at the tip of her tongue, but deciding that she wanted to revel in her rebellion a little more, she tucked away her wand and pulled the cleaning supplies from the storage.

Immediately, she put on the pink rubber gloves, which Theodore never quite fancied, flexing her fingers in the air and picturing the look of sheer terror on her husband’s face. She poured the surface cleaner on a cloth and began disinfecting the kitchen.

Slowly, but surely, the abysmal smell—courtesy of Theodore’s extraterrestrial baking skills—was replaced with the fresh scent of pine and vanilla. Y/N inhaled these scents, labeling them as one of freedom. Even her baby seemed happier, vehemently kicking her belly and bouncing around.

It didn’t take long before everything was clean. Satisfied, Y/N placed the cleaning supplies under the sink and started putting back the clean utensils. Though, her peace was disturbed by a loud pop.

She shrieked, placing one hand atop her mouth and the other on her belly when it dawned on her that there was now a little less light inside her home than there was a second before.

Looking up, she exhaled a sharp breath when she realized that one of the ceiling’s light bulbs was out.

“It’s a good thing your father isn’t here, my little prince,” Y/N whispered, gently caressing her belly. “He probably would’ve apparated us to the moon, thinking it was a Death Eater or something.”

Once more, she felt her stomach fluttering as her baby’s little kick brought a smile to her face. She couldn’t help but feel grateful that her little boy seemed to be inheriting her sense of humor, and she silently thanked the stars that he might just be a lot less uptight than Theodore.

Merlin seemed to be on her side too, egging her on and encouraging her little streak of rebellion. Without giving it much thought, Y/N rushed to the electrical panel by the kitchen’s wall and spotted the room’s switch.

When they had first moved, Theodore was particularly concerned about muggle electricity, swearing that it was an anti-wizard mechanism that would electrocute them if they came near it. Y/N didn’t believe him. But because she loved him too much to see him losing his precious hair over this trivial matter, she did indulge in his absurdity and kept herself away from the panel.

After her curiosity got the best of her, she decided to ask Fleur, a friend from Beauxbatons and Bill Weasley's wife, about electricity. Knowing that Mr. Weasley, Fleur's father-in-law, had a fascination with muggle devices and technologies, she figured Fleur might have some insights. Additionally, Hermione, Fleur's sister-in-law, being a muggleborn, likely knew a thing or two about it as well.

To her relief, Fleur reassured her that electricity wasn't half as bad as Theodore had made it out to be. With the kitchen switch turned off, Y/N could easily change the light bulb without any risks.

She grabbed her wand, pointed it up, and carefully removed the old bulb. Just as she was almost done placing the new one, she felt a hand snatch away her wand and another grab her waist.

Y/N gasped, feeling herself being pushed against the wall. Her breath was knocked out of her lungs, her eyes peering up in horror until they landed on familiar hazel irises that looked anything but warm.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Her annoyed voice mixed with Theodore’s sharp one. She pushed him away from her just as he threw her wand across the room. It clattered on the floor, the noise accompanying Theodore’s labored breath.

“I told you not to do anything!”

“Well, I wasn’t doing anything!”

“You were playing with that muggle death trap, Y/N! All while being pregnant!”

“Oh, get off your rocker, Nott! I turned the electrical switch off before changing the lightbulb,” Y/N argued, gesturing toward the electrical panel.

It was obviously a mistake given how Theodore's face turned as white as snow, and the trembling in his fingers signaled the storm of emotions building within him, about to erupt. “You touched Frank Benjamin’s apparatus of doom?!”

“What?” Y/N made a face after a moment of silence and confusion.

“Did you touch that thing?” Theodore asked, pointing at the panel.

“Yes.”

“Are you mental?”

“I’m starting to think I am after two years of being married to you!”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“Who the bloody hell is Frank Benjamin even?”

“I told you not to change the subject!” Theodore warned.

Y/N was this close to slapping her husband’s obnoxiously handsome face. “You are being awfully dramatic, Theo. Just because Draco told you and Blaise that electricity is a torture device developed by muggles doesn’t mean it’s true!”

“Oh, yeah.” Theodore crossed his arms. Surprisingly, now that Y/N could see the pink and purple paper bag from her favorite bakery in his arms, her husband looked a lot more cute than intimidating. “How’d you know that?”

“I asked Fleur,” she deadpanned. “Oh, and would you look at that? I’m still alive! Looks like Frank Benjamin did a lousy job.”

“We do not say his name in this household, Y/N!” Theodore insisted while stepping closer. He seemingly noticed the bag he was yet to discard in his hands. He placed it on the counter and turned to his wife before he froze in his place. “You cleaned the house?!”

Y/N flung her arms in the air at her husband’s callousness. “Yes! And with those pink gloves you hate so much!”

“I told you not to do anything. I left you for ten minutes!”

“I wish you left me for more. Maybe then I would’ve been able to do the one thing I need more than anything.”

“Which is?” Theodore scoffed.

“Breathe!”

Following her outburst, Y/N’s hand came to rest on her hip while the other landed on her heart. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let the oxygen flow inside her lungs.

When her eyes fluttered open, the tension that inundated the air slipped. And meeting her on the other side was her Theodore with warm hazel irises and outstretched hands.

“Come here.” He gestured with arms wide open. Y/N dove into his embrace. She had gotten quite better at accommodating her large belly in Theodore’s bear hugs. “I’m sorry if I've been frustrating lately. I just… I just want you to be safe and happy, Y/N. Both of you.”

“We are, Theo. With you, we always are,” Y/N assured him. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she buried her face deeper into her husband’s clothes. His scent invaded her senses, and she had to admit defeat against her hormones.

“Hey. Look at me, butterfly.”

Y/N lifted her tear-stained face. She wanted to let Theodore know it was just her hormones and that there was nothing to worry about, but any modicum of common sense evaporated as soon as Theodore started kissing away the tears.

She exhaled in delight, relishing in the feel of her husband’s lips against her skin. His touch was delicate and ephemeral, yet it left a trail of anticipation and ardor in its way.

“Theo,” Y/N murmured. She cupped his face, her thumb gliding gently over his stubbled jaw. “I love you.”

“You can never love me more than I love you, Y/N Nott," he admitted, caressing her neck, specifically her pulse point. "And maybe, it’s because my affection knows no bounds that I’ve crossed the line from being protective to becoming overbearing. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with affection at his heartfelt words, leaving her momentarily speechless. “I forgive you,” she replied, planting a soft kiss on his neck. Theodore's lashes fluttered in response to her touch. “And thank you for admitting this out loud. I know it must’ve been hard.”

“Oh, it’s not the only thing that’s hard right now.”

“Theo!” Y/N guffawed loudly. She playfully slapped his chest, but he quickly caught her wrists and nuzzled his face in her neck, nipping her sensitive skin. “Stop being promiscuous. I’d like to peacefully eat my cake, please!”

“Why have a cake, Y/N? When I can make you the most fantastic cream pie. It’s going to leave you craving for more,” Theodore whispered huskily in her ear, going as far as licking her earlobe and sucking it gently.

Y/N gnawed at her lower lip, already feeling herself surrendering to Theodore. Curse those stupid hormones and all the times she teased him with sex. Must he retaliate, too? How did they even get to this point?

“After the cake, Theo. Our baby is hungry.”

Theodore stopped then, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple. He grasped her hand, beaming when she interlaced their fingers together. He watched her as she giddily reached for the strawberry cheesecake he had gotten her, plating two slices, and taking the biggest one for herself.

“This is really good.”

“Better than my cream pie?” Theodore wiggled his eyebrows. He laughed and ducked out of the way of a flying strawberry, effortlessly catching it before it hit the ground. “You missed, my love.”

“Don’t you ‘love’ me, Theodore Nott!” Y/N pointedly addressed him. It was hard to take her seriously with the crumbs on the side of her mouth. "One more sexual innuendo and I'm naming our child Frank Benjamin."

"Absolutely not!" Theodore scowled. He took a bite from his own cake, looking back thoughtfully at his wife. "Though if you do indulge in my cream pie, I'll let you tell Draco and Blaise that we are considering naming our child Frank Benjamin."

Y/N's eyes lit up like a thousand stars twinkling in the night sky, and Theodore couldn't help but feel a euphoric swarm of butterflies dancing in his soul, bringing an overwhelming sense of happiness and warmth to his heart. Her radiant joy illuminated the room, and at that moment, he knew that her happiness was all he ever needed in this world.

Thank you to the lovely nonny who suggested this prompt💚 I hope I did it justice. I always knew that I will be writing for Theo Nott sooner or later, and I'm glad to have started with this piece.

Thank you to everyone who sent me requests; there are loads of Theo fics I'm working on, and I hope to release them as this year progresses.

[venjras]

ESPRESSO - SUKUNA.

˗ˏˋ nsfw, tw: f!reader, oral ( f!receiving ), use of pet names, hair pulling.

it had been a busy evening at work, your boss made you very angry and you came home almost dragging yourself, exhausted. it was like they were able to suck right out of you every single energy left in your body. he notices it right away. as soon as you cross the threshold of your house he immediately pint pointed the slow pace, tired eyes and small sighs you couldn’t hold back from doing.

“doll, what happened?” he softly asks as he approaches you, pulling you into a hug and letting you hide against his chest, almost disappearing into that body that is practically twice your size.

“nothing, i'm just tired.” you murmur but he had already sensed something was defenetly off. so he brings two fingers under your chin and forces you to look at him, your gaze immediately colliding with those dark eyes of his that every time seemed able to read you to the soul.

“i'll kill them all, you just have to ask.” he speaks with a lightness that snatches a laugh from you, getting on your tiptoes so you can give him a little peak on the lips.

“it's okay, really, thanks ‘kuna.” at the moment you don't feel like dealing with this topic, it already seems far away thanks to your boyfriend's sweet words.

you don't know what you would do without him, neither did him really. yours had been a reciproche obsession right away, madly in love, dependent on each other, like pieces of puzzles they had waited all their lives just to meet. to the point that you would not doubt whether sooner or later the words addressed to your superiors’ behaviour would become reality. he couldn't stand to see you being mistreated, the mere thought made him boil with anger and if you hadn't been there to calm him he would destroy anything — and anyone — in his path.

“mhm, i know how to send away all this stress.” a sly smile makes room on his lips and you don't have time to realise that he has already taken you in his arms, headed for your shared bedroom.

you suddenly feel your world shift when your back is pressing against the mattress, under the heavy weight of his big body as he pushes its way between your thighs. when your lips meet, something dangerous snaps in his self control and suddenly your body is pushed deeper into the soft fabric, his hands gripping tightly at your hips as he licks messily into your mouth, drinking you up and groaning at the first, wet glide of your tongue along his. you curl your arms around his neck as you gasp helplessly his name. you are kissing him fiercely as he grinds against you, large palms roaming along the dips of your figure until you’re mewling against his panting mouth and hitching your leg around his waist.

“lemme take care of you, baby.” he whispers against your mouth, there’s a carnal drop in his tone and you feel the sound vibrate against your skin before he’s pulling away, slowly going down on you. hands moving to pull down your pants and panties, followed by a tentative swipe of his fingers along your already embarrassingly slick pussy. it was funny how worked up you could get over nothing, just because it was him who did it.

sukuna smears kisses down your hips before he’s lifting your weak legs over his shoulders, licking his lips when he gets the first glimpse of your pretty pussy. he’s immediately shoving his face between your thighs, taking a long taste of your cunt, smirking against it when you gasp out a yes followed by your hand pulling his pink strands. slurping you up like he hasn’t eaten a proper good meal in ages. your back arches at the sudden stimulation when you feel his tongue flatten against your clit, it only takes a few seconds before his muscled forearms are keeping you pinned beneath his huge body, your hips twitching as you cry out for him.

he’s a messy eater, lost in his own pleasure as he loses himself in your addictive cunt, the taste feels like fucking heaven on his tongue and he moans because of it. pure hunger. every swipe of his tongue sends bliss racing through you, arousal pooling dangerously in your stomach as your eyes prick with pleasured tears. his pace never eases and you feel like you can barely breathe as he showers you in strong licks, panting warm along your glistening folds when he pulls away to admire the way your slick shines when it’s mixed with his spit.

it’s embarrassing how quickly you feel your orgasm. you feel his nose knock against your clit as he smacks lewdly, feeling your warm walls flex around his thick tongue when he dips it past your fluttering hole. you’re pretty sure the lower half of his face and cheeks are soaked as you feel your arousal pool onto the bedsheets below you.

he feels so fucking good, and you feel lost in a dizzy dream when you meet his heavy gaze once more, watching the muscles of his back move through the tight fabric of his white shirt. something dangerous spark along your nerves when his huge palms rock you against his mouth, reducing you to pretty pants and babbles of his name.

“p-please, ‘m gonna come — ” you moan out, feeling an unfamiliar sensation build up into the deep pits of your lower abdomen. it felt like an intense pressure building up before gradually starting to press down onto your pussy.

your jaw drops, feeling like you were about to gush right out. and it happens. you end up gushing right on his face, it trickle all down his chin and your eyes roll back like it was fucking nirvana. everything feels so quick, you’re barely able to breathe regularly as your eyes grow droopy and your legs break because of the spasms.

“did you just squirt on my face?” he slowly pulls away, chuckling, finishing tasting the remains of his meal left on his tongue while looking right into your eyes. he is breathing hard, pupils blown wide as they scan over your features.

“mhm, how about you do that again? showing me how much of a good girl you are.”

sorry in advance, english it’s not my first language.

©️ venjras.

[greenandsorrow]

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> For technical reasons (for the plot to continue plotting), this chap focuses mostly on the past! Another thing... I appreciate your feedback and comments more than you realise, so don't hesitate to interact with my fics 🥺❣️

-> It's giving Stockholm Syndrome, I'm aware, but that's why it's called fanFICTION.

-> I think it's funny how each chapter turns longer than the last. I'm getting hooked to my own writing I guess.

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish

~ 3 ~

Pennywise's POV 🎈

For five long years he has stayed awake, stalking the streets of Derry... waiting. Pennywise's usual cycle -hibernating after a killing and terrorizing spree- has been disrupted. This time, something -someone- kept him from descending to the deep slumber he usually craves.

He can't fully understand it, but it's because of you -the spark, the tug of connection he isn't familiar with. He's hunted countless children without a second thought. But with you... When he had expected you to cower and break, instead, you had resisted, you had played his twisted games and stared back at him without losing your soul. You had made him so curious. And that curiosity has gnawed at him enough to eat away at his rest, putting him in a sort of restless trance.

Every time he tries to slip beneath the Earth and to return to the darkness he came from, he feels a pull, a shudder that makes him cling to the surface for just a little more, for just another silly, little, stupid, meek year.

But as the years have been slipping by, something else has shifted in him as well -a subtle thing that feels almost like restraint. He still lurks in the shadows, his instincts are still telling him to frighten and to feed… but each time he sees you, that impulse falters. Instead of scaring you, he finds himself watching, almost guarding you from afar.

It feels a twinge of protectiveness -an urge that should definitely not exist in a creature made to hunt and devour. It doesn't get it, doesn't know why It lingers to ensure no danger befalls you, before It vanishes for the usual twenty-seven years. Almost as though, Pennywise the Clown is bound to you by something unexplainable, something that's kept him from retreating to sleep.

And It hates it.

The longer Pennywise watches, the more he wishes he didn't feel this way. But when he does try to stir up the familiar darkness within his core, it's dulled and quieted. All he knows is that his hunger has been overpowered by something else, something… protective.

And this fact is as unnatural as it is inappropriate, for no other than The Eater of Worlds.

1979 Derry, Maine

"Let's play another game..! I... There is... There's one we haven't played!"

The door creaked open and the clown stepped inside with a look you had never seen before on him. He wasn't smiling, wasn't performing... he was serious, unsettlingly so. A reminder that Pennywise wasn't -and isn't- a real clown, not in the way he pretends to be. Drool slipped from his red lips, glistening in the early morning light filtering through a crooked and badly shut window. He had probably just interrupted his breakfast -maybe to see you- and the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

"What kind of game?" his voice rumbled low, sending a chill across your skin. Your stomach tightened and you swallowed down the bile that rose. His piercing, yellow gaze left you feeling exposed.

You struggled to think of something, anything that could buy you more time. You had to say something, or else he would just get pissed and maybe have you for breakfast, instead of the one he was -so rudely- interrupted from.

"The first one to… If I can name one friend before you do, I get to leave. If you win… You get to do whatever you want with me." You knew you were cornered, but the words had come out anyway.

A strange look flickered across his face.

"What's your name?"

You frowned at what sounded like an absurd thing to ask out of the blue. "Y/n."

He giggled.

"Oh really?! And I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! Now we've both properly introduced ourselves... We can be friends!!!"

The point of the game was for you to win... but he just had to be a smartass.

"WE CAN'T- CAN'T BE FRIENDS!"

Pennywise pouted, almost like a child who's just been told no. You could see the contradiction in him as he considered your words -a clown who loves games, whose eyes practically gleam with excitement... and yet a predator who's always calculating, always one step ahead, keeping his prey exactly where he wants it. He knew you had just tried to outsmart him, yet he stepped closer, drawn in by the idea of another game. Your captor knew way more about you than you had realized -he had been watching you long before he had decided to 'kidnap' you.

Actually, your desperate answer made him leave his spot by the doorframe and advance toward you, crouching down to your eye level. You were paralyzed in fear he could probably smell. Even while holding your breath, you could feel his own on your face... It smelled like a butcher's shop.

"Don't. Shout. At. Me."

You nodded.

His drool was still glistening.

"You're not leaving either."

Another nod.

Then, he left the room.

Later, you'd realize he had let you have your way with that idiotic game purely out of boredom -a way to break up the ancient routine It'd followed since the beginning of time. But in that moment, you were just trying to survive.

What happened next is clouded in fragments, your memory blurred by fear -or maybe it's nostalgia. Somehow, over time, you became something to him. Indeed... a friend... of sorts.

As more days passed, you dared to start speaking more freely, filling the silence between you. You'd mention that you were cold, or hungry and he would tilt his head in that curious way of his. The next day, a bag of chips might appear on the bed. Once, you coughed, your throat parched. Fortunately, you managed to murmur "water". A few hours later, there it was -water in a bowl.

You found your book -Alice in Wonderland- left in a corner of the room. You read to him, each word trembling from your lips but never letting your voice falter fully. Pennywise would sit at the edge of the bed, sometimes even curling up like a cat -making you question if he had any bones-, his gaze fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. You were scared that when you finished reading the book, your life would end along with Alice's story.

But it didn't.

Still, sometimes you made desperate attempts to escape, bolting to the door. But he'd catch you with a taunting grin.

"Tag, you're it!" he'd chuckle, pinning you effortlessly. "Winner gets a prize!" he'd mock, as if the only reward he needed was to see your defeated face. But despite the mocking, the punishing appearances of the enormous cockroach stopped.

Even his gaze softened over time, slipping from the predator's yellow stare to an electric blue. The games also shifted -grew less cruel- and with them, so did he. He no longer seemed intent on hurting you and instead, observed you with a cautious neutrality.

Each day It brought you random bowls of food and water -most likely stolen from unsuspecting housewives... And sometimes, It would linger just outside the door, listening to your voice as you read to yourself.

One evening, you found yourself in the backyard, gazing up at a lilac sky. He had taken you there -unbeknownst to you- because he had brought a little snack inside and didn't want that to scare you.

You missed your old life with a pang that made your throat burn, a feeling so deep you didn't even notice him approaching. Without thinking, you pressed yourself into the clown's chest, burying your face against his ruffled collar. His strange scent -a mix of damp earth and something much older- washed over you and for the first time, you felt… safe with him.

He didn't hug you back, didn't mimic the gesture, but his voice murmured strange words about humans, their fragile nature and then the usual pet name he would call you: "little one".

It was then that you realized -he wouldn't hurt you. Not now. Not after all this time. But the realization broke something in you, a dam holding back all the emotions that had been bubbling under the surface.

"Y- You won. You won!" you stammered, choking back tears. "I'm your friend! Kill me now!"

You collapsed to your knees and he watched -bewildered- as tears streamed down your face. For a moment, he just stood there and watched you cry. Then, tentatively, he reached out in an almost inquisitive manner, to catch a tear with a long, white finger and taste it. He seemed to pause, reflecting on something only he could understand.

And then on another day, another attempt to escape. You had found a tiny window in the basement and tried to squeeze through it. But he noticed, his monstrous form scraping against the window's frame, shattering the glass in a frenzy to reach you.

When you saw the shards cutting into his skin... You froze, guilt flooding over you. You returned to his side while murmuring apologies, your hands trembling as you pulled the glass from his wounds, piece by piece.

He didn't attack you -just stared at you with a seriousness that sent chills down your spine. You knew in that moment, that you had crossed a line, that there was something between you that shouldn't have been there -because you could've left but didn't and because he could've killed you but didn't either.

When you finished pulling out the glass pieces, he was pouting at you. "Meanie..." he said and stuck his tongue out.

In the days that followed, Pennywise grew quieter. He watched you differently, as if seeing you with new eyes -ones that held a warmth you'd never expected. And in a way, it made you feel… comfortable. Comfortable enough that one day, you dared to reach out, brushing a hand along his white cheek.

He froze under your touch, as if unsure how to react -his usually fierce, yellow eyes softening to that strange blue. A low sound rumbled from him -somewhere between a purr and a growl- and he tilted his head, pressing into your hand like a cat, seeming almost… content.

But that wasn't right. He wasn't human and he definitely wasn't a pet. It was something ancient and boundless... and yet here It was, in its favorite form, accepting your touch and even starting to crave it. You pulled your hand away and his eyes opened, watching you in a way that felt unexpectedly intimate.

Time continued to flow onward.

You were now given strange meals in even stranger containers -a cracked bowl, a chipped mug, even a metal dish that you could have sworn was meant for a dog! He didn't seem to understand the details of human routines, didn't quite grasp what you needed beyond food and water. Yet he tried, even if it were in ways that felt utterly alien.

One evening, just as the sun began to dip, you asked if you could go outside again. You hadn't meant it as a real question, but in the morning, you found the door to the backyard unlocked.

You didn't dare leave the property, but you enjoyed how the air was fresh and the grass was soft and the sky a little cloudy. You stayed out until evening came.

Pennywise watched you from a distance, the colors of the twilight reflecting in his eyes, giving him an almost haunting beauty. He joined you, sitting in the overgrown grass... murmuring things in a language that sounded both ancient and musical, like whispers from an old spell.

In the quiet, you leaned against him, letting the stillness speak for you both. And though he didn't return the gesture, just like last time, he didn't pull away either. You looked up at the stars, feeling that deep ache for home... He patted your head in a comforting manner... and in that moment you could almost believe he was a friend.

You were just a kid, but even with your naivety, deep down you knew the truth -he was a monster that had killed before and would kill again. Yet for now, he seemed content with your presence, more curious than threatening. He tilted his head, watching you with softness in his gaze, as if pondering the mystery of your existence.

Somewhere in your heart, you felt the shift. Pennywise, the monster, had grown attached to you. And you… well, you couldn't deny the attachment had become mutual.

The days blurred together even more after that, filled with silly games, with quiet moments and fragments of a bond you could neither define nor understand.

And yet, even as you tried to push away the thought, you feared that someday he might wake up and no longer see you as friend, or even as a curiosity, but as something he was hungry for once more. Still, in the quiet of the night it felt like a small, tragic eternity -two beings from worlds apart, drawn together and held by something both tender and terrifying.

The last days in the house at Neibolt St were the strangest. Pennywise grew quiet, almost pensive, as if some hidden clock was winding down inside him. You noticed how his smiles and giggles were fading, as if the game he'd once delighted in was losing its thrill. Sometimes, he would simply watch you with an unreadable expression, his eyes that odd, bright blue that almost felt... sad.

You felt a pang of sympathy for him. For all his power and for all his malevolence, he was still somehow... alone. You had felt it in those strange moments when -almost wistfully- he'd listen to you talk and read.

The last night felt different, filled with an air of finality.

As you laid on your creaky bed, you noticed him standing in the corner of the room, like some sort of sleep paralysis demon. He was staring at you with an intensity that used to scare you three months ago. You felt the impulse to speak, but you knew he wouldn't respond. Instead, you held his gaze, feeling a strange sense of sorrow settle over you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear.

"Little one, when you leave…will you forget about me?"

The question caught you off guard and you didn't know how to answer. You wanted to tell him that you wouldn't, that everything you'd been through would be impossible to forget. But Pennywise knew that memories could fade, that as you grew older, the edges of this nightmare would blur.

You just stared at him, searching for the right words.

His eyes held a strange depth, a rawness you hadn't seen before. But he didn't wait for your answer. He simply turned, drifting back into the shadows as he whispered...

"The game isn't over."

And as he vanished, you were left in the cold darkness, with the silence pressing down around you like a final embrace. You clutched your knees to your chest, feeling the weight of those words settle heavily in your heart. You knew that even if you did forget him one day, some part of him would linger -an echo in the back of your mind, a memory that would never truly die.

That night, as sleep began to take you, you imagined him in the backyard... looking up at the stars and wondering if you'd remember.

It really felt like something precious had been taken away from you too early.

The next morning, you woke up in your own bed, in your home in Witchham Street.

For a moment you thought you'd died... Εveryone around you acted as though you'd never disappeared, as if those harrowing months at Neibolt hadn't happened at all. But there was one particular detail that hinted otherwise... A red balloon, floating silently at the edge of your bed.

That morning, you also got your period for the first time.

Stepping outside, the daylight was so bright and so warm, a stark contrast to the darkness you'd lived in for weeks. You squinted at the light, feeling almost as though you'd stepped into another world. It was hard to believe that just the night before, you had been in his arms -you had been seeking comfort from the monster who had held you captive.

Part of you seriously considered whether it had all been just a dream. Still, for days, you felt his absence like a missing heartbeat.

The world around you seemed much louder and the colors almost too vivid. Sometimes, you'd catch yourself looking for him in the shadows, half expecting to see his shape looming in the corners of your room.

At night you'd lie awake, thinking of his strange question...

"When you leave… will you forget me?"

You didn't know how to answer, even to yourself.

As much as you wanted to return to your old life and to move on from that nightmare, you felt a small part of you ache with the loss. You had lived through something impossible, something that had left you changed.

There was no going back to who you were before.

Over time though, the memory of him faded into something almost surreal. You didn't speak of it to anyone -the words felt fragile and sacred, as if telling the story might diminish it.

But the craziest thing that happened? You continued living as if everything was perfectly normal.

You only thought of Pennywise again that Christmas, in 1979...

The holidays had come to Derry and your family decorated the house with lights and garlands, the scents of pine and cinnamon clinging to every corner. There were gifts under the tree and snow falling outside the windows. Everything was festive and happy.

But when you woke up in your cozy little bedroom -on the 24th-, near the foot of your bed laid a single, crumpled sunflower. It must've been from the patch in the backyard where you'd sometimes sit with him, where the wildflowers had managed to grow despite the gloom. You held it gently, careful not to disturb its fragile petals. It felt like a memento of your time together -a reminder that what you had shared was real, however bizarre and terrifying.

On some nights, when the world was silent, you'd find yourself reaching for that sunflower, feeling the dried petals crumble beneath your fingertips. You'd lie awake, wondering where he was -if he still remembered, if he still waited. And though you'd never say it out loud, a small part of you hoped he did. Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how much you grew or changed, there was one truth you could never deny... He had left his mark on you, a scar that you'd carry forever.

And somewhere out there, you felt certain, Pennywise was waiting.

In the years that followed, you held onto those fleeting memories. They had a strange, magnetic pull -a mix of terror and fascination. You couldn't help but feel that if you let them slip, if you completely forgot, you'd be leaving behind a piece of yourself.

The Losers helped ground you.

They were your anchors to the present, pulling you back to laughter, to familiar faces and to the warmth of friends who shared their own scars and secrets. They never asked about the nightmares that sometimes made you stir, the shadows you occasionally saw out of the corner of your eye. And you never told them.

But there were also moments -quiet and lonely moments- when the weight of it all crept back, haunting you with unspoken questions. You'd wonder if he thought of you, if he missed you in his own twisted way. Did he ever feel the same hollow ache?

And deep down, you even wondered what might happen if he came back. Would he be nice and protecting? Or would he be just as monstrous and alien as before?

On some other nights, when the wind picked up, you swore you could feel his gaze -a distant yet familiar watchfulness that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as though he was still guarding you.

And so you moved forward, feeling the tug of those memories lessen but never fully vanish.

Would he stay away? Or would there come a day when that half-remembered monster with the childlike heart would find his way back to you?

1984 Derry, Maine

You tell yourself you hate Pennywise.

You tell yourself that, because you have to believe it is true, because that's the only way to move on. But deep inside your mind you can still feel him -his question echoing faintly in you, lesser and lesser each year, like a bond stretching thinner and thinner.

Currently, you're pondering over a glass of Cherry Coke. Yesterday, Bill had asked you about your dreams. He wanted to know if the clown that took away his little brother haunted you as well. You had simply shaken your head 'no', but the truth was the complete opposite.

Until you turned fifteen, Pennywise was still in your dreams. You remember those dreams even more vividly than your days in the house on Neibolt St...

You always had a strong imagination, which came with vivid dreams and equally vivid nightmares. In those dreams, Pennywise would come to you whenever you were scared. He'd pull you close in that tender way he never did in reality, fighting off every dark shape in your mind and then wrapping you in a kind of warmth you can't explain with words.

Sometimes, you'd apologize to him in those dreams -feeling an unnamed guilt- and he'd boop your nose with a soft and soothing "It's okie-dokie, Y/n."

Sometimes there'd be a red balloon waiting by your bed when you woke up, or maybe floating outside your school window. And on one specific evening, when the sadness felt like too much to bear, he appeared at the edge of your bed instead of the balloon. He hugged you and stayed with you until morning came, his glowing eyes softly illuminating the darkness. For once, they didn't scare you.

But as you grew up, you began to dream of him differently. In the nightmares, he'd chase you with a crooked smile and eyes that were dark with hunger, until you couldn't run anymore. Then you'd turn, tears streaming down your face, pleading with him and saying you were sorry over and over. You could never remember why you were sorry, but you knew that somewhere deep inside... you had hurt him. And somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was you who'd let him down.

You tried to explain this to him, even though it was only in dreams -your Penny, who had watched over you. But he still seemed sad. So the dreams began to fade and he stopped showing himself altogether. Even then, you could still feel his presence, as if he was looking over you but choosing to stay hidden.

The few glimpses you have left are rather strange. Once, you had a dream with an uncanny intensity. It was the first different kind of dream -a dream where Pennywise was there as well, but puzzled, as you began to see him through a different lens. It left you feeling unsettled. Not sure what it meant, only that it somehow changed everything.

And still, each time you're scared, you call out for him in your dreams. You search, even while knowing he won't appear like he used to. Maybe it's because you had once blurted out that he was a killer, that he took innocent people like Georgie. It's all so blurry now, all these things you can't quite remember but can't entirely forget either.

You miss him.

You know Georgie's disappearance and so many others are somehow linked to that clown. But if his pattern is to stay on Earth for a year and hibernate for two decades (like Ben figured out), why then, hasn't he gone to sleep in five? It's almost as though he can't bring himself to leave.

Maybe you are asking too many questions. Or maybe you are starting to find the answers...

You're just a girl. And he… he's a boy in a strange, unfathomable way.

There are times when you think he's gone for good. But then there are other times -like when Oscar, the thick orange cat you've taken to caring for, curls up by you in a way that feels just a little too familiar. His stare, intense and watchful, feels more like an any ordinary cat.

You call him Oscar, but maybe -just maybe- you know it's him.

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[rotworld]

5: Violent Embrace

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

gifted with remarkable psychic power, you've found yourself allied with an unusual group of misfits. chaos space marines are fractious at best. keeping the peace is an arduous and deadly task, especially since your newest recruit comes from the world eaters, but you'll do anything for your warband.

->warhammer 40k. original chaos space marine/reader. explicit; contains graphic depictions of violence, dismemberment, extremely rough sex, consensual but not safe or sane, body horror.

.

.

.

Siarotha handles you like glass. 

Your hand is caught between his much larger ones, completely eclipsed by the span of his graceful fingers, but his grip is not tight. You could pull away if you wanted. The caress of his thumb against your joints and tendons, his testing squeezes of your palm—all painfully, tenderly gentle.

His hands have more blood on them than you can possibly imagine. He has buried armies. He has decimated war fleets while they were still in orbit. He has murdered planets with spells of cosmic destruction that invert the delicate ordering of reality. His hands have wielded staves that channel the raw, reactive dreamstuff of the Warp and blades of dark matter. They have hurled supernovas. Conjured event horizons. They have ripped souls from still-living bodies. Siarotha of the Stars, they called him once, in awe and in fear. 

Those same hands hold you carefully, delicately. They splay your fingers and caress each one with the reverence of an artist appreciating a masterpiece. In these rare, private moments, he sheds his heavy armor and conjures softer garments. Loose, white robes, colorful sashes, jeweled bangles; the attire of an ancient priesthood obliterated from human history. He wears his dark hair long and loose down his back, the thick locks framing his face decorated with small golden clasps.

“What do you think?” you ask him, a hopeful edge to your voice. You fidget restlessly atop the examination table, your legs growing stiff.

“I think you’re in good health. As good as we can hope for, anyway,” Siarotha says. His tone is uneasy, the words slow and reluctant. “If there were any ill effects, they’re not apparent yet. Tell me if you notice any discomfort or further changes.” He hasn’t let go of your hand yet, tracing small circles with his thumb. 

“You don’t like it?” You know it’s an absurd thing to say. Like you’re wearing a new shirt or trying something different with your hair, not…

You glance at the thing in the corner. The rumpled, blood-encrusted mass. The half-shredded, empty-eyed, gaping-mouthed stack of skin, raw at its torn edges and glistening moist inside like a pile of peeled fruit rind. Siarotha taps your chin and guides your gaze back to his face. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, sounding strained like he can’t decide whether to scold or soothe you. “This isn’t a matter of aesthetic preferences. Surely you can agree that this mutation is…alarming.” 

“Zonaras calls it a gift.” 

Siarotha sighs heavily. “Of course he does.” His grip shifts from your hand to your wrist, sliding your arm and shoulder, coming to rest on your cheek. He bends slightly from his towering height to look you in the eye. “I do not mean to imply disappointment or disgust. Change is a blessing. You and I are the only ones who truly understand that. But change of this nature can also be volatile. I cannot…” He clears his throat, lowering his hand and pulling away from you suddenly. “We cannot afford to lose you. You are vital to the continued existence of this pathetic excuse for a warband. You will keep me informed of any pain, discomfort or further mutation.” 

You let him try and force distance, physical and emotional. He claims superiority and wisdom, but Siarotha is just like the others. Vulnerability is a sickness, he thinks, an insidious and creeping thing. He’s been burned too many times to believe he can care for you unscathed. “I’ll keep it in mind,” you tell him, hopping off the table. Your empty stomach clenches and stings, making a sad animal sound. You can still taste the stale, salty flavor of the ration bar you ate earlier. “I hope they get back soon. We don’t have a lot of food left.” 

Siarotha rests a hand on your shoulder. You feel a pleasant tingling sensation, a rush of coolness in your belly that takes the hunger pains away. Still starving, but at least it doesn’t hurt so much. He hovers, of course, like you knew he would, following you down the long, echoing corridors of an abandoned manufactorum. The breeze is cool and pleasant, sunlight pouring through endless honeycomb rows of windows. From five stories up, you can see the pockmarked landscape of a world scarred by apocalyptic war. The sidewalks are shattered and the streets half-sunken, gray, ugly buildings peeking from the gaping maws of giant sinkholes. 

It probably wasn’t green before. Too much rockcrete and steel, too many fences and walkways and sprawling industrial complexes, too many people stuffed in too small a space. But they’re gone now, vanished in a calamity that happened before you ever found this empty place. New life fills the spaces they left behind. The trees are thin and sickly, the grass sharp like little daggers. Snaking roots and grasping vines slowly worm their way up the sides of towers and observation platforms. 

It’s beautiful, you think. Maybe the most beautiful Imperial planet you’ve ever seen.

“They should be returning shortly. I told them to keep it brief,” Siarotha says.

“You mean you threatened them?” 

“If they responded well to requests and gentle suggestions, I would do that instead.”

“Do you think they’re alright? Kyloteknis mentioned something about probable resistance.” 

Siarotha chuckles. “Eavesdropping now?” 

“I’m a part of this warband, too.” You frown, glancing up at him. “I wish you wouldn’t try to leave me out so much. I could help more than I do.”

Siarotha flicks a hand in front of his body and his armor materializes in a flash of firefly glimmers, slowly engulfing him as he walks. His graceful footsteps suddenly become loud, heavy crunches of metal scraping metal and his face is hidden behind an expressionless helm. His already staggering size becomes truly monstrous when he vanishes into those broad, bulky panels of blue adorned with gold trim. “Some things are not your concern,” he says, his voice deeper, muffled and laced with static through the vox of his helmet. 

“Like Erghol?” 

He turns, the glowing lenses of his helmet glaring down at you. “Yes. Like Erghol. I didn’t realize you’d heard that conversation.” 

“We can’t just abandon him. It isn’t right.” 

Siarotha sighs heavily. He opens the door to the stairwell without touching it, a simple flick of his wrist making the groaning metal slide out of the way. He doesn’t fit through the doorway but he doesn’t have to. You hear his voice in your head on the way down and feel his presence shadowing your every move. “Since you were listening so closely, you might recall that my suggestion was to put him out of his misery. I understand this seems cruel to you, but he is a son of Angron. The Nails gnaw at his mind. Battlelust clouds his judgment, making him impulsive and unreliable.”

“Grigori told me the Nails can be subdued.”

There’s a pause. A tranquil feeling washes over you, an echo of Siarotha’s emotions leaking through the bond between you. The Enumerations, you realize, that peculiar meditation he practices. This is the self-soothing one, a way to banish stubborn thoughts and emotions. He is, in essence, breathing deeply and counting to ten before he speaks to you again. “Grigori does not know what he’s talking about,” he says simply.

“He sounded like he did.”

“The Nails cannot be subdued. They can only be temporarily sated.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” you insist. “Why am I here, Siarotha? Why are you? Or Zonaras, or Grigori? What do we all have in common?” You can sense his frustration, a thorny feeling in the back of your mind. “We were abandoned. All of us. Cast out and left behind. Erghol is one of us now. We can’t turn our back on him.” 

When you reach the ground floor, Siarotha is already standing there. He conjures his staff, a gnarled contortion of gold, silver and colors that make your eyes sting. “You are infuriatingly stubborn,” he says. “Erghol is dangerous. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just his devotion to the Blood God. There is a hunger in him.” 

You shrug. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t understand—” 

“I do,” you insist. The air around you bristles and heats like the grit of sand in desert wind. It’s a show of power, an intentional slip before he smothers his anger. Months ago, you would’ve been intimidated. You feel a lingering coarseness that tells you he wishes you still were. “I know his hunger and I’m not afraid of it. I can help him. I’ll prove it.” 

You can feel Siarotha in the shallows of your mind but you don’t let him in any deeper. He could push and you could push back. You could fight; you would lose. Large, metal-covered fingers hook beneath your chin and all it takes is that moment, that lapse in concentration, that shiver of desire down your spine. A thought slips through your careful control and he seizes it, tugging gently, following the spool of memory and intention to see where it leads. 

You know when he finds what you were trying to hide because his emotions come all at once in a sudden shockwave. Suffocating surprise. Confusion, light and airy. Hot anger and sickening disgust. A curl of lurid, voyeuristic interest before he separates his mind from yours. “This is foolish,” he hisses. “Unbelievably foolish. You could be killed. Your mutation is new and untested. There’s no guarantee your body will recover from such extensive damage.” 

He’s not saying no, you notice. “You’ve healed me before,” you insist.

“I was once Pavoni. Healing is a simple matter, but even my power has limits. Rather than attend to you afterwards, it would be better if I was present. My main concern is exsanguination, given Erghol’s proclivities…” He stops, shaking his head. “I cannot believe I’m even considering this.” You try to wipe the smile off your face when he looks at you. Another staticy sigh comes through the vox. Siarotha wraps his massive gauntlet-covered hand around your forearm and tugs you stumbling into his breastplate. His voice lowers to a gravelly rumble. “I saw something curious while I was sifting through your thoughts. It was an image. Something you picture frequently. A bit distant, but I could have sworn it was you…writhing under me.” 

Your face fills with heat. Siarotha doesn’t touch you but his presence ripples softly at the edge of your mind like the caress of velvet, a teasing touch that makes a shiver run down your spine. 

“You and I are going to have a talk later. For now…” He lets you go and brushes past you. His hand lingers for just a moment, sliding away from your shoulder one finger at a time. “Let’s make sure Erghol didn’t kill anyone.” 

Once, it was a hangar of some kind. Tall and cavernous with rusted, cobwebbed machinery, you and Siarotha have made something far more impressive. At the far end, charred, bent and broken scrap metal has been woven into an enormous arch that follows the curve of the ceiling. Gruesome trinkets of human bone sit in its misshapen alcoves. Eight-pointed stars of Chaos, soaked and splattered with blood, are welded to the structure from every angle. A subtle hum fills the air around it. When you press your hand against the metal, it pulses like a heart.

“Are they ready?” you ask.

“Soon,” Siarotha says. You can feel his gaze burning into your back. “You’re absolutely certain about this?” 

“Yes.” 

“Very well.” His hand engulfs your shoulder. “You were right earlier. You are a part of this warband. There’s no need for you to prove yourself.”

“Clearly there is,” you mutter. “It’s fine. I get it. I’m fragile compared to the rest of you.”

“You are important. Irreplaceable.” 

“Kyloteknis would disagree.”

“Kyloteknis is a fool,” he says sharply. His voice echoes throughout the hangar, fading into the ceiling beams. Siarotha clenches his staff tightly. He doesn’t say anything else for a while. It’s the closest you’ll ever get to hearing something vulnerable from him. You savor the moment while it lasts. “They’re ready,” he says. 

It takes both of you to operate the gate. You are the conduit, the empty space the Immaterium rushes to fill. You are the guide, the Stygian ferryman who steers the cosmic dark. Your vision fills with light and your ears fill with the howl of screaming souls, sparks singing the air where your hand meets the gate. Siarotha is the only thing keeping you grounded, the only reason you don’t erupt across the hangar like red, runny shrapnel. He raises his staff and colors swirl, the room seeming to tilt and distort. A ring of symbols that only your subconscious can read spins faster and faster. The whispers of things unborn and hungry tempt you with the promise of power but there is nothing you want more than to be where you are right now, shepherd of the lost and lighthouse of the damned. The light grows brighter and the screams grow louder and you falling, you are floating away, you are everywhere and everywhen and in everything, ever, always—

The gate opens. 

War engines roar. Artillery blasts scour the battlefield. The sky is black with smoke and red with fire and white in searing flashes of death and destruction. Howling, furious winds carry a burning stench, the reek of rust and corpse piles. The thunderous rhythm of space marines in a full sprint feels like a small earthquake. “Close it!” someone screams. “They’re coming, fucking close it!” A whistle. A missile spiraling. A great steel bird shot out of the sky. 

“I have you,” Siarotha whispers in your mind. With a gasp, you remember suddenly who you are and what you’re doing. You pull your hand back and clench it into a fist.

The gate closes.

Your warband is not the sentimental sort. Near-death does not make them wistful or talkative. They’re creatures of habit and the mission isn’t over until their spoils are counted and their hearts stop pounding with combat stimulants. The most you get is a curt, “Objective completed,” from Kyloteknis as he rumbles past with an awful scraping sound, scorch marks dappling the yellow and black stripes on his armor. He drags an enormous slab of metal behind him, Imperial seals and symbols stamped across the surface and sides. A relic of some sort, some priceless equipment they’ve been salivating over for weeks now. Zonaras and Grigori follow. The former offers a prayer of gratitude to the Changer of Ways and to you, guided by incomprehensible hands. The latter simply nods and continues on his way.

Dagger and Claw approach from either side like always, flanking you. You don’t know their real names because they won’t tell you, but one favors a curved disemboweling knife and one has long, electrified claws tipping his gauntlets. They’re Night Lords. They’ve tried to sneak off with half of your supplies twice now; played it off as a joke the first time, a “readiness drill” the second. “Your dog tried to bite me,” Dagger says. “He’s rabid, I think.” 

“Since when is he my dog?” you ask. 

“Since he got here,” Claw sneers behind you. “Practically slobbers all over you.” 

“We’re going to take care of that,” Siarotha says. The escher spiral at the top of his staff crackles dangerously. There’s a pause and you’re certain they’re talking to each other, communicating on a vox channel so you can’t hear whatever’s said. Dagger gives a slight, sudden nod like he’s laughing under his helm. 

“If you’re sure,” he drawls. Claw follows him when he leaves, their footsteps fading. 

That leaves just the three of you. Erghol is covered—absolutely saturated, head to toe—in blood. It slicks his red armor, drying in darker patches. It stains the silver trim. It gums up the joints and speckles the open maw crest of the World Eaters on his pauldron and it drips, pattering like rain, on the floor. He’s breathing heavily, panting like a beast. His armor is ragged and patchwork, panels missing, plates cracked, one thick, muscled arm completely bare. He tears his helmet off one-handed. He shouldn’t be able to but the locking mechanisms that keep Astartes armor cohesive and connected have long since worn away. You see furious, bloodshot eyes. Blown pupils. Gritted teeth. Crisscrossing scar tissue, burns and shrapnel puckers and clawing close-quarters desperation. Dark hair grows in stiff, short tufts from an old military buzzcut, but there are small, circular patches of exposed scalp where thick metal cords snake in and out of the skin.

Those are the Butcher’s Nails, the legacy of his legion. They soothe him when he kills. They torment him when he hesitates. 

“Erghol,” you say, calm and quiet. You take a step forward, testing. He doesn’t react. His chest heaves with quick, labored breathing. “How was the battle?” 

He looks at you. His eyes rake up and down with voracious scrutiny. There’s blood on his hands. Stuck under his nails, clotting on his palms. His fingers twitch. 

“Was it good?” you ask. Another cautious step. “Are you satisfied? Did you spill enough blood? Dagger said you attacked him, but he didn’t look hurt.” Your next step is bolder, your heart pounding in anticipation. You keep your posture wide. Strong. Hostile. “Did he get away? Or did he beat you instead? Did you lose a fight, Erghol? That must’ve been humiliating—”

Erghol lunges. There is nothing graceful about the motion, only predatory swiftness that knocks the air from your lungs. The wall shudders, splintering with the force of his body crushing you against it, and you’re in agony. Something is broken or dislocated, wrenched from the socket it’s supposed to be in. You’re still trying to catch your breath when he starts clawing at you, tearing at your clothes with one bare hand and one armored gauntlet. 

Over his shoulder, you see Siarotha standing very still. His staff creaks, metal bending beneath his crushing grip, but he doesn’t intervene. He nudged into your mind and felt your frantic reassurances, your insistence that everything was fine, so he waits. Erghol’s hands scrabble frantically across his own body next, ripping away chunks of armor that dent the metal ground where they fall. He doesn’t remove everything, only what’s in the way; a black loincloth worn over his armor, decorated with dangling chains and bloody hooks. Sections of chest plate, the pieces in the front he can reach most easily. The pelvic section goes last and your breath hitches seeing his skin is bare underneath it. There should be a skin-tight suit underneath, black and striated like muscle, but you can see the frayed edge where it’s been picked and torn away right above the abdomen. 

His cock juts between his legs, obscenely thick and throbbing. He wraps his fist around the base and squeezes, a glob of precum beading at his tip.

He’s done this before, you realize. Returned from a mission and stripped hastily, taking himself in hand and stroking himself to completion. You don’t have to wonder what he thinks about when he does it. The way he looks at you, the slow saunter of his half-lidded gaze down your body, tells you everything you need to know. 

Erghol lifts you without warning. It’s easy for him. Two hands grab you around the middle, lifting without even a grunt of exertion, and then you’re being lowered again. His wide, flared tip slips past your entrance once, twice, and then it prods. Pushes. Forces its way in with a snap of his hips and makes you choke. 

“You,” he growls. A good sign, you think through a haze of pain. He’s verbal again. “You are infuriating.” He lifts you and then forces you down again, forcing his cock deeper. Your hands scrape uselessly over his pauldron and his bare shoulder, the metal ports embedded in his skin, trying to find something to hold onto. “The way you look at me. The way words form on your lips. You have been teasing me. Haunting me.” He slams his other hand against the wall beside your head and it dents, crumpling under his palm. He presses against you and all you can feel is the bulge and ripple of every muscle in his body straining.

“I shouldn’t have worried so much.” Siarotha’s voice is a sensual murmur in your head, a though passed directly between you. You find his blank-faced helm staring at you. The air around him sizzles like a heat haze. “Look at you, being used like a toy. You’re enjoying this. You want him to destroy you.” 

Erghol’s pace is erratic. He’ll bring you down on his cock hard and fast, and then he’ll stop while he’s sheathed inside you, holding you tight and grinding his hips until you whine. He follows no pattern but his own whims, fucking you on just his tip before suddenly impaling you on his whole length. There’s no softness or comfort, nothing to protect your head from slamming back into the wall every time he thrusts up into your tight heat, nowhere to put your legs so they dangle uselessly. You try and fail again to find something to steady yourself, somewhere to put your hands. 

Your nails graze Erghol’s face. It’s just a scratch. It doesn’t even bleed. But you feel him go rigid with tension—with excitement. He pins you to the wall with nothing but his body, the crushing weight of his broad, scarred chest, and seizes the hand that scratched him. His grip is beyond bruising. It’s tearing your skin. It’s making your bones grind together. He leans in close so you can smell the blood on his breath and then he crushes your lips together. The kiss hurts, like everything else. He bites your tongue so hard it bleeds. 

One of his hands presses down on your shoulder, keeping it trapped against the wall. The other starts to pull. His cock drools precum as he grinds against your thigh, searching blindly for your sore entrance. He pulls harder. You feel yourself, flesh and muscle and tendon, stretching in ways you’re not meant to stretch. Harder, and you’re screaming into his mouth. Harder, and there is blood pouring down your back and side, a red puddle trickling into existence below you. There’s a painful-sounding pop and a tearing-grinding-squelching sound almost as awful as the burst of excruciating heat in your shoulder. Erghol thrusts his hips at just the right angle and it catches on the sore, abused muscles of your entrance. You feel him smile against your mouth, hear a pleased groan, and then your world goes spotted and blurry at the edges. 

He buries himself inside you to the hilt. In the same moment, in the same breath, he rips your arm from your body and leaves a gaping, oozing wound behind.

Consciousness flickers. You only catch glimpses of sight and sensation between slow, delirious blinks. Erghol, kissing you. Licking the blood from your mouth. Fucking you, harder and faster than humanly possible. Grunting and cursing, hips straining, thigh muscles taut, as he empties inside you. It’s more cum than your body can handle, foaming up around his engorged length with his last forceful thrusts and sliding slowly down your thighs. His breathing gets slower, and deeper, and finally calmer. 

And then you start to shake. 

It’s an itch. A terrible, bone-deep itch, like you’d have to tear yourself open to reach it. Erghol lets you go gracelessly and you collapse in a heap on the filthy, blood and cum-covered floor, and you can’t stop trembling. “Siarotha!” he shouts, his voice strained. Frightened. You’re held like glass for the second time today. Erghol touches your face but when he pulls his hand away, your skin goes with him. It sloughs away, dangling stringy gristle like melted wax. “Do something!” he cries helplessly.

“It’s alright,” Siarotha says. “They’re just molting.” 

You’re better at this now. Faster than the first time, now that you know what to expect. You twist and writhe like an insect in a chrysalis. You rub against Erghol, all the hard edges and spikes of his armor catching your old flesh. Hearing the calm in Siarotha’s voice soothes him. He watches, entranced. Hesitant, he touches your shoulder and your skin peels like old, rotten wallpaper. He pulls harder and it squelches, a splatter of blood and shimmery Warp juices wetting the floor. Through the hazy mass of your old body, you see his pupils widen again, your gruesome transformation easing the pressure of the Nails on his mind. 

When you emerge, exhausted and glistening, working out the stiffness in your new arm, Siarotha approaches. “How do you feel?” he asks. 

Erghol shakes a sticky clump of old skin and muscle from his hand. “Better,” he says. He looks at the floor, avoiding your gaze. He’s embarrassed, you think. Crying out when he thought he’d killed you has him feeling bashful. “Much better. It won’t last forever, but it’s nice to be clear-headed for a while. This is…fine?” He gestures vaguely to the mess in front of him. You and your molted skin. 

“It’s stable,” Siarotha says, but he’s watching you carefully. “I’m going to keep an eye on it. Get cleaned up, both of you. We need to debrief. You’d better have come back with food.”

Erghol mutters a colorful insult and gets to his feet, grimacing at his scattered armor and the shreds of your clothing. Siarotha conjures you a simple robe to wear, although you sense him running through the Enumerations again when you wipe the cum from your legs with it. 

“Dagger has it,” Erghol says just as you’re leaving. He looks you in the eye this time, unflinching, unblinking, like a dog seeking approval. “The food, I mean. I made sure. He tried to dump it while we were coming back. Said it didn’t matter. Told him I would break every bone in his body if he left it behind.”

“Thank you, Erghol,” you say. He swallows, the muscles in his neck bobbing. His cock twitches and he quickly looks away. 

Siarotha steers you out of the hangar before you can desecrate it again. “I was wrong. Erghol wasn’t the dangerous one. It’s you,” he says. 

“Am I invited to the debriefing now?” you ask. 

He laughs. His hand smooths down your back and then slips lower. “Of course,” he purrs, squeezing your ass. “But first, I think we’re overdue for a private conversation.”

[suhnandmoon]

suhnandmoon's masterlist

"i love to stare into eternity. let my mind become a wave upon the sea. and then i race across the galaxy, far away beyond reality, to a world where you care for me."

hi i'm sunny! i've been making sns au's since 2021. here is a complete list of all of my fics :) warning: my nct dream sns aus are a lottt different from my enha sns aus (my nct ones are olderrrr… 2021….)

most recent fic: soul eater most recent sns au: meet me in elwynn + starlight ♡ = authors favorite

lee heeseung

social media aus

♡ dance with me, baby! ♡ (college au, unserious, comedy, loser heeseung + loser lover yn)

lee heeseung, tasked with picking up his little sister from dance class every wednesday, is taken by surprise when his sister’s dance instructor is who he believes to be the love of his life. also niki gets stuck in a cult.

status: complete!

_

meet me in elwynn (college au, gamer au/online friends, LOSER heeseung!!!!!!! almost pathetic. slight enemies to lovers)

when desperately left in need for one more player to start their in-game guild, riki miraculously finds you. initially unwilling to join a group with a handful of random college guys, a certain boy by the name of lee heeseung manages to win over your heart despite a terrible first impression (and complete lack of skill to play the game).

status: ongoing!

park sunghoon

social media au

stupid for you (radio show host au, unserious, pining, fluff, same universe as dance with me, baby)

college radio show host, park sunghoon, and his friends are struggling to get callers for their weekly advice segment on hybe radio. what happens when jake tells the girl that sunghoon is interested in to call and anonymously ask for relationship advice (that just so happens to be about sunghoon himself)?

status: completed!

nishimura riki

scenario

idol au (400 words)

in which niki sees that you’re livestreaming and he happens to be a few practice rooms away

ot7

texts

how enha reacts to your lockscreen being of a different member

enha (individual) x gn!reader

huang renjun

social media au

starlight (remake of my first smau. i dont recommend reading the original, thrillerish, vampire au, fake dating au, college au)

after an unexpected night at the movies, you’re left turned into a vampire. with the help of park jisung and his friends, your new lifestyle adjustments are thankfully made a lot easier. that is until your friends start to call out your flaky behavior. quick, how are you going to cover up your secret? a fake boyfriend taking up your time? perfect! huang renjun is just the right guy!

status: ongoing

na jaemin

social media au

the nerve! (enemies to lovers, influencer au)

you had one terrible run-in with famous youtuber, na jaemin, and suddenly it seems like you’re bumping into him every where you go. what is a coincidence to you, turns into a misunderstanding when he accuses you of following him around. jaemin, you have got a lot of nerve!

status: complete!

park jisung

social media au

my minecraft boyfriend (college au)

a joke tweet about your boyfriend on minecraft from when you were in middle school ends up reaching the boy in question and oh no- he’s hot.. this sudden reunion with park jisung was completely unexpected for multiple parties. will this old romance rekindle, or was it just meant to stay in the past?

status: complete!

fic

soul eater (8.5k words, fantasy, weapon!jisung x meister!reader)

“with his shoulders hunched, eyes shifting across the room, and the overall appearance of a sopping wet cat, the last person left was indeed your partner- though you had double checked his name tag a few times, hoping this was a joke.”

short scenarios

#thoughtdumpy

included in the tag: pokemon trainer!renjun, genshin!nct dream, unconventional coffee shop au!jisung,  unconventional coffee shop au!haechan

[takeyourcyanide]

Prey

Possible TWs: Unreality, brief mention of suicide

AO3

Fandom: Soul Eater

Character(s): Franken Stein, Spirit Albarn, Marie Mjolnir, mentions of Azusa Yumi, Mira Naigus, and Sid Barrett

Word count: 3 315

Tags: hurt/no comfort, delirium, unreality, delusions, psychosis, confusion, dreams and nightmares, dreams vs reality, schizophrenia, madness, men crying

Summary: Stein struggles to tell dreams from reality, he struggles with the likes of paranoia and confusion, etc.

Note(s): Pushing through the static to write is like pushing through an avalanche sometimes, but it’s one of the few things I enjoy, so I do so anyway. I wanted to depict the confusion (among other things) that comes along with the static (at least for me), so I hope this comes across properly.

Anguished is he, of whom is reduced to limp and helpless prey for not only the world to seemingly feast upon, but for himself to feast fervently and rabidly upon.

<…….>

Stein had always been viewed as some sort of malevolent force; a predator.

Whether there’s any genuine truth to that statement or not, such a viewpoint spread, be it due to stigma and misconceptions, or a partial truth. Perhaps both.

Unbeknownst to the apparent entirety of everyone else was that his motives were only partially sadistic. He has ripped everything imaginable limb from limb, for the sake of ultimately satiating his scientific curiosity, as well as satiating his sadistic urges.

That same sadism extended towards himself, so it seemed, which left him to often question whether or not he was, too, a bit of a masochist.

<…….>

Stein’s computer screen blared before his eyes as though he were knocking upon the gates of heaven, though it felt much more like he had been dragged down into the deepest pit of hell; an abyss designed specifically for him.

He gazed into the array of pixels, a debilitating and delirium-inducing fog conquering him, as he felt whatever cognition had remained slipping through his lithe, pale, and trembling fingers.

It was one of the few thoughts that had ever managed to bring tears to his hollow eyes. His intellect was a treasured, a prized aspect of him; it was almost all he ever had - at least that’s what it seemed like in retrospect, as his previously excellent memory blurred and gasped for air like the ground from underneath the rubble of a massive and fallen building.

It was as though he had been a simultaneously third and first-party observing as his brain deteriorated, decomposing before his very eyes. He had been watching and psychoanalyzing as it all crashed down since utero. And from the moment he could conceptualize the neurobiological differences he was born with, he knew that, though he had refused to accept it, he had no chance at ever living.

When you begin early, you finish early.

The text of the paper on the screen appeared to morph, shifting and becoming completely different words after Stein was repeatedly forced to do multiple double-takes.

Franken sighed in mild frustration, deep and troubled as the biology normally so easy for him to comprehend became utterly indiscernible, incomprehensible, and a messy jumble of word salad. He massaged the bridge of his nose, as well as the skin in between his eyebrows in a circular motion, trying his best to remember how to breathe.

He moved his eyes to the lower right of the monitor, the clock in the corner reading ‘07:38.’

Stein’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, as he stood abruptly from his chair, shoving it away. He was almost forty minutes late to work.

He knew his ability to perceive time had been absolutely annihilated, but it never became any easier, nor did it become any less disorienting, ultimately leaving him to rub at his temples, shaking his head with a confused and feverish grimace.

He audibly groaned, lost within the hazy and murky forest with no way out.

At least he was already dressed.

<…….>

Stein trudged through the DWMA’s doors, hair unkempt and under-eyes appearing as though charcoal had been smeared upon them.

“Stein?” Spirit sounded rather confused as Stein marched into the Death Room expectantly and barely prepared to work. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? I work here,” the meister’s eyebrows were furrowed, as he was stuck within a continuous and hellish state of befuddlement.

He snuck glances around the room, Lord Death and Marie staring at him with an expression of pity and concern, causing Stein to sneer.

“Don’t you remember? We’re letting you off for a little while. You should be at your lab right now,” the weapon stated, too, sounding terribly worried. Franken wished they’d simply stop pretending. It was clear they were only judging him, whispering vile things about him, mocking him when he wasn’t there to witness it.

“Oh… That wasn’t a dream?” Stein huffed, flabbergasted and unwillingly under the microscopic lenses that were their telling, needy, and greedy eyes, as even the overly bossy and critical Azusa was present in the room, along with the likes of Sid and Naigus.

Not only had it all seemed like one big dream, including the present, but it felt as though it had happened years ago - as though it were distant.

“No, Stein…. It was yesterday.”

Yesterday? What even happened yesterday?

He once again turned his head from side to side, a slow and searching motion.

He covered his face with his freezing hands, fingers spread just enough that he could see their distorting and foreign faces from in between each of them.

“Why don’t we get you home?” Spirit offered, a kind and caring gesture that was rendered nothing but conspicuous and threatening in the forest, amongst the thick and strident static.

“No.. No…. I can make it by myself,” he shakily mumbled, hands still gripping the flesh of what is supposedly his face.

“Are you sure? You don’t look well,” Death Scythe raised an eyebrow in suspicion, eyeing his former partner up and down.

And the truth was, he really didn’t. He no longer simply appeared as though he were a moving corpse anymore, he genuinely looked as though he had been mangled by some creature only days prior; his insomnia was more obvious than it had ever been, not to mention how slouched he was and how stiff his every movement was. It was as if Stein was relearning how to properly walk.

“Have I not managed to every other time?”

‘But you look like the thin, frail, and worn out thread you’ve been hardly hanging onto all your life has finally torn,’ Spirit thought to himself, exhibiting every last bit of self-control not to voice his opinion aloud.

“It’s okay to rely on people sometimes. We’re here for you. Let me take you home,” he said instead.

Stein fervently demurred against his suggestion, the very prospect of being lead back to his laboratory seemed to raise the volume of the radio.

“No. Let me go alone,” he almost pouted, his face twitching all over, as he was genuinely unsure what facial expression he should be making, and how he could even facially express what he was experiencing at all; flickering back and forth between every face, none suiting what he wanted to convey, or really, wasn’t certain he wanted to convey.

“I’m not going to let you just go alone in the state you’re in,” Stein clenched his atypically tight chest, sharp aches echoing throughout his sternum.

Spirit moved closer to the twitchy meister, not missing how Stein seemed to flinch farther away.

“Come on, Franken. Just let me walk you home, at the very least,” as the scythe peered downwards at the hand soothing over his chest, an almost sorrowful and tender glint appeared in his eyes, the volume further rising, the scientist’s ears surely leaking blood by now.

“Fine,” there was no point in continuing to stubbornly refuse the weapon’s proposal. Even if he left by his lonesome, the weapon would surely be knocking on his steel doors come nightfall.

A small smile made its way on Spirit’s face, as he replied gently with, “Well, all right, then.”

<…….>

The incessant, persistent, all-encompassing noise rose to unprecedented levels as he walked side by side with Mr. Suit and Tie, refusing to even so much as peek at his skinsuit.

Agitation spread throughout his body like cancer, overtaking his motor skills, leaving him squirmy, irritable, impatient, and robotic; only further exacerbated by the snickering and obnoxiously refulgent sun.

It left him childishly desiring to fall to the ground and throw a tantrum, to kick and to scream cacophonously, to sob and hiccup, and cross his arms over his ever-tightening chest, as he bit into the plush skin of his bottom lip as a distraction.

The static combined with the luminous summer day, combined with not being in control of his own decisions due to certain people believing him to be “unstable” was simply all too much; overstimulating.

Everything was too furiously hot and yet too frigid simultaneously; too loud and too quiet. All of that, not even including how his day clothes were brushing against his skin, feeling too small and too big, itchy and too smooth at the same time. It was as though the turtleneck, one of the few articles of clothing he didn’t refuse to wear, was suddenly strangling him; even his coat was now too heavy upon his shoulders, too clunky. It was all much too clunky.

And then Spirit pushed the creaky doors open.

Stein’s hands immediately flew up to cover his ears for the brief moment the sound reverberated, pathetic tears welling up in his eyes as he burned holes in his shoes.

He dug his teeth even further into his lip, wincing at the shooting pain that action garnered.

“Stein? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you coming inside?” Albarn softly and confusedly questioned, standing halfway inside of the laboratory. “Why are you staring at the floor?”

Stein’s hands were still cupped over his ears, moving upwards and yanking on his hair, his expression petulant as Spirit was finally able to get a semi-decent look at him.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that, why are you crying?” A tiny sob fell out from the normally resilient and unnervingly apathetic meister’s mouth, Spirit’s eyes widening, his arms rising aimlessly as he scrambled for anyway to comfort the male.

Stein rolled his inner cheek between his teeth, eagerly hoping to muffle his blubbering as he knew Spirit and everyone else who happened to hear about his little moment of weakness would take advantage of him in some way.

But that particular train of though only seemed to make him cry harder, the ball swirling in his chest tightening to the point of explosion; similarly to a taut rubber band tying around his heart, compressing and compressing until the organ itself exploded into an internally bloody mess.

The hands previously pulling at his hair once again fell to his chest, gripping and grappling, as Stein forgot how to properly inhale and exhale, his breaths unsteady, but not to the point of hyperventilation.

A certain fear he wasn’t sure he had ever felt rose within him, beating against the confines of his muscles, skeleton, his flesh to escape.

“Come on, why don’t we get inside? Wouldn’t that make you feel better?” Spirit placed a perturbed hand on Stein’s shuddering shoulder, of whom leaped backwards. “I’m sorry, I won’t touch you again.”

The corners of the scientist’s mouth twitched wildly, almost as though it were attempting a smile, tears still freely running down his rosy cheeks.

He smacked a hand over his mouth, folding in on himself, practically convulsing as uncontrollable and unfitting giggles escaped his mouth vigorously, nearly choking attempting to cease his own unwanted laughter.

The foreboding expression mixed with, danced with the cracking grin, as he glanced over at Spirit, a horrified and vulnerable look in his eyes.

The disquietude contorting Spirit’s countenance had seemingly been, though certainly not entirely, assuaged by something, as he returned to his former position partially inside of the lab.

“Can you make it in here on your own, or do you need help?” His voice was hushed, but rather sweet in a way Franken had never heard from the man before.

He put one foot in front of the other whilst laughing uproariously, Albarn pursing his lips as the manic giggles filled his ears like a disconcerting and scratched record.

The record shrieking, bellowing from the speakers of the old radio had risen in volume to the point of no return. And all Stein could do in the face of the growing and clamoring shadows was weep and cackle. He was now to be laid out for the entirety of the desert to know and scrutinize.

And though he never once cared about a singular person’s opinion of him, the viewpoints of the flowing river rushing with what may as well be a liquidized form of the status quo would always sway the viewpoint’s of others, effectively sweeping the already swept rug right out from underneath him.

“Do you wanna sit on the couch? Or.. I think it would be a good idea if you tried to get a nap,” Stein’s visage was blank in emotion, only a few tears left to roll, his mouth closed shut despite the tittering attempting to flow out like a stream of water. It admittedly appeared rather… interesting to anyone who wasn’t the meister, as his figure shook with what could be mistaken as mirth, while no other aspect of him followed suit.

Stein shrugged his shoulders in response, standing awkwardly as though he was a guest in his own house.

“Come on,” he waved the meister over. “Why don’t you go back to bed?”

He apprehensively objected the notion, standing still, the laughter slowly but surely dying down.

“Why not?” The ginger prodded as if he truly believed he would be given a verbal elucidation. “…… Okay, why don’t we just sit down, then?”

Stein obeyed, moving to plop down onto the sofa, a falling sensation holding his body hostage. He felt himself being pulled down as if he had dived off of a building; a random suicidal whim, an impulse. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to those.

<…….>

Stein’s eyes shot open as he caught his breath, his face oddly moist and his body drenched with sweat.

He was breathing fast and hard, his heart pumping, banging against his sore chest; something of which seldom happened.

He lifted his quivering fingers, dabbing them onto his cheeks, as if to take a sample.

Upon observation, upon even licking the salty liquid from off of his fingers for the sole sake of clarity, it was safe to determine that he was crying.

Stein squinted his eyes, scanning the room, his vision blurred undoubtedly from the tears, though it was possible he also needed the aid his glasses offered him.

He patted around his bed and his nightstand in search of the aforementioned glasses, only to find that he had fallen asleep with his frames on his face, lenses covered in the same wetness covering his fingers.

He cleaned the lenses with his shirt, jittery and with an aching stomach and head.

‘Was that a dream? No… That just happened yesterday, didn’t it? Or was it a week ago? How much of that did and did not happen? When…? No,’ the endless misty haze of confusion seemed to torture him endlessly as he placed his glasses beside him.

He needed a shower. And the very thought of standing in the mirrored room paralyzed him; the same room with the camera-filled vents. Though all of his rooms had that… They were most likely selling the videos they’d take of his most vulnerable and private moments to strangers… His body was to be passed around and enjoyed, wasn’t it?

He bit at his fingers, even unconsciously suckling on them at the volume rose impossibly and impressively more so.

But he had work to accomplish, not even just at the academy - or did they actually temporarily suspend him from his duties? Was that just the dream?

Stein threw the covers from off of his body. Evidently he’d need to wash the sheets as well, given how soaked they were.

Exhausting nightmares were all he had anymore.

<…….>

The warm water trickled down Stein’s neck, falling smoothly from his collarbone, and down to his thoracic and abdominal cavities, making rounds around his thighs, and pooling under his feet.

He stood there, immobilized by nothing at all for a moment. It was almost as if, though not quite, he was not allowed to move, to control his own extremities.

He pondered for a moment those ghastly and ghostly beings which followed him into the bathroom, never allowing him even a fraction of time to himself, and how, while he often wished for them to disappear, he hadn’t a single clue as to what he’d do without them.

The static sung hell-born lullabies to him, words of the shadows culminating inside of his skull like echoes of the distant past, or of an imminent and inevitable future; a reminder that the present would never be his to own. Even his own thoughts were not to ever belong to him.

He was within its domain, born seated upon its throne, for it was, too, his, as he was ‘it’ and ‘it’ was him - simultaneously, still, existing as almost separate entities; the predator and the prey, except in this particular falsified, quasi-play, the predator’s prey just so happened to be the predator itself.

Stein managed to twitch his middle finger.. Then his ring, then his pointer, his pinky, and his thumb.

He relearned how to contract his muscles, how to outstretch his arms, as he began to move.

He’d rub shampoo and conditioner in his hair, scratching the shampoo into his scalp, and observing as it seeped through his follicles and into his body just as the noise had.

His heart did not pump the same blood as everyone else’s. That much was apparent. And he could not force it to. Was he to give in to the forest? Did he have a choice in the matter?

<…….>

Stein trudged once more throughout the cobblestone streets, seeking answers.

He pushed the academy doors open, a few curious glances coming his way as students and staff alike whispered amongst one another. He didn’t always mind such attention, as a matter of fact, he often found it rather amusing. At times, he could even find himself being partial to it. But in times such as this, times when it fed the avalanche raining down in his mind, he wished everyone would simply forget he ever existed. He wished passionately that he were the invisible observer he often forgot that he wasn’t.

“Spirit,” Stein called out into the Death Room, even more bewildered glances given to him.

“Stein?” The scythe sounded so surprised to see the man, he had to wonder why.

“Have I been suspended already?” He asked the question as though it were the most urgent and important of questions.

“Stein… You were let off over a week ago. Don’t you remember?”

Those words resounded within Stein, echoing and bouncing off the walls as the world around him spun, crumbling down as the very fabric of reality tore apart.

“It was a week?” Stein choked out, his eyes bulging out from their sockets, his ears ringing inharmoniously.

He whipped his head around the whole room, covering his face just as he had in the dream, moving his hands to the sides of his head, as he stood with both of his legs in his reality and a mere fingertip in their reality.

What?

“What day is it again?”

“It’s the twenty-sixth of July,” Marie helpfully answered, sounding awfully concerned. “It’s a Thursday.”

Stein ripped his hands away from his head, pulling them back down and peering at them. Was he even real? Were they real? Were they demons wearing the skin of his friends? What was going on? Where was he, truly? Who was he?

And most importantly,

how did he last this long in the first place?

It had become overwhelmingly apparent over the years that he was the strongest person he knew.

But being the strongest never guarantees you’ll survive on the battlefield. No matter who you are, you’re more likely to die a gruesome and empty death than not. A death in which you are left to rot. And that had also become abundantly clear to Stein.

He knew it. He had always known it.

He wasn’t going to make it to thirty.

<——————>

An incredibly fitting song:

[celtyshiftingrealitiddies]

How i shifted before even knowing what shifting was... (Near death expieriences, ect)

(Imma edit this + make it look cute later)

I've been trying to shift for 4-5 yrs now, found out what it was in 2020 but prior to that I'd actually shifted before.

Back when I was 14, in 2017? 2018? Idk i was a freshman when it happened but back then I had a NDE, aka Near death expierience. To be more precise i died and was dead for about a solid five or so minutes. Now alot of my memory of the events leading up to, during and some after are hazy or all together not there. This was explained to me as being because my brain was deprived of oxygen for a while, I was resuscitated back from death. however, for the ±1 week after I was entirely comatose. When I awoke from my coma I was in a craze bc I thought I'd been kidnapped by death eaters (explanation incoming dw).

See after I died i didn't really hang out here atleast not for a while, my soul/consciousness/whatever you want to call it needed somewhere to reside for the time being since my body then was currently uninhabitable. This part is all kinda hard to explain bc all I really know is that I know this stuff not really anything I can point to and say want proof then here, but rather intangible knowing? Anyways idk why, how or for what reason but while my current body was uninhabitable my soul/consciousness (I'm gonna call it soul from here out but know that I'm referring to consciousness when I say it bc they're pretty much the same factor in this equation) anyways my soul chose or perhaps rather was able to lock onto the harry potter universe first and that's where it went. Most of my memories from there are also missing, I believe it's bc for some reason I figured out what shifting is there and scripted them to go away and for me to return to my og reality when I died there. I do have the memory of my death and what triggered my shift back however.

so let me explain my second death, that happened in the hogwarts universe, to you now. It was during fifth year when retrieving the prophecy and ending up battling the death eaters in the room with the viel/ underworld gate (picture for reference below btw it was light like the movie but the room was this one ⬇️)

Anyways we were fighting them when Bellatrix hit my uncle with the killing curse. At the time I hadn't a clue what the gate was however I watched as sirius was like fading/evaporating into it and I was trying to catch him so I basically ran thru the gate (oh right picture of the gate too ⬇️)

Running thru the gate was like blacking out kinda type of feeling, also like some time had past yet without feeling like waking up just idk wierd. At this point I was no longer in hogwarts one moment I had my hand stretched out trying to catch sirius and the next my hand is still reaching forward as I wake in a hospital bed like lunging forward. A few moments prior I'd just been fighting the death eaters, and with the new location my thoughts at the time were "shit I must've passed out, did the death eaters grab me. Ron and Harry would be here if not i have to get out of here" at which point I attempted to escape since my assumption was the death eaters kidnapped me. I remember looking out the window trying to assess the situation and looking for my wand but no dice, I then tried to run out and escape but didn't get far before security was called I was trying to get a wand off them,since this wasn't hogwarts obviously there were none. After a while I had to give up bc I wasn't getting past security alone so I settled into my bed deciding that playing along and waiting for my opportunity would've been my best chance. Security left but the largest nurse on the floor stood in my doorway instead. Not one I could fight so I turned over and tried pretending to sleep till she went away which in hindsight was dumb bc I'm pretty sure they reattached my heart moniter and given that at this point I was back in my cr body which had been comatose and exhausted from trying to heal after almost dying for the past week (plus when you don't move a muscle for over a week those muscles will deteriorate) basically i fell asleep long before the nurse budged. I didn't wake up till the next morning with my parents in the room so I knew I was back here again.

For the longest time I had chalked it up to like a crazy coma dream but it was all to real to be a dream. And the way I woke up still thinking I was going on from my fight. Afterwards I apologized +talked to the nurses they said it was the first time someone had ever woken like that for them. It wasn't till actually like a year after finding out about shifting in late 2020 that I even reconsidered the incident. Honestly with regards to the whole near death expierience and my life for the couple months after it everything was all a bit wierd. I won't go into to much detail but after the incident, I should've been severely more injured and probably spent far longer in residential and all the related procedures than I did. I also should've been kicked out of my program at school. None of which happened I came out of the incident with 97% fatality rate entirely unscathed minus a scar and like a weeks worth of memory loss. I only had like a month and a half of residential, a bunch of other stuff. Basically idk what exactly happened but I'm pretty sure I scripted what life would be like when I came back and resumed it. I understand why exactly I mightve opted for memory loss too however ig I forgot that I might be able to piece it together with finding shifting again plus the likely unexpected and premature death in hogwarts. Kinda feels like when light made himself forget that he was kida lol (death note reference).

Anyways it actually was like another year later when I finally decided to delve deeper into that gate yknow this one

And I found out that I didn't just wake up after going thru the gate but it actually just KILLED ME. so basically this things called the viel aka the gate to the underworld. It's where souls in that world all go thru to pass to the underworld. sirius having died right next to it floated right on thru directly after dying, normally there might be ghosts and corpses with wizard folk but given the proximity to the gate that didn't happen to him. however, if a ALIVE person were to enter this gate it would kill them while crossing to the underworld. Which i did...So I fucking died apparently!?! 😃 anyways ig I'm going 3 for 3 since this is my third lifetime technically (technically a dr too like what?) 😭 also yall I'm not saying everyone shifts when they die or anything in fact I actually doubt that but prior to dying, I did believe reincarnation so idk maybe whatever you believe decides your life after death. bc we know manifestation and stuff is real and you create your reality so 🤷‍♀️

[dollypopup]

You are obviously THE Stein/Marie person of the Soul Eater fandom. Couple questions if you’d be so kind.

Any fanfics besides your own you’d recommend for Stein/Marie?

Also, would you mind sharing whatever your thoughts are on Stein and Spirit’s relationship?

(I finally finished the manga, so I can dive into your fics at last without fear of spoilers! 😊)

Oh wow! I am? Haha, I just love them so much as a couple! I think they bring out the absolute best in each other, and several years after the fact, I do still get giddy about them as a pair! That warms my heart that so many years later, people think of me when they think of this pairing <3

I have soooo many fanfic recommendations! I made a post ages ago about them, you can find it HERE but since making it there have been several great stories that have come out.

If You Read Anything, Read This

Worthy by @flourchildwrites (the best SteinMarie fic ever written. Period. and I'll say that with my entire chest over and over again. An exploration of them growing up together as Meister-Weapon pair. Poignant, perfectly in character, and so so well written)

Marie's Guide to Dating a Self-Proclaimed Sociopath by @ohmytheon (anything ohmytheon writes that's SteinMarie is a guaranteed BANGER. every single time. other fantastic fics by them include Just Breathe , From Great Heights , Who Did I Think We Were? , and if M and E are more your style, Sexology and there's something at work in my soul (FMA AU!!! brilliantly made)

Some one shots that are fun reads

Fluff

20/20 vision by supine_with_stein (eclaire_and_pocky)

Study Buddy

False Alarm! by benedicteggs

I Simply Must Be Loving You by lukieee

Cold Hands, Warm Heart by thehopelessunromantic (DoctorCannoli)

Kid Fics

Room for Two by MicrosuedeMouse

Paradigm Shift

Father Figure by benjaminfinns

Angst

Not Quite Lichtenberg by Webtrinsic

Becoming Naive by raspberryfanfics

Smut

Stitched by secret_wanderer19

As for Stein and Spirit, I'll put that one under a read more

I have some complicated feelings about Stein and Spirit. I think what Stein did to him is an irreparable harm, honestly, to the point where even at the end of the Manga and Series, Spirit has a lot of complex PTSD to work through regarding him. He's his watchdog, his babysitter, chained to him through circumstance whether he wants it or not. Spirit is a lonely man. I don't know how often that's discussed, but by the end of the series, truly, Spirit has lost everything.

At the start of it, this dynamic is different. Stein is the one who has nothing to his name save his talents when he first comes to and leaves the DWMA, and Spirit is the one who has everything. He has friends, a family. A daughter and a wife and a good job, a good meister. THE best meister, arguably, considering he is Lord Death's weapon. And then he ends it with nothing: a shattered relationship with his daughter he is still in the midst of attempting to fix, an ex-wife who cannot stand to be in the same country as him, friends who roll their eyes at his antics, a dead meister, a dead God.

You contrast this with Stein, who begins with nothing. A belief he cannot love, cannot be close to anyone, who experiments on his partner like a lab rat, distancing himself from the realities of this breach of trust. And then he ends the series with everything Spirit once had, on the up and up. A loving partner, close connections, a position of authority in his workplace, a daughter on the way.

Stein and Spirit are foils, when one is heads up, the other is tails. And I think there's a lot that Spirit wants to say to him that he can't, because he still has fear toward Stein. Very justifiable fear. And in truth, though I think Stein has some form of comradery with Spirit, he doesn't view him as a full person, which leads to a very strained relationship between them, if it can be truly called such. They're drawn together partly against their will, partly through circumstance, partly through the past. They have a lot to work through if they actually want to be friends (something I personally wouldn't consider them), but I think the reality is that Stein wasn't sorry, and that will always be a wall between them that will be insurmountable. He doesn't have remorse for what he did to Spirit, and I think Spirit may always feel some kind of way about 'What was it about me? You could do that to me but not to someone else? To Marie?'

Spirit has a lot to work through, personally, and Stein exacerbates that because he is the wound that Spirit cannot ever fully heal. Stein was, in many ways, Spirit's first heartbreak. Part of why he drinks, part of why he looks for escape in other things, other people. And though time has softened that, though Spirit may show up to a wedding (if there is one) or to visit Baby Shelley (my own HC for the baby girl he and Marie have), there will always have to be some distance there, so Spirit doesn't fully break.

And for Stein? I think Stein considered Spirit his friend at first, and then his warden afterward. Come to check on him to make sure he hasn't found his end at the wrong side of a scalpel. Wandering into his home with deadened eyes and distance on Death's account. At the end, on the Battle of the Moon, when Spirit says he watches out for him more than he does his own daughter, it's not born out of tenderness, but obligation. And with Death dead and the world beginning in new form, I don't think even that will be in place, anymore.

And truthfully? I think that distance is what may truly help him heal.

Thank you so much for your ask! <3 <3

[papatacomia]

introduction to me !!

My name is Mia. I use the she/they pronouns, but anything is fine. I’m a reality shifter who's been in the community for nearly 3 years now. I haven’t shifted yet, but I have been close. 

Some of my drs include jujutsu kaisen, naruto, stardust crusaders, diamond is unbreakable, tokyo revengers, resident evil, and yakuza. 

some facts about me !!

I love listening to music, especially if it’s obscure enough that people don’t know about it. Some of my favorite bands are coaltar of the deepers, malice mizer, shazna, and lily chou chou.

I’m also a fan of anime and manga; one of my goals is to own 1000+ manga in order to be considered a library (currently, I have around 60). Some of my favorite animes are sailor moon, nana, lovely complex, fruit basket, soul eater, and serial experiments lain.

Another small thing to add is that I’m a video game nerd. Some of the games I’ve played so far are the last of us, persona, silent Hill, resident evil, and yakuza. Anything that has a lot of lore or story to it gets my gears running ^_^

purpose for my blog !!

I honestly made this blog in order to find shifting moots and learn new things about shifting. I also plan on using this blog as like my little diary about shifting and my progress so far :))

anyways thanks sm for reading, special thanks to @punchliiine for being the reason why I even made this blog in the first place ^_^ !! I was really inspired and decided to make my own.

[sweetheartdollii]

Introduction 2 My Blog ! 🎀🧁🐬 ୭₊˚

📧 > Hii! Im Dolly im 4teen!! this is my 2nd blog were i mainly post about things i like and my interests!! my main blog is @pinkpigtailsprincess im mainly making this blog 2 find mutuals with the same interest as me and mainly just 2 have fun!!

my interests ୭₊˚ ! ; Sanrio,lalaoopsy,bratz,barbie,monster high,strawberry shortcake,kpop girl groups,dress up games,kpop girl groups,anything pink!,roblox,cute tv shows and movies,hair,fashion,music,anime,manga,doll aesthetics,fnaf,dork diaries,dear dumb diary,loa,reality shifting,astronomy,gyaru,music,sugarbunnies,makeup,plushies,pinky street dolls,fancy nancy,pinkcalicious,mezzo piano etc!!

random all about me!! ୭₊˚ ! ;

🎀; i honestly dont have a certain aesthetic its mainly jsut things i find cute!!

fav animes; jjk,tokyo revengers,smile pre-cure,kny,soul eater,one peice,peach girl,nana,ohshc,sailor moon,bleach

fav shows ; strawberry shortcake,my little pony,bratz,monster high episode,my scene webisodes,as told by ginger,power puff girls,barbie life in the dreamhouse,tdi,the game,ugly betty,lizzie mcguire,totally spies,6teen,winx, ja’mie private school girl

fav movies ; sisterhood of the traveling jeans,all barbie movies,all bratz movies,all monster high movies,legally blonde (original & all sequels),mean girls,girls just wanna have fun,girl interrupted,clueless,the clique,one on one,16 wishes,charmy kitty in wonderland,sleepover,but im a cheerleader,bratz the movie,just my luck,get a clue,the parent trap,bridesmaids,just go with it,the proposal,prada to nada,eloise at the plaza,white chicks

ult kpop groups + biases;

new-jeans + heyin

kara - hara

girls genaration + jessica

twice + tzuyu + nayeon

ive + wonyoung

le sserafim + chaewon + yujin

enhypen - niki + jake + heeseung

nmixx - lily + sullyoon + kyujin

-after school,wonder girls,s.e.s,baby v.o.x,BoA,Lee hyori,red velvet,f(x),T-ara,AOA,Loona,Stayc,Girls Day,Orange Caramel,sistar ,jun hyo seong

other socials !! ⭐️

pint; https://pin.it/7axzFhmeh

spotify; https://open.spotify.com/user/6uoc61m2m84lswv465b8j6yv1?si=Byndq1CNRQSzRlhTfIGH3A

[cottenbee]

When you fuck up getting a Witch Soul for a second time and Lord Death gets disappointed in you

[cursedmask94]

Here are just some random reality shifting ideas.

1. Ready Player One

2. Dune

3. American Horror Story

4.Death Note

5. Black Mirror

6. Soul Eater

[n-tcat]

-tropic masterlist

Pt: -tropic masterlist /end pt

Under cut because this is ridiculously long, links to the posts aren't included due to the link limit. This is mostly intended for coiners to check if a term already exists, feel free to send an ask if you want a specific term - last updated August 14th, 2024 - tagging @tropicarchive

Absurdly sharp claws

Academic alpha bitch

A dog named cat

A dog named dog

Alas, poor villain

All for nothing

Always murder

Americans are cowboys

Ambiguous innocence

Ambition is evil

And that's terrible

Angelic abomination

Angelic beauty

Apocalypse anarchy

Apocalyptic Log

Ascended glitch

Ascended to carnivorism

Asshole victim

Auto-cannibalism

Ax-crazy

Awesomeness is a force

Badass adorable

Badass longcoat

Bad powers, good people

Battleaxe nurse

Battle Butler

Beauty to beast

Becoming the mask

Beneath the mask

Beware the nice ones

Big bad friend

Big brother bully

Big brother instinct

Big eater

Bitch in sheeps clothing

Border patrol

Bizzare alien sexes

Bizzaro universe

Black bug room

Blatant lies

Boss subtitles

Breath attack

Bunny-ears lawyer

Bury your gays

Butterfly of transformation

Camera fiend

Carnivore confusion

Chain-link fence

Cheery pink

Cherry blossom girl

Childhood friend

Childhood friend romance

Chosen one

Cloudcuckoolander's minder

Cold blooded torture

Companion cube

Control freak

Cooldown hug

Cool mask

Cool shades

Cool teacher

Cruel and unusual death

Cthulhumanoid

Cuckoo nest

Cumbersome claws

Cute little fangs

Cute and psycho

Cute kitten

Cute mute

Cuteness proximity

Ditzy genius

Digital abomination

Dispair event horizon

Dissonant laughter

Dissonant serenity

Dumb blonde

Empty shell

Evil counterpart

Eviler than thou

Evil diva

Evil gloating

Evil is petty

Evil laugh

Evil plan

Face-heel turn

Fallout shelter fail

Fangs are evil

Fashionable asymmetry

Faux affably evil

Flash of pain

Friendly enemy

Four eyes, zero soul

Gas mask mooks

Genki girl

Giggling villain

Girl of my dreams

Girly bruiser

Giving someone the pointer finger

Gun nut

Going for the big scoop

Great white feline

Gun twirling

Hate sink

Holy is not safe

Heart beat-down

Heroic bsod

Humanoid abomination

I am a humanitarian

Icarus illusion

I did what I had to do

If it bleeds, it leads

I just want to be normal

I just want to be special

I lied

Infinite

Immoral journalist

I'm not here to make friends

In love with your carnage

Innocent blue eyes

Intrepid reporter

Invisible to normals

It's all about me

Jade-Colored Glasses

Jerkass

Jerk jock

Just a machine

Kensington Gore

Knight in sour armor

Knight templar big brother

Killer rabbit

Killer robot

Kill tally

Lack of empathy

Laughing mad

Lets meet the meat

Living doll collector

Living emotional crutch

Lonely doll girl

Lonely piano piece

Loss of identity

Loony fan

Love makes you evil

Love makes you crazy

Mad love

Malevolent masked men

Manic Pixie Dream Girl

Medium-shift gag

Monster fangirl

Mentally unwell, special senses

Mirror universe

Monster mouth

More teeth than the osmond family

Multiple-choice past

Mysterious watcher

Murder is the best solution

My god, what have I done

Name that unfolds like lotus blossom

Nightmare fetishist

Nightmare fuel

Nightmare fuel coloring book

Not evil, just misunderstood

Noble demon

Not!

Obviously evil

Outlaw

Outlaw couple

Perky Female Minion

Panthera awesome

Pink heroine

Pocket Dimension

Poorly chosen one

Post apocalyptic gas mask

Pragmatic Pansexuality

Price on their head

Pretty princess powerhouse

Pre-violence laughter

Punished for sympathy

Psychopathic manchild

Purple prose

Put the laughter in slaughter

Psycho pink

Psycho supporter

Quick Draw

Radiation-induced superpowers

Radio voice

Reality warper

Red and black and evil all over

Red right hand

Replacement goldfish

Ridiculously human robot

Ripped from the headlines

Rock me, asmodeus!

Rose-haired sweetie

Scary shiny glasses

Sealed evil in a teddy bear

Shmuck bait

Secret-identity identity

Serious business

Showdown at high noon

Silk hiding steel

Small girl, big gun

Sinister shades

Snow means death

Snow means love

Smug snake

Stalker with a crush

Stepford smiler

Sunglasses at night

Super-fun happy thing of doom

Tarot motifs

Teen idol

The caretaker

The faceless

The gunslinger

"The reason you suck" speech

The stoic

The tragic rose

The voice

Then let me be evil

There is no kill like overkill

Third-person person

Trans Equals Hypersexual

Through the eyes of madness

Tragic ice character

Trashy true crime

Tropical island adventure

Truth in television

Unholy matrimony

*Twang* hello

Uncanny Valley

Undercover as lovers

Unstoppable rage

Uptight loves wild

Villain song

Vile villain, laughable lackey

Villain ball magnet

Villain with good publicity

Wanted poster

Visions of another self

We can rule together

Went crazy when they left

White and red and eerie all over

White mask of doom

Wight in a wedding dress

Wild west

Zen survivor

Zipping up the body bag

[maninthemiroh]

INTRO

Hi, I'm Kittithorn! I go by he/they/it pronouns and I'm a kemetic, asexual, homoflexible, and afab Thai-American boy of color (about everything but white; my ancestors weren't fucking with Europeans). Anyway, I'm a shifter, K-Pop stan, anime fan, and V-Kei enjoyer.

Before you follow: I have autism as well as DID, OCD, and Tourettes. Additionally, I might curse quite a bit and vent post, maybe. Please, soft-block me to unfollow, inform me if I make you uncomfortable, and tell me if you need trigger/spoiler warnings for anything.

Don't interact if: You fit the dfi basis, are NCT ot21 or less (I don't support Taeil, but I do support LuSungTaro), anti reality shifting, Seunghan, eaJ, my artists or J-Rock/K-Pop/etc. as a whole, pro-Isreal, an akgae/regular solo stan/sasaeng, RCTA, InSomnia, a proshipper, support the Dream SMP, Nicki Minaj, Doja Cat, Hyuna, or go by an ethnic name that you don't biologically identify with.

More specifics below the cut :]

DR masterlist

My ult stan list: Block B, Cravity, E'Last, Exo, JustB, NCT, P1Harmony, Seventeen, SHINee, StayC, SuperM, and The Boyz.

My regular stan list: ATBO, Bae173, BoyNextDoor, BLITZERS, BtoB, BTS, DKB, DKZ, eaJ, Enhypen, Epex, Everglow, (G)I-dle, Kard, Kingdom, Luminous, Monsta X, nine.i, OneUs, OnlyOneOf, Omega X, RIIZE, SB19, SF9, Stray Kids, Tempest, The Rose, TRENDZ, XIKERS, TxT, TVXQ, WEi, and ZeroBaseOne.

Groups I'm learning about: &TEAM, CIX, BOY STORY, Kep1er, NTX, ONE PACT, ONF, TNX, XODIAC, Vanner, VeriVery, and YOUNITE.

Disbanded groups that I still support: 1Team, Cherry Bullet, CLC, D1ce, D-Crunch, GFRIEND, IZ*ONE, Mirae, miss A, NU'EST, TFN, and TO1

Bands I listen to: Ashmaze., Beyond, Black Panther, Bomb at Track, BUCK-TICK, Daylotus, DazzlingBad, Deadmans Espirit, DEVILOOF, DEXCORE, DEZERT, Dir En Grey, 魚條, Flesh Juicer, Galaxy Express, Guckkasten, gulu gulu, 刺猬Hedgehog, Jiluka, kluaythai, L'Arc-en-Ciel, Lucy, Madmans Espirit, Malice Mizer, Miserable Faith, Moi dix Mois, New Pants, Ninth in Pluto, No Party For Cao Dong, OneWe, Plastic Tree, Retrospect, Royz, Sorry Youth, Sweet Mullet, 董事長樂團, The Darkest Romance, the GazettE, VAMPS, Versailles, XAAXAA, XANVALA, Xdinary Heroes, etc.

Other media I like: Alice in Borderland, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Boku No Hero Academia, Black Clover, DC in general, Brooklyn 99, Carmen Sandiego, Cookie Run, Criminal Minds, Danganronpa, Dead by Daylight, Death Note, Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, Descendants, Dungeons & Dragons, Elementary, Ever After High, Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them (fuck JKR, tho), Genshin Impact, Girl from Nowhere, Gravity Falls, Haikyū!!, Harry Potter (see previous parenthesis), iZombie, Jujutsu Kaisen, Little Nightmares, Maze Runner, Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir, Monster High, My Little Pony, NCIS, Peanuts, Pokémon, Resident Evil, Riverdale, Saiki K, Scooby-Doo in general, Scream, Soul Eater, Spiderverse, Tales of Arcadia, The Amazing World of Gumball, The Dark Pictures Anthology, The Umbrella Academy, The Quarry, Total Drama, Until Dawn, and Vox Machina, etc.

[bcbdrums]

Love Story, Death Story

AO3 | Too lazy to post on FFn lol sorry maybe later

Soul Eater one-shot series, all major character death. Why? I dunno. The muse demanded.

So here's the first one-shot of sadness.

Other warnings are: graphic descriptions of violence, blood, gore... Anything else will spoil so PM if really concerned but yeah you should know with death and Soul Eater it's not gonna be pretty.

Story under the cut because of graphic content.

Stein waits.

He has waited for three days, not sleeping nor eating or drinking or doing anything between replaying the moment in his head over and over.

The way Spirit stalked toward him, teal eyes bright with anger. Shouting turning to frenzied screaming as he gestured at the lines of red marring his flesh beneath his open shirt front, and then the fists that grabbed him by his collar and somehow held him up despite their equal height.

He replays every word, every look, every sensation... The heat of the air between them as Spirit's fiery words were screamed mere inches from his face. The scent of the sky and air as what should have been a beautiful day darkened beyond his ability to comprehend.

He hadn't meant to do it. It was fear responding for him. Fear that caused him to lift a hand to his weapon's chest and shove him away with a violent scream of his own. What he hadn't expected was the coursing of electricity from his fingertips, the way a shock wave seemed to shift the weapon's body between reality and the incorporeal. And the look of the human body reacting in a way that was definitely not normal was burned into his retinas as surely as if he'd been staring at the sun.

The terror had only grown when Spirit had fallen. When Stein's soul perception had failed to pick up his partner's wavelength from where the weapon lie at his feet, utterly still. And then he had run at the sound of her voice as she approached. The girl who had always looked at him with contempt and was the reason anything had started to come apart.

He had run and run and run away, back home, to the safety of the place that always smelled and felt and breathed of Spirit, except it had been empty ever since that day.

Stein hadn't attempted to find out anything. He knew someone would come, eventually. So instead he waited in desperate agony, fear his only companion as he replayed the fight over and over and over.

When toward the end of the third day a knock sounds at the door, he's hesitant to open it. Hesitant to believe that any world outside his and Spirit's home exists, if only to further suspend time during which he can still hope. But the knock means a conclusion, and as he strides toward the door to embrace the inevitable he has already thought through every option and how he will respond.

Of all people standing there when he opens the door, it is the hammer. Breathless and with sweat-darkened blonde hair sticking to her skin, leaning over on her knees as it seems she has probably run the whole way from the academy.

"Marie," finds its way past his lips somehow, and his voice sounds foreign. Has he even spoken for the past three days?

"I... I wanted to warn you," she gasps out. "They're going to arrest you. They're coming."

Something tightens in Stein's chest. The cold reality he's been avoiding is coming to find him whether he likes it or not.

His arrest could be the result of two or three possibilities, but from the look in Marie's eyes he suspects it is the one he fears the most.

"How is Spirit?" he manages somehow, every word pain. His fingers tighten on the doorknob in anticipation, and he holds his breath.

Marie shakes her head. Stein's throat constricts.

"I... I'm sorry. He didn't make it."

Stein is grateful for the hold he has on the doorknob, for he feels it's the only thing keeping him upright. His head is swimming and he can feel claws of darkness beginning to tear his mind and body apart from the inside out as what he hadn't even realized was his greatest fear has been proven to be reality.

Spirit is dead. Dead at his own hand. He has murdered his partner.

"Stein?"

He can't breathe. He can see the hammer in front of him but its as if through water, distorting vision and choking the life out of his lungs. But of course, his life ended three days ago with the fall of the red-haired weapon.

The only solace, the only thing that brings him back as he watches the movement of the young woman's lips in front of him, is that he has already planned for this. He knows what to do.

"What are you going to do?" Marie asks, and he hears the words echo through his skull like an accusation.

He knows he shouldn't. He knows that Spirit...his Spirit...would hate it. Would do everything in his power to stop him, wouldn't forgive him for this.

Except Spirit will never know.

"You can wait inside," he says, his feet moving somehow even though he feels detached from his body. "How far away are they?"

"Maybe...twenty minutes? I ran all the way here and I left before they did... Stein?"

The meister's eyes have glazed over, and his voice sounds detached even to him when he speaks again.

"Wait for them, and...tell them to get me when they do."

"But Stein—"

"Marie...will you do something for me?"

"Anything."

Stein has a moment of clarity that leaps out from the dizziness and despair as the hammer's golden eye stares at him. She always looks at him with something that he doesn't quite understand. Except that he knows he's looked at Spirit that way, and wishes his weapon would have looked at him that way too.

"When they come to get me... Don't come in."

"What? I don't..."

"Just don't come in."

He holds her gaze until she nods in affirmation, and then he turns to go into his bedroom. He locks the door securely behind him and then goes to his desk. The movements are all mechanical, practiced in his brain over the course of the three days he waited, and that is his only comfort as he picks up the bottle, needle, and scalpel and takes them to go sit on his bed.

His shirt comes off first, and then he injects himself with the anesthetic. He doesn't want it, but it will be less likely he passes out from shock before he can finish for its presence in his bloodstream.

Perhaps twenty minutes, Marie had said. He doesn't wait for the drug to begin working before he feels along his rib cage and then lines the scalpel up accordingly.

The pain when he plunges it into his flesh is like fire, white hot and taking his breath away. For a moment he can't move. He's never gone this far before.

But he deserves it. He draws the scalpel down in studied movements, carving his flesh open.

With each rush of pain that threatens to stay his hand he thinks of Spirit. The way his weapon's eyes rolled back in his head when the electric power of his soul struck him. The way he crumpled to the ground without even a cry of distress. The way there was almost nothing when Stein desperately sought his soul wavelength.

The fury in Spirit's eyes as he'd laid accusations against him, far worse than what had actually happened and not giving Stein a chance to explain. The pure fear Stein had felt that he was going to lose his partner without ever being able to utter a word. He wasn't even sure what had motivated him to lift his hand in the first place.

But now...now with days to think about the possible outcomes, he was absolutely certain of his actions.

The pain hasn't abated but he can't stop. He has to finish before they arrive to take him away to a fate worse than what he has chosen for himself.

The pain is also marring his thoughts he is certain, because his original plan had simply been to remove the flesh entirely with no thought of returning it to its place. But instinct had taken over and left clean lines that would allow his body to mend itself were it given the chance, which of course, it would not.

Blood is already soaking his pants, the sheets, and the hand that holds the scalpel, but actually reaching inside his chest is a new sensation all together. The heat and slick moisture and the smell of iron could have intoxicated him in any other circumstance. But he refused to take any pleasure in this. Except knowing that he would get what he deserved.

His vision is clouding already, but with a concentrated burst of electricity from his fingertips he scorches one rib one next to his sternum, the white mixed with red in a strange combination. Even stranger to see it on himself. And with that done, he breaks the bone with ease.

A cry of pain leaves his lips against his will, and he hopes Marie won't notice or else follow his orders to stay out. He bites his cheeks hard as he moves the rib out of the way until he draws blood in his mouth, hooking the slick and flexible bone around another rib which brings an entirely new pain that he gasps through as blood stains his lips. But he can't let it stop him.

He slowly, gently slides the fingers of one hand in through the narrow gap in his ribs and finds his heart. Beating far too fast and strong as his body goes into shock, but he should be able to hurry this along.

He tugs on the organ ever so slightly, testing its range of motion, and pain tightens his chest again like he's never felt before. And still, none of it...absolutely none, compares to the loss he felt with Spirit's death.

There was no punishment Death could conjure that he'll be satisfied with. Even his own attempt he is sure isn't enough. He should suffer, and for a long time. But still, his anguish has him selfish, and he wants it over quickly. He had argued with himself as he planned that he didn't even deserve the suffering, because to suffer meant he was alive.  But how can he be alive when Spirit is not?

He feels around the organ that pumps his life's blood, but its action is starting to become erratic in his hand, skipping beats and fluttering to stillness for moments before jerking to life once more. Through the stars in his eyes he stares as best he can, fascinated by the mystery of what keeps someone alive and how he can end it with a single action.

That is the goal, after all.

Stein begins to laugh, loudly, forgetting the girl in the other room. Whether from the pain, the irony, or the sheer agony he has been in since Spirit's loss which culminated with the proof of his death, the meister doesn't know.

Former meister. Because what is a meister without a weapon? And he has killed his.

Everything is just so absurd without Spirit. What is the point of his soul even existing without Spirit's? The thought in itself brings pain, but the reality is impossible. Stein can't bear the thought.

He carefully slides the scalpel along his other hand to where he has moved two fingers around an artery. He feels it carefully, feels the sensation of hot liquid running through it in his trembling hand, and sets the blade against it. And then in one quick motion, it is severed.

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

Marie had heard the laughter, listened to it rise and fall, and there had been silence ever since. Her heart raced as she sat on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest and trying to force herself to obey Stein's cold command. The look in his eyes when he'd told her not to go in was terrifying, and made even more so by the utter lack of emotion on his face.

She had just told him that Spirit was dead and all he could do was stare, his eyes lifeless. As if without his weapon anything left of Stein's soul was extinguished too.

Perhaps that was exactly what had happened.

She'd left the front door open, and the officers from the DWMA walked in and asked where the meister was. She told them, tried to explain his command to her not to go in. They said something in complaint about escaping out of a window, but Marie's fear only rose as she hovered behind them as they broke down the door.

She'd promised not to go in. But that didn't mean she couldn't...look, right?

Strangled gasps left the throats of the officers and it propelled her feet to the threshold. And she understood in a split second before she screamed.

His face was dreadful, eyes open and an inhuman smile frozen between his cheeks. Blood dripped from his lips, but it was the hole in his chest, the dangling flesh and the striping of white and red ribs that halted her feet. And still, it wasn't the worst.

One of the officers ran out of the room and she heard him retching into a garbage can somewhere behind her. Another officer had simply turned away and leaned up against a wall, trying to catch his breath. But all Marie could do was stare. Stare at the still and lifeless human heart that rested in one of Stein's hands upon his blood-soaked lap, his body slumped against the wall.

"Oh...Stein," she breathed through a sob. "He wouldn't have wanted this for you. No matter what happened. He wouldn't have wanted this."

Those words and others continued to fall absently from her lips as she stared at, smelled, and tasted death. And somewhere in her grief she wondered if it had been madness...or if it was simply possible for love to run too deep.