#YOUNG RO

[childrenofcain-if]

THE UPDATE FOR THE DEMO IS NOW LIVE!

what you can expect in this update comprising both chapter two and three:

get an exclusive invite to the illustrious house of styx.

meet the ROs.

try not to burn down the kitchenette with V.

share a tension-filled dance with C.

go on a swim with D.

do some outfit picking with your chosen RO.

who is that blond(e) stranger in the RE4 costume, and why do they look so familiar?

get choked by an RO for all the wrong reasons (and no, it won’t be kinky. repent for your sins!).

get a glimpse into what exactly is... w̵̢͈̱̻͋̔̾̎͌̋̓̏̚͝r̶̭͈̯͊͛̂̕o̷̧̝̤͇͚͚̓͌̒̈́̏̕̕ņ̴̨̬͚͓̫̱̞̘̰͊́̓̅̈̋͠͝ġ̵̨̺̪̳̘̠ up with you.

there may be some errors with pronouns and other stuff popping up, but you can send them to me on discord so we can promptly correct them. beta testers will be desperately needed for the next update so i’ll open the volunteering forms once chapter four is complete! also, it’s important that you start a new game because new variables has been added which might cause you to get stuck in certain areas!

huge shout-out to my talented big sib, @albywritesfiction, for the massive help in coding everything!

PLAY IT HERE!

[sweetieviktor]

young! silco x reader that has cryokinesis (headcanons + tiny scenarios)

summary: living in zaun isn't easy, but with someone and a little magic everything seems easier.

content warning: i think there's nothing to be warned about lol, maybe a bit of ooc silco?? overall it's just fluff :))

author notes: i loved to write this request!! even if i don't think it is this good bcs i feel like silco is soooo ooc but it's fine it's fine, we barely have a glimpse of his youth so yep. hope you guys like it!

» it didn't matter if you knew each other because of vander, sevika or babette, or if it was just a natural meeting. the moment silco laid his eyes upon you, he was mesmerized.

» he knew he wanted you, and he was determined to get what he wanted. always.

» but, as you've gotten to know each other, you ignited something on him that wasn't just desire. so he talked about it to his most trusted friend, vander.

“you're in love, brother” vander was smiling from ear to ear. it was so uncommon to see silco admit he was liking someone, even if it was so unlike him, it was also really cute. “i still can't believe you haven't called them on a date yet. well, if i was you, i would” silco was red, both flustered and angry, and, just like old friends do, vander really liked to annoy him. “have you ever thought about someone getting them first than you?” he lowered his head, gesturing with his hand to make his statement clearer.

“please, shut up, vander.”

» some days after this, he asked you out. silco had a few partners before but he was afraid you wouldn't go on a date with him. he was not conventionally attractive nor did he have anything special, but his words were sincere and you could see it.

» it wasn't rare to have magic in zaun, but it still was something uncommon and it could easily cost you your own life. so, after a lot of dates, after a long time building up trust on one another, you asked silco to go to the bridge that connects piltover to zaun.

» it surely was a pretty sight but you would like to go there because below the bridge, there was water.

» you wanted to show silco a part of you that you kept pushing away and hiding for so long. a part of you that almost no one had seen.

» when your hands met the clear water, it felt like life was finally running through your veins again.

“what are you doing?” he came closer to you, inspecting how the water danced around your fingers, how it changed its shape until it turned into ice in your hands.

“well, i can do... magic.” you looked in his eyes expecting to see fear, disgust or hate, like everyone did, but he looked at you like the only thing that mattered in this moment was you.

“it's beautiful. could you, maybe, show me more?”

[ryuichifoxe]

The energy I'm hoping to bring to the Crow/Crow table ngl

[if-childrenofcain]

Is that why w can't cook 🥺 AUTHOR I'M GONNA CRY, THEY NEED TO BE PROTECTED

yep yep. before they got shipped off to their uncle and aunt, they also stopped eating because they thought it would make their parents care more. sadly, it did not work.

they were one of those kids who would dream about getting a terminal illness and dying just so they would feel loved and cared for. their uncle and aunt were nice to them, sure, but they were never able to fullfil the abandoned space that their parents left in their chest.

[andrea-writer]

Name: Asteria "Cassandra" Morozova.

Meaning of the name: Asteria- Goddess of falling stars and nocturnal divination

Nicknames: Star

Occupation: Freshman at Yale University, specializing in Pre-Med: Psychology.

Hamartia: Overreach.

Main routes: M or C.

For you, I would cross the line I would waste my time I would lose my mind They say, "She's gone too far this time"

( Power is magnetic.)

Asteria "Cassandra" Morozova is a constellation of contrasts, a figure who embodies both celestial grace, and siren-like cunning. Her personality is akin to the moon—a radiant beacon in the night sky with an enigmatic dark side hidden from view. Her outer self is friendly and approachable, her demeanor warm and engaging with those she favors. Yet, there is an aloofness to her charm, a deliberate barrier that guards the deeper, more intricate facets of her being. She wears her charisma like armor, disarming others with her glowing smile, but the moment someone breaches her carefully drawn lines, she transforms, revealing a side as cold and unyielding as the moon’s shadowed craters.

Her ability to balance sarcasm with moments of genuine sincerity makes her a magnetic presence. Her sharp wit is as mesmerizing as blue fire—a beauty to behold yet undeniably dangerous. Asteria’s boldness enhances this allure, drawing people into her orbit, but this boldness is tempered by cautious calculation. She walks a fine line between risk and strategy, weighing every move to ensure it aligns with her ultimate ambitions. She isn’t impulsive unless the situation calls for decisive action; even then, her decisions are shaped by the finely tuned intuition that feels more like a sixth sense, a gift that allows her to perceive subtleties others might miss.

Her confidence leans toward arrogance, but this is not without merit. Asteria knows her worth and the power she wields, seeing herself as the architect of her destiny. Her ambition often outpaces her humility, though, and this relentless drive is her greatest strength and her fatal flaw. Overreach—her hamartia—is a constant threat, pushing her to the edges of morality and sanity in her pursuit of greatness. She aspires to touch the sun, but she believes she can overcome anything in her way and reach her goals.

Comparing Asteria to the moon reveals her dichotomy. The moon, luminous and serene, holds a darkness that the world never sees, much like her hidden ruthlessness. For those fortunate enough to earn her loyalty, she is all smiles and warmth, offering protection as steadfast as the moonlight guiding travelers through the night. But cross her, and her transformation is immediate—her warmth turns to an icy blaze, her sarcasm cutting, her wrath merciless. She burns as blue fire does, a rare and beautiful phenomenon, incinerating all who dare harm her or those she loves.

She is not only ambitious but also strategic, balancing her pragmatic outlook with emotional depth. She thrives on human connections and experiences, yet her curiosity and hunger for power often eclipse her softer traits. Like the moon governs the tides, she exerts an almost gravitational pull over others, drawing them in while maintaining the mystery of her darker self. In this duality lies her essence—a being of transformation, freedom, and wisdom, whose beauty and brilliance mask the thorns she cultivated in her relentless pursuit of the stars.

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

Asteria Morozova (My OC) in the incredible story of @childrenofcain-if ! Secret society, romance, suspense and mystery. I am hooked and obsessed... Can't wait for more.

[shaxza]

[rofax]

I took a piece of art from my journal like, 2 years ago, and re-did it digitally bc it has been feeling ESPECIALLY POIGNANT LATELY.

[jooyeons-rockstar-girlfriend]

Name: Thursday Olivia Hellshire

Nickname: Ollie

Occupation: Freshman at Yale university, specialising in Films and media studies

Traits: Friendly, bold, and aloof

Hamartia: stuborness

Aesthetic: Grunge or old money

Extracurricular club: Ice hockey team

Other skills: Piano (or drums), Jazz, robotics and debate

Appearance: 5'8, toned body with curves in right places, ashy pale skin, shadowy grey eyes, wavy red hair that reaches shoulder blades, a red scar under left collar bone from an accident.

Tattoos: one snake kissing the side of her neck, another two curling down the length of her left thigh like lovers.

Personality

Thursday Hellshire is a popular figure in Yale despite being a freshman. Her friendly and carefree demeanor earned her a lot of friends. Yet it's only a few she can truly trust. Using her charming personality, she easily gets anything she wants. 

But that doesn't mean she doesn't has the skills and intelligence needed to get to where she is now. Her stuborness in pushing herself to limits is not unknown.Sometimes at the cost of losing herself through it.

For someone who's really forgiving, she can get really heartless and mean when she's angry. People get chills when they hear her slice through someone with words sharper than knife, a sight they're not used to seeing by the usual friendly face.

Extra info:

Has a habit of biting her nails when she's nervous

Has a secret collection of plushies

Won't realize if a dish has salt or not. She'll eat it anyway...

Has a really bad handwriting. Sometimes she doesn't even understand what she wrote herself.

Romance: Maxine

"To burn with desire and be quiet about is the biggest punishment we can bring on ourselves"

"The saddest love is to love someone, to know they still want you, but the circumstances don't let you have them"

This enchanting RA - left her breathless at first meeting. Her dutifulness made it a fun challenge for Thursday to take Maxine's mins off work for a moment. But what really made her fall for the princess was her polite and kind personality. The only idea that came to Thursday's mind was to either pretend that she needs help or threaten to cause trouble

Maxine - is used to Thursday's antics at this point. Though she acts fed up for her, she can't say no those pretty eyes. Most of the time, the chaos Thursday brings to her life is her only source of amusement in a boring day filled with duties. As time goes by she doesn't realise how that troublesome girl warmed her way into her heart until it all comes crashing down one day...

Other relationships

Thursday managed to soften the heart of the grumpy Celine and make friends but she doesn't forget to tease her old rival every moment she gets

She started off as fuck buddies with Dumitru. But then they came to a mutual decision to just be good friends after she realised her feelings for the princess

She managed to convince Vance and Willhelmine to be her partners in crime. Which soon turned into a beautiful friendship that will be written about in the future.

— — — — — ──── ♡ ──── — — — — —

Sorry if some sentences don't make sense English isn't my first language 🙏🏻

Anyways this was my MC for the if "Ballad of young gods" by @childrenofcain-if :)

[magicalplaylist]

Inspired by Free Comic Book Day... maybe all Marchion Ro needs is a kid to look after.

[raukerstriangel]

Ronja Marjatta Valtersson

Nickname: Ronnie, Apple

Occupation: Freshman at Yale - English major

Nationality: Swedish, Dutch, American

Langueges: Dutch, Swedish, Latin, Mandarin, Arabic

Extracurriculars: Guitar, soccer

Hamartia: Personal loyalty

Top traits: friendly, genuine, humble

My small little introduction for my MC from @childrenofcain-if 's amazing story. I have never done a moodboard or anything like this really, which is quite obvious, but I had to for this because I can't think of anything else but this story.

I could sing praises for this author and the inclusivity, writing, and world building, but that would be far too long, so I will say it shortly. @childrenofcain-if you are amazing, and I've loved every story you've written and continue with what you do. I can't wait for the update and the side stories you have planned.

[r100461]

Cédric Lacroix © @childrenofcain-if

🎨 by me

[childrenofcain-if]

Picture this: ROs showing up to their morning classes looking slightly disheveled and quickly taking a seat. Little do they know that their necks are covered with hickeys left by MC the night before. Their reactions when people point it out should be priceless 😂😂

C LACROIX

C barely made it out of bed that morning, the remnants of the night still clinging to them like a warm, invisible string. they hadn’t even looked in the mirror beyond a quick pass of the toothbrush and mouthwash, hadn’t registered the faint bruises blooming like dark smudges on their fair neck.

it was an unusually rushed morning—coffee sloshing in its cup, a blazer haphazardly pulled on over yesterday’s rumpled button-up shirt, and the quiet contentment that still lingered under their skin from the night before.

the lecture hall was in that strange, early-morning lull, with only the few dedicated souls filtering in. C took a seat near the front of the lecture room, slouching down and letting their eyes drift, half-focused on the professor setting up for the day. the room filled up slowly, a dozen students murmuring, flipping open their notebooks, the usual dull hum of university mornings. C felt halfway to a daydream.

it wasn’t until ten minutes into class that the girl sitting directly behind them leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.

“hey, C,” she whispered, her gaze flicking from their bored green eyes to somewhere just below their jaw, amusement dancing in her expression. “had a busy night?”

C looked at her, eyes narrowing in confusion, and she just giggled, clearly finding some private delight in whatever she was looking at. the professor’s voice was droning on in the background about economic indicators, but C’s attention had slipped, irritation prickling.

“what are you talking about?” they muttered back, still bleary with early-morning fatigue. “your neck,” she said with a little wave of her hand, as if that explained everything. “care to explain what that is?”

C’s hand shot to their neck, feeling the skin warm under their touch. they hadn’t given it much thought, hadn’t even realized—last night’s memory a blur of laughter, close warmth, the heady closeness of you, but now it crystallized sharply in their mind. they could feel the heat creeping up their neck, but the words came out automatically, with practiced precision.

“this is a sign,” C said, raising an eyebrow and giving her a look that could have frozen rivers, “for you to mind your own business.”

the girl laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “all right, all right,” she said, but her smirk didn’t fade, and C could feel other eyes turning in their direction, whispers curling through the air like smoke. they slouched further in their seat, wishing they could disappear entirely and regretting the decision to sit on the front.

as the professor rambled on, C sat there fuming, each murmured glance another spark on an already frayed wick. what had you been thinking, they found themself wondering, though they knew perfectly well that you’d been thinking of nothing but the electric thrill of the moment, your hands in their hair, the quiet gasps and the blurred edges of night.

the guy two seats behind caught C’s eye and smirked.

“didn’t know you were the type,” he said, barely containing his laughter.

“what type?” C snapped, keeping their tone flat but seething inside.

“the type to walk around like a billboard,” he replied, nodding toward C’s neck. “seriously, you might want to invest in a scarf.”

C shot him an unimpressed look. “thanks for the suggestion, but i’m not taking fashion advice from poor people.”

the guy frowned in disbelief before huffing and muttering, “whatever, rich prick.”

class dragged on, the ticking of the clock like nails on a chalkboard. C tried to keep their head down, but the whispers and glances only seemed to get louder. every time they caught someone’s eye, there was that same smirk, that same knowing look that made C want to snap, to tell everyone to go back to their notes and leave them the hell alone. but of course, that would only make things worse.

by the time class ended, C was practically out of their seat before the professor had even finished dismissing them. they strode out of the room, head down, hoping to avoid any more looks or comments, but of course, luck wasn’t on their side. just as they stepped out into the hallway, someone else called out.

“nice look, C,” a girl from one of their other classes teased, looking far too pleased with herself.

C sighed, letting out a sharp breath. “you know, there are more interesting things in this world than staring at my neck.”

“oh, but it’s the most interesting thing we’ve seen all semester,” she shot back, laughing, her friends joining in.

C rolled their eyes and kept walking, feeling the last shreds of their patience fraying. they practically stormed down the college halls, footsteps echoing, each step a reminder of the mess they’d somehow gotten themself into. and all because of you, they thought, though they couldn’t bring themselves to be truly angry. there was a part of them—a very small, very hidden part—that was secretly pleased, that liked the quiet claim your marks had left on their skin.

finally, they found a quiet corner, pulling out their phone with a sigh. it only took a second to find your name, to start typing a message they hadn’t planned to send but couldn’t hold back any longer.

they kept it short, precise: “i hope you’re happy with the unwanted attention i’ve been getting today.”

your reply came almost immediately, as if you’d been waiting for it.

“oh, i am,” you texted back, and C could almost picture the smirk on your face, the gleam in your eyes. “plus, it’s not like you’re complaining.”

they scoffed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of their mouth despite themselves: “you’re an idiot, starkid.”

“you still didn’t deny it though,” came your reply, and C shook their head, slipping their phone back into their pocket.

they straightened up, brushing a hand over their neck as if that could somehow erase the marks before walking back to their dorm to do something about it.

V NÆSHOLM

V was already late, stumbling out of their dorm with a heavy book clutched against their chest, their fingers pressed tight to the leather cover like it was a lifeline. they’d overslept, an unusual occurrence, the morning alarm buried somewhere under last night’s fog of dreams and restless shuffles in bed. their curls were a bit of a mess, the hem of their shirt tugged half-untucked in their rush to get dressed. V didn’t bother with a mirror—they rarely did—just shoved their notebook into a worn leather bag and hurried out into the crisp morning.

the classics lecture room was already half-full when they slipped in, doing their best to keep their head down as they found an empty seat by the window. they fumbled with the zipper of their bag, pulling out pens, notes, the creased corner of an assignment they’d meant to retype. a couple of glances flitted their way, but V paid them no mind, assuming it was just the consequence of arriving late—not their usual style, but excusable, they supposed. they hadn’t quite noticed the warmth still lingering on their neck, hadn’t registered the faint marks, those tiny bruises left by your lips in the hazy hours of last night, each one like a dark cherry painted on their skin.

professor caldwell’s voice began to drone on from the front, and V dropped their gaze to the desk, willing themselves to focus, to let the rhythm of greek declensions and conjugations drown out the lingering warmth that tingled through them. you had laughed about their major, half-joking about the language of romance and poetry while your mouth traced along the curve of their neck, each word becoming something soft, quiet, reverent in the dark. they thought they could still feel it, could still remember the press of your hands against their shoulders, the unguarded look in your eyes that made V feel both completely exposed and utterly safe.

across the room, someone leaned over to their friend, whispering something with a smirk, and V felt the faint prickling sensation of being watched. they glanced up, catching the raised eyebrows, the conspiratorial gleam in their classmates’ eyes. V’s face warmed instantly, but they managed a small, polite smile before dropping their gaze back to their notebook, convinced that if they focused hard enough, they could make themself invisible.

it wasn’t long before someone inched closer, a girl from their study group, flashing them a look that was equal parts amused and intrigued.

“V,” she whispered, leaning in, “looks like you had an eventful night.”

V blinked, taken aback. “an eventful night?”

she gave them a playful grin, tilting her head just enough for her eyes to drift to the side of their neck, and suddenly, V felt the weight of her gaze as if it were a burning mark itself. they pressed a hand self-consciously to their skin, realizing with a jolt what she must be seeing—the faint outline of each mark you’d left, the soft purples and blues etched into their dusky skin.

the girl’s grin widened, and V could practically feel the heat creeping up their neck, staining their cheeks.

“i– it’s not–” they stammered, words tumbling over themselves in a futile attempt to explain something that needed no explanation. “it’s just… nothing!”

she laughed, a soft, knowing sound that made V feel like every inch of them was under a spotlight.

“sure,” she replied, her tone teasing. “nothing at all.”

another voice piped up from across the room, this time one of the guys they vaguely recognized from last semester, watching them with a smirk. “get it, V!”

V felt their heart sink, the warmth on their cheeks intensifying as they desperately tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone. they wanted to disappear, to melt into the seat and let the floor swallow them whole. this wasn’t like them—V, quiet and unassuming, the one who read too many old texts and held onto thoughts like secrets. they could hardly bear the thought of all these eyes on them now, each one reading the evidence of last night like an open book.

professor caldwell finally took note of the murmuring, glancing up from his notes with a frown. “is there something particularly fascinating happening in the back of the room that i should know about?”

silence fell, and V took the opportunity to bury themselves deeper in their notes, trying to will away the warmth in their cheeks and the prickling awareness that your mark on them had become the morning’s unspoken headline. they could feel every sideways glance, every whispered comment, as though it were written in neon across their skin.

when class finally ended, V was the first out of the room, slipping through the hallways as quickly as they could, every step carrying them further from the embarrassment of those lingering glances and raised eyebrows. they found a quiet alcove near the library, leaning against the cool stone wall, finally able to breathe.

V closed their eyes, a quiet, helpless laugh slipping out as they leaned back against the wall, feeling every inch the awkward, bashful mess you somehow adored.

W OSTENDORF

W stumbled into their morning cinematography lecture, barely awake. they hadn’t even glanced in the mirror before dashing out of their room, their shirt collar slightly askew, blonde hair tousled in a way that looked less artful and more accidental. their eyes were ringed with the faint shadows of sleep deprivation, deep-set from too many late nights and one too many bad dreams. they’d long accepted that sleep, for them, was like an old friend gone missing.

W slipped into a chair near the back of the room, hoping to fade into the background. but, almost immediately, they felt a tap on their shoulder. they turned, meeting the curious gaze of bailey, one of the classmates they usually talked to. they were already leaning in, their eyes bright with mischief.

“W…” bailey said, a sly smile creeping up their face, “so how was it?”

W blinked, looking back at them with a blank expression. “what?”

bailey stifled a laugh, glancing pointedly at W’s neck. “i’d be more concerned about covering those up if i were you.”

confused, W’s hand drifted to the side of their neck, their fingers brushing over what felt like faint ridges in the skin—tender and, unmistakably, hickey-shaped. last night came back to them in fragments: the soft press of your lips against their skin, the warmth of your hands, and the way W’s heart had beat so fast it was like it was learning to keep time for the first time. they could still feel it—the gentleness of you, the careful way you’d mapped out their skin, the way you had filled the empty spaces in them like sunlight spilling into shadows.

“oh,” they mumbled, barely audible, color rising in their fair cheeks as they finally understood what bailey was implying. they fumbled with their winter coat, as though it could somehow cover up the evidence. but it was too late; bailey had already seen, and so had half the classroom, if the muffled snickers and side-glances were any indication.

W swallowed hard, trying to suppress the urge to shrink into themself. it was one thing to carry the memory of last night like a secret tucked close to their chest, but it was another to have it branded on their skin, visible for everyone to see. “with a reaction like that, i’m curious now,” bailey whispered conspiratorially. “who was it?”

W was too flustered to answer, too aware of the heat creeping up their neck. they just shook their head, mumbling something incoherent under their breath.

they could practically feel the weight of everyone’s attention pressing down on them, and it was unbearable. the classroom had never felt so small. they wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the air and float away. their fingers tightened around the edge of their desk, knuckles white.

just as they were beginning to think they might actually combust under the weight of it all, professor shah finally started the lecture, mercifully redirecting everyone’s attention to the topic of 60s cinematography. W tried to focus, to let the professor’s voice anchor them, but they kept getting distracted by the faint brush of their own fingertips against their neck, as though they were reassuring themself that last night had been real.

but the worst part, the part W couldn’t admit even to themself, was that somewhere beneath all the embarrassment, there was a strange, inexplicable warmth in their chest. it wasn’t just the memory of you; it was the fact that, for once, they felt like someone who mattered. you had looked at them like they were more than a bundle of nerves, more than a collection of protruding ribs and insecurities. you had wanted them, had left marks on them like an artist signing their work, as though to say, “this precious one belongs to me.”

W kept their head down for the rest of class, pretending to take notes while their mind wandered. they thought about your laugh, the way it filled up the quiet spaces between words; they thought about the constellations embedded in your eyes, a collection of universes unknown. and even as their skin burned under the scrutiny of their classmates, they couldn’t help but feel a kind of ridiculous, unsteady happiness, as though they were holding a fragile piece of you.

after class, as W gathered their things, bailey caught up with them again, their eyes dancing with barely-contained laughter.

“whoever they are,” they said, leaning in with a grin, “they did a number on you. you look like a jackson pollock painting.”

W managed a small, awkward smile, brushing them off with a half-hearted shrug. “i… thank you? i think?”

but bailey just laughed, giving them a pat on the shoulder before they sauntered off. W watched them go, exhaling a long, shaky breath. the hallway stretched out in front of them, crowded with students milling about, voices echoing in the familiar buzz of conversation. they felt oddly detached from it all, like they were drifting, the world around them softened by the memory of you.

when they finally stepped outside, the winter air was like an ice pack against their flushed cheeks. they pulled their coat tighter around them, but they couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. even in their embarrassment, they felt lighter, their heart buoyed by the quiet assurance that they had been seen, and known, and wanted.

for a brief, foolish moment, W wished you were there beside them, walking through the crowded hallway, your shoulder brushing against theirs. they imagined the feel of your hand slipping into theirs, the easy way you would laugh at their embarrassment, and they felt a surge of something that was both longing and contentment.

D DIACONU

D showed up to their morning music class like they did every day: with a sort of effortless swagger, their bag slung over one shoulder, hair messier than usual, and the faintest grin ghosting their mouth as though they were carrying a secret joke. they slipped into their seat near the back, collapsing into it with the practiced nonchalance of someone who had perfected the art of looking utterly unfazed.

to D, mornings meant more than just a groggy start; they were an opportunity to blend their night life into the mundane day, to turn the hours of dawn into some blurry prequel that nobody else needed to understand.

what D didn’t realize, though, was that last night had left its mark in more ways than one.

the professor was droning on about music theory, the class settling into its familiar rhythm, when senne, a friend sitting beside D, leaned over, his eyebrows quirked, mischief lighting up his eyes.

“good morning to you,” he murmured, his voice low, his smile mischievous. “do you, perchance, have a good mirror at your dorm? you can borrow mine if that’s not the case.”

D glanced at him, half-interested, arching an eyebrow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

senne snickered, nudging his chin toward D’s neck, gesturing without making a scene but just enough to catch D’s attention.

D frowned, hands drifting to their collarbone almost instinctively, fingers brushing over their neck. the memory of last night washed over them—your lips, your hands, the way you laughed softly against their skin as if every touch could be a confession. in the hazy, half-lit memory, the feel of your warmth and weight lingered as though it had seeped into them. but that feeling, that heated moment, had seemed so ephemeral, so fleeting, something to fold up and pocket away by morning.

D’s fingers brushed over the skin—the sensitive spots, the small, faint bruises where you had left traces. hickeys. and not just one.

a dozen memories flashed in their mind. the way you had leaned in, your mouth grazing the edge of their collarbone, the laughter that bubbled up in between breaths, a hand gripping their shoulder. D’s smile faltered, turning instead into a half-smirk as they let their fingers drop, trying to play it cool even as their face warmed.

senne whistled quietly, leaning back with a knowing look that made it clear he wasn’t going to let this go. “you lucky dog.”

D shrugged, attempting to look bored but failing to disguise the slight, pleased flicker in their eyes. “well, i’m not going to deny that.”

at that, senne’s eyebrows went up. “oh, believe me, it shows. whoever they are, they really… left their mark, huh? quite a possessive one you got there.”

D rolled their eyes, feeling strangely irritated under the scrutiny of both Sam and a few other classmates who had caught on, now sneaking glances and stifling laughs. the professor continued to lecture in the background, blissfully unaware of the scandalous distraction sitting right in front of him. metronomes would wait; apparently, D’s love life was more important.

“i didn’t ask for you to take a guess,” D murmured, voice low and defiant, as if the room wasn’t filled with people trying to catch a glimpse of the faint marks you’d left on them. they tilted their head, defiant as ever, lips pulled into a smirk that only grew when senne laughed.

“not my fault you’re wearing your social life like a badge of honor,” senne retorted, giving them a playful nudge. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you be okay with people giving you hickeys.”

“maybe this person’s special,” D shot back, pulling the collar of their leather jacket up just a bit. “or maybe i don’t particularly care about it anymore.”

as the professor continued to lecture on how music was seen as a blessing from the gods, it struck D as amusingly fitting. aphrodite would have approved, they thought with a sly grin, leaning back in their chair with a certain satisfaction, a sense of belonging to a story larger than themself, even if just for a night.

the professor’s voice carried on, explaining some about some more old instruments. D tried to focus on the words, on the way they wove together in that heavy, ancient way, but every phrase seemed to loop back to you. your eyes. your teeth against their skin. the way you’d whispered things that only mattered in the small hours, words that vanished with the dawn but left their mark all the same.

senne leaned over once more, whispering, “so, is it, y’know?”

D smirked, tilting their head as though considering it, as though they didn’t already know the answer.

“maybe,” they said casually, but there was a knowing glint in their gray eyes. “i’d prefer not to reveal anything yet.”

senne chuckled, rolling his eyes, but there was a part of him that seemed genuinely curious, almost as if he wanted to know what it was like to be seen the way D was seen last night—to be held and marked and claimed, even if just for a moment. of course, he was thinking about emerson again.

when class ended, D stood up, brushing off senne’s continued teasing, rolling their eyes with a smirk that was equal parts cocky and lazy. they didn’t bother to fix their collar again, didn’t try to hide the hickeys. Instead, they let them be—little maroon trails of a night well-spent, reminders of a heat they’d carry with them through the rest of the day, a secret in plain sight.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

M slipped into their philosophy class with the quiet poise of someone determined to avoid attention, a little bleary-eyed from the night before. they moved with the precision of a dancer, even half-awake, shoulders straight and head held just high enough to nod politely to the few classmates they recognized.

it had been one of those endless nights, where time seemed to slip in and out of itself, conversations trailing into dawn without ever quite stopping, hours blending until they felt like one long and breathless moment. M had walked to class still caught in the residue of that night, smiling privately, replaying your smile, the warmth of your hand, the way you’d leaned in close with that unmistakably needy glint in your eye.

they slid into their seat, adjusting their collar out of habit, but the faint ache at their neck went unnoticed in their early morning haze. they didn’t see the subtle bruises—purple shadows kissed onto their skin like reminders of you. but someone else did.

“morning, M,” murmured eli, who sat next to them, their tone riddled with a soft irish accent. they eyed M’s neck for a second too long, their gaze slipping toward the faint trail of hickeys there before they looked away, poorly disguised laughter on their lips.

“good morning, eli,” M replied, their usual courtesy unfazed by the glances and whispered chuckles around the room. they didn’t catch the murmurs, or the sneaky glances, still thinking of last night—how you’d wrapped them in your laughter, how you’d left them breathless with the reckless ease that only you had.

it wasn’t until professor dunbar, a tall and somewhat intimidating figure with a penchant for socratic questioning, entered and began the lecture that M started to catch on. he looked right at the royal, paused, and then coughed, almost as if trying to conceal a smirk.

the entire class seemed to ripple with an electric, almost surreptitious amusement.

finally, one of the other students, a lanky guy named oliver who was known for his bluntness, leaned over. he barely whispered, though, letting his voice carry to others seated nearby. “your highness, didn’t know you were the type to show up to class wearing your nightlife around your neck.”

M blinked, feeling the words settle before they fully registered. “i beg your pardon?”

they touched their neck absentmindedly, but as they felt the faint bruises beneath their fingers, realization spread across their face. the warmth of last night’s memory filled them again, and there was a warmth in their cheeks that couldn’t quite be disguised.

oliver grinned, looking far too pleased. “you’ve got souvenirs, nice.”

M’s hand dropped, and they straightened, composure slipping for just a heartbeat. a rush of images flooded their mind—you, under the dim lights, your lips lingering on their neck, the world a comfortable blur around you both. they felt exposed in a way that was unfamiliar, like someone had opened a book they’d meant to keep closed.

eli leaned over, their voice gentle with a thread of teasing. “they suit you, actually. just… remember to cover it before class next time”

M managed a demure smile, lifting their chin slightly. “i’ll keep that in mind.”

eli’s smile widened, but they said nothing, only gave a small shrug as if to say no worries.

M could feel their heart thundering under the calm mask they usually wore, wondering how they could possibly explain to these people how it felt to be with you. how every touch had felt both wild and intimate, like a shared whisper that neither of you could ever forget. there was no explaining to eli or oliver or anyone here how your presence lingered, how it was both comforting and thrilling, how you’d looked at them like they were someone worth keeping close.

the professor’s lecture drifted on, dissecting concepts of ethics and purpose, but M’s mind wandered. they half-listened, still feeling the ghost of your touch, remembering the twinkling of your eyes in the small hours of the night. when the lecture ended, and they were finally free to leave, they lingered, half-expecting another comment, another nudge from a classmate.

instead, it was eli who sidled up to them, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “so… who was it, mate? don’t be shy now.”

M raised an eyebrow, almost amused by their persistence. “i’m afraid i can’t disclose that, eli.”

eli shrugged, undeterred. “fine, keep your secrets. but hey,” he added with a knowing smirk, “they must be something else if you’re willing to come here wearing their love bites.”

for a second, M considered dismissing eli with their usual reserve, but something in them softened. they allowed a faint smile, a rare and almost too-open thing, as they looked toward the door, already picturing you there. “yes,” M said, their voice a quiet warmth that made eli blink, momentarily thrown by the softness in their tone. “they really are something else.”

[rroextra]

Timelapse ⬇️

[dichard-grayson]

I’m casually listening to a Jesse McCartney song for the nostalgia and it just hit me that this is Dick Grayson’s singing voice, canonically, since Jesse voices Dick in Young Justice

[apuff]

thinking about love in danger days

this is part of my conspiracy theory that that album is aroallo, but i've always gotten the sense that romance and romantic attatchment is much less important to danger days than any other mcr record. with bullets&revenge it's quite obvious as the demolition lovers take up like, everything, and the black parade has a heavy focus on a romantic relationship as well. 

while i do think there are lines in it that are romantically coded, there is a definitive lack of emphasis on it- like it's nowhere in the plot at all. 

i do think danger days represents a very familial type of love though. while other albums visit a sense of "i want you, i need you, i miss you, i hate you,", this is more like…"i love you, i want to protect you, i'm sorry"

i find this especially strongly in s/c/a/r/e/c/r/o/w:

"Nevermind about the shape i'm in, I'll keep you safe tonight"

"love, love, love won't stop this bomb"

"run, run, bunny, run"

and other songs: 

"i'll find you when the sun goes black"

"just save yourself and i'll hold them back tonight"

"how long until we find our way in the dark and out of harm"

relevant things i can't cover with just quotes are planetary go, oft-theorized to be about party poison and kobra kid, as brothers, leaving battery city together; sing, about the killjoys' last message to the girl while saving her; goodnite dr. death, phrased as him saying goodnight to children; and summertime, which i can't discern the meaning of but seems more like a family type of love. 

i think it makes sense that danger days is like this, seeing as it features main characters that take care of a child main character as opposed to main characters that love other main characters of the same age/ability. 

another thing i noticed while re-listening to the more sentimental songs for this essay is that there's just a distinctly different vibe to it. So much of it is focused around wanting to protect people, keep them safe and out of danger (<- ha that's the name of the album) and loved. i think this also makes sense, because the killjoys live a very, well, dangerous life without much security, and they'd want to provide what they lack the most. another semi-related thing i noticed is just how much of an emphasis there is on childhood in this album. i feel like there's a vibe of youth or teen-hood throughout the earlier ones, but this is just VERY strongly about kids. again this makes sense cause not only are the killjoys teenagers (a type of kid!) they also have a proper little kid to watch. 

also, i wonder how much of this stuff was due to gerard becoming a parent. just something to think about 

[andrea-writer]

M sits at his RA desk, his sleeves rolled up and tie slightly loosened, engrossed in organizing a stack of papers. His sharp jawline catches the sunlight, and the way he absently runs a hand through his dark hair makes it impossible for Asteria to look away. She, bold and confident by nature, stops in her tracks, completely captivated.

Asteria's Thoughts:

How does he look so put-together doing something as boring as filing papers? It’s like he’s in a photoshoot. Ugh. Why is he so handsome? Why is he so—wait, is he smirking?

Her gaze lingers a moment too long, and as she takes a step forward—

THWACK.

She walks directly into the edge of the wall, sending papers she’s holding tumbling to the floor.

Asteria (startled): “Ow! Are you kidding me?!”

The sound catches M’s attention. He looks up, his brow arching in surprise before his lips curve into a faint smile.

M (standing): “Asteria. Are you alright?”

Asteria (straightening, trying to salvage her pride): “Obviously. This stupid wall came out of nowhere.”

M strolls over, far too composed, and crouches to pick up her scattered papers. “The wall was already here, you know. It’s been here since last semester.”

Asteria: “Very funny.”

She takes the papers from him, glaring but unable to ignore the way his warm smile makes her stomach flutter.

M (gently): “Let me see.”

Before she can protest, he tilts her chin up to inspect the slight mark on her forehead, his fingers cool against her skin.

Asteria’s Thoughts:

Okay, this is fine. Totally fine. His hands are just… really soft. And big. Oh, God. Focus, focus!

M (chuckling): “No permanent damage. You’ll live. But maybe try watching where you’re going?”

Asteria (muttering): “Maybe you should stop being so distracting.”

M raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Asteria (clearing her throat): “Nothing. Thanks for the help.”

She spins on her heel, marching toward the wrong hallway to avoid further embarrassment.

M (calling out): “Asteria, that’s the wrong direction.”

She stops dead in her tracks, turning with a smug grin. “How would you know that?”

M (leaning casually against the wall): “I’m your RA. I’ve seen your class schedule.”

The realization clicks. He not only knows her schedule but remembers it, and for a moment, her heart skips a beat. Her boldness kicks in, and a teasing grin spreads across her face as she walks back toward him.

Asteria (playfully): “You remember my schedule? What’s the matter, M? Can’t stop thinking about me?”

M’s cool composure falters just slightly—a flicker of something in his eyes before he regains his usual calm. “It’s my job to know these things.”

Asteria (stepping closer): “Sure it is.”

With a sly smile, she taps the tip of his nose lightly, her finger lingering just long enough to make her point. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, by the way.”

Before M can respond, she spins away, striding confidently toward the correct hallway.

Asteria’s Thoughts (smirking):

Hook, line, and sinker. He’s totally into me.

Behind her, M watches her go, his lips twitching into an amused smile as he adjusts his tie, shaking his head slightly.

M (softly to himself): “Unbelievable.”

Asteria Morozova- My OC from 'The Ballad Of Young Gods' by @childrenofcain-if