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hongjoongscafe · 1 year ago

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Bloody Love...

Chapter: VII-Betrayal-

♠︎Pairing: yandere!king.jungkookxoc(coronis)

♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).

♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."

♠︎Word count: 3.6k+

♠︎Warning: murder, creepy, blow job, suffocation.

♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!

♠︎Masterpost

♠︎Serieslist.

Questions. They were running in Coronis's head. Was it her fate? Or was it the people who made her life harder every day? The spiralling cycle of life was getting into her head. She felt a cyclone inside her nerves. The thunder in her chest.

They say that after a bad thing, something good happens. However, in her life, there was no word called good ever written even with mistakes, just never. Something in her life was twisted more than what she had realized. She had underestimated everything to the point where thinking for even a breath was heavier than a mountain.

Monsoon arrived. The days looked gloomier and nights looked creepier. Every gust of wind sent tremors down her spine. It felt like those winds were the whisperers who whispered tragedy winding its way to her footsteps.

The roads were muddy and reeked of old blood. The trees were hunched over, looking like ghouls that fed on dead bodies. Everything was covered with a stiff horror of the unspoken stories that were buried deep down in this realm of dead and gone.

All of this horror was doubled when the men who came to see Coronis for tying the knot started to get slaughtered day by day. They were not being hung on the pole but rather left rotting in the meadows and not as intense as the punishments were.

Nori has been acting weirdly. Especially after she visited her home. It was a couple of days later when she caught Edwin at her shack.

Coronis was walking back to her shack as the rain was pouring. It was getting stronger as she took each step. Her black straight gown was wet and the skirt was covered in mud halfway. Her pretty belly shoes were squeaking and were unrecognizable. Her kohl was running down her cheeks and her hair was sticking to her face. She tried her best to not let the stuff in her hands get dirty as she struggled to walk through the puddles.

As she reached back to her shack, she saw Nori standing outside, about to leave with a tarpaulin sheet above her head to at least keep her head covered from the unforgiving showers.

As Nori's eyes fell on Coronis, her expression changed and looked panicked. Coronis wanted to stop her and talk to her, however, the girl quickly bid goodbyes to her mother and stumbled away as quickly as she could.

Later that day when Coronis was sitting by the fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in her hands with her mother who was knitting a sweater for Coronis, the girl asked her mother, “What was Nori doing here?”

Martha looked up with a tiny smile. “She said she was in the market and stopped by. We drank tea and talked a bit and then she left. I asked her to wait longer and meet you but she said she had things to take care of and then left.”

She nodded slowly and took a sip out of her warm drink. “What did you talk about?”

Martha stopped knitting, placed the material in the basket and faced Coronis. She took a second to formulate her words. “Honestly, Coro, she was not alright in my opinion. I have never seen her like the way she was acting today. She was… jittery and uncomfortable if I'm not wrong. But she was polite as ever. Greeted me with warmth and held a decent conversation. Though she kept looking at the door as if waiting for someone,” She said. “And we talked about things and she asked about you!”

Coronis's mind was boggling. “What did she say?”

“She asked about the people in our shack the other day,” she informed.

“And then what did you say?” she pressed further.

“I told her about us wanting to marry you somewhere better. She asked about Edwin and the other boys as well. She seemed to be quite interested in the chat. She wanted to know every single detail and joked about how she could keep one for herself as well. But I don't know, Coronis… I don't feel like she was fine. I think someday, you should go meet her. I don't see her with you as often either. Maybe she just needs a friend to talk to. And I am nowhere near that friend,” Martha shook her head as she thought other things to herself but did not voice them. “Anyway, Edwin will visit tomorrow. So, look prettier.”

She had seen Nori around. All the time she looked guilty of something. She would look but never make a move to talk to Coronis and when Coronis would try, she would run away as soon as possible. The situation between them was too intense.

Coronis felt guilty for doing whatever she did. Instead of running away, she could have talked and told Nori what her life had become, or better, shouldn't have tried to get into it. Her selfish motives were the reason why the poor girl was now looking like a long aching soul, running away from what she once found solace in.

She couldn't imagine what Nori was feeling. One day they both were lying in bed, kissing and hugging, and the other day, there was nothing left. The person Nori loved so dearly was not supposed to prepare for marriage and it wasn't even theirs.

It was Coronis and a third person.

How could Coronis even expect her to talk to her when she crushed the blooming flower of love under her feet?

Her teary eyes were looking for answers, silently. Waiting for Coronis to tell her story. But her mind was not ready. Nori knew they were not possible even if Coronis was not getting married because the two girls could never make it together.

Maybe another story was going to be left untold.

As Coronis was stepping closer to her shack, everything started to get quieter and quieter. The day was still young and paths were busy. No way it could be that silent the only thing she could hear was silence and the rain hitting the ground.

The closer she got, she saw people surrounding her shack. The crease between her eyebrows grew deeper as fast as her heart started to beat. She carefully squeezed her way in to see why people were standing there so quietly. Did something happen to her family? No, she pleaded silently as tears brimmed her eyes.

Her feet were met with dirty muddy water mixed with blood. She looked up and saw Draco, Onyx, and Martha standing there now looking at Coronis. A sigh of relief left her trembling lips. But it didn't stay for longer.

Because the moment her eyes fell down, in front of her shack, her heart dropped in her stomach. She couldn't see the face but the Golden curly hair was enough for her to know everything that was needed to know.

The tears in her eyes were pooling to the brim but not a single tear dared to roll down her cheeks. They were stuck there, just like Coronis, in shock. Her pupils shivered as the tremor of horror passed through her body.

The regret was seeping into her soul making her her own villain. Her heart refused to believe otherwise. The selfish mistake was now weighing her down as she fell to her knees. Her breath got stuck in her chest as she saw the lifeless body lying down there with deep slashes out in the open for everyone to see it like a drama.

The blood was still dripping out into the muddy water as the rain mercilessly poured onto his abused body. His skin from where the clothes were torn apart was pale and blue, drained of any blood in his veins.

Coronis crawled towards him. Holding his shoulders, she turned him around and that's when a piercing scream was heard in the crowd. Coronis had no conscience for her actions. She had no idea that the loud, heart-wrenching screams were leaving her mouth.

Her head was empty of any sane thought. The only thing that mattered at the moment was for Edwin to open his pretty gazy eyes and look into her dark orbs and tell her in his own words that it is going to be alright and that he is going to be alright. They will be alright. She wanted him to tell her that all the little dreams they dreamt would come true under the same roof where they were going to begin their new life.

“Why?!” she screamed again. “Why? What did he do?!” she kept repeating. “Please give me back my Edwin! I'll do anything for him. Please give him his life back!” she begged. She cried and cried.

She didn't care about the mud or the rain soaking her. The only thing she kept hearing was her inner voice asking her how much she could be thoughtless and selfish.

How many more dying souls did she need to see before knowing that her single action could lead to some genuine man’s life? Her previous proposals were murdered but they were not morally sane men at all. They deserved worse than what they got.

However, Edwin was a man of words and class. He was a gentleman every woman desired in their life. The way he talked was out of this world. His poetic essence was never enough and the bubble of safe emotion was his walking definition. No one was like him.

Edwin was the shade of the tree on the hottest summer afternoon. His voice was a mellow music in the midst of spring. His eyes were a warm blanket on the coldest winter night. His smile was the twinge of spice in the autumn evening. He was perfect as is. His way of living life was simple and eventful. He craved to make a difference in the world with his kindness. He found the luxuries in the smallest things and cherished them till he could remember them.

He was once a man full of life and now a lifeless Angel. Some evil spirit took his golden wings away and left him dead in the footsteps of his future.

Nobody said a thing. They stayed and listened. Nobody tried to console the hurting being on the ground holding her soon-to-be husband tightly as she held him and cried on his slashed chest.

Coronis looked up as she felt a burning glare piercing her skull. There stood Nori. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were red. No emotions of love, grief, shock, or any feelings were on her face. She stood there numb and blank looking at Coronis, thinking Lord knows what. She had an almost grim face and her skirt had red splotchy patches as if it was blood. Again, who knows what she has been up to?

Coronis was about to say something to her but stopped when she saw Nori slowly backing out. She took steps backwards and slowly turned around all while looking deep into Coronis's eyes. It felt like hours before she got lost in the crowd.

That was the moment when she knew she messed up.

She was left on the ground, bawling her eyes out, with a man with whom she saw herself smiling and laughing through thick and thin. With the man made out of jewels, his heart now felt like a cold diamond.

And there she realized… she lost…

The rivers of tears stopped and whimpers quietened down. Her face depressed down in misery as the reality of her fate washed over her.

It was she who created these fates of chaos, Coronis was. Her actions became the numbness of one and the death of another.

She looked down at the man and slowly laid her head on his cold, still heart as the acceptance shook her body, trying to not accept but her brain knew better than that.

Love, lust, hate, infatuation… feelings. These are trouble to get into. It felt like all of these emotions burned Coronis like a fire in the forest or perhaps killed her like an overdose of drugs.

Her body trembled like an addict wanting that dose of drug. As if she was possessed by a demon. The catch was that she was indeed an addict and was possessed by a demon of her own. Of the people she killed without knowing.

She was indeed lost…

…

The hands of the maids trembled as if they saw a ghost. Their heads lowered painfully to the point their chins were stuck on their chests as they slowly removed every single piece of clothing from His Highness's body.

The scent of roses and vanilla fogged around them as the water in a gigantic floor bathtub filled with water and milk. The petals of the black rose looked pretty on the milky water.

The last piece of his clothes was gone. There he stood. All naked in his glory. His broad shoulders, tight muscles, hard chest, perfectly carved abs, his biceps looked ripped, and his thick thighs highlighted every hard part.

Along with that, his long, fat cock stood proudly, hard and filled with pride. His thick vein on the underside throbbed harder than a racing heart. His veins were thick and poking out, and his pretty mushroom head looked angry and red in need of it to be touched and abused.

However, his jaw was clenching and a frown was settled between his eyebrows and on the chin. And his brain was going back to the picture of Coronis standing in her shack.

“Jimin-ah,” his hoarse voice echoed in the bath.

Jimin’s eyes met with the back of his Lord. “Yes, my lord?”

“My little birdy was a bad girl,” His Highness shook his head and stepped in front of a kneeling woman. “She was not wearing the necklace I gave her. I asked her to always wear it. How could she not listen to me?” He fisted that woman’s hair and shoved his hard cock down her throat with a hum.

The boy looked at the scene and hesitated before saying something. “Perhaps it was hidden under her dress,” he stuttered.

A scoff left the lord’s mouth. “Hidden under her dress, you say?” He bobbed the head of the woman as if she was a toy. Well, for him she was indeed just a filthy toy. “I could see her fucking breast crease through her black gown and you say ‘Perhaps it was hidden under her dress’” he snapped.

The anger boiled inside his chest. And he let it out on the poor woman who had no choice but to take his cock, trying not to gag at the taste of alcohol that lingered in his precum. He had started to drink more alcohol than before. His sweet taste now turned bitter. Her nails dug into her thighs to keep her going. She felt lightheaded.

Jimin gulped and cleared his throat, “My apologies, my lord… I didn't see her Highness. I was merely guarding you just how you prefer.”

Hearing this, a side smile stretched on The Lord's lips. “No wonder why you are my favourite, Jimin-ah,” he rasped. “You always keep things in your mind and act like a loyal bitch,” he sighed, “if I had an eye for a man, I would fuck your holes and fill them up. But alas! It's not for this life.” He grunted as he fucked her mouth harder and faster. The woman could not breathe properly but she did not say a word knowing well enough what he could do if she did not do what he wanted. She just kept on digging her nails into her thighs. Her eyes started to roll back and black spots blurred her vision. The rest of the women kept their heads hung low. “It's about time I punish her.”

With that, he came down her throat with a grunt and pushed her back. She lay down there unconscious, cum staining her mouth. No one dared to treat the woman but scurried into the bath as he stepped into it.

His Highness rested his back against the warm dark marble and spread his arms. His body relaxed and his muscles loosened. He sighed as the hands of his maids started to clean him. “Do me a favour, Jimin-ah. Call the ministers and the headguards in the court. Tell them I called an emergency court.”

He cracked his neck and relaxed, feeling the hands washing him. And thinking about how he only wanted one pair of hands on him sooner.

“Wait for me, little birdy. Wait for the punishment that is going to come your way…”

…

“Coronis, my love,” Martha called her daughter as she looked outside from her window with a black face but a thousand emotions in those dull eyes.

It had been days since Edwin passed away. Coronis stopped speaking and rarely came out of her slot. She wouldn't eat more than two bites of rice. Her cheeks hollowed out and became paler.

Her long black locks were tangled just like her fate. Her inner turmoil disrupted her sanity. There was none to begin with… one of the things that came with living in this realm— no sanity.

“Can you go out, honey? We are short on some stuff. Can you get it for me?” Martha just wanted her daughter back. She thought maybe if she went outside, she would feel different and at least come out of her slot.

Coronis slowly turned her face towards her mother and looked at her old wrinkly face. Her mother's eyes had a subtle shiver in them. It wouldn't be wise to let her go outside at this age and the muddy roads might make her fall.

She nodded slowly and stood up, brushing her hair a bit back. “What do you want?” she asked.

Martha sighed and let her know the necessities.

Heading out, Coronis walked straight to the shop. Her body swung with each step. Everything was rotten around her. The people, the animals, the village, the houses, herself… everything. Everything was rotten just how she felt inside.

She wondered if she would ever be free from this rotten fate. A scoff bubbled in her throat. She cursed inside and thought how impossible it sounded. Free. Never, that would never happen. It almost sounded humorlessly funny.

From the corner of her eye, she saw someone familiar. She looked to her side and saw Nori going somewhere. “Nori!”

Nori looked and froze for a moment and tried to walk away but Coronis was quick to catch up with her and pull her by her arm. “Nori, please talk to me.”

The girl scrunched up her nose, “what do you want from me, Coronis?”

Coronis flinched at how she spat her name. “Please, just one talk,” the dark-haired girl begged.

Nori sighed and got tugged by Coronis towards a narrow alleyway, away from the people. There she looked at Coronis and how terrible she had become. Her eyes lost hope and were dead.

“Nori, I should have told you everything before,” Coronis whispered.

Nori felt like her blood was boiling. “Tell what? That you were fucking another man while fucking me too?! Is that what you should have told me before?! Are you fucking dumb, Coronis? I loved you and you do this to me,” she raised her voice. She showed no remorse for Coronis's loss or her soundness. However, the feelings washed over her. Her eyes burned with feelings and love she hid behind them. “Why would you do me like this? Hm? How could you fuck around like this, hurting people?” she lowered her voice.

“It is not like that, Nori. I would never do this to you,” she whispered.

“But you did,” Nori said in a barely audible voice and held Coronis's arms. “You broke my heart like it was worth nothing. You- you could have just told me that you liked someone else and I would have been out of your hair,” she sniffed.

Coronis shook her head, “my hands are tied, Nori. I- I’m just a puppet. You see these?” she opened her pale hands and showed her, “These have nothing in them. These lines are handled by someone else and it's not even God.”

“You could have said something,” Nori held her tightly. “I could have loved you a little less.”

“I could have…” Coronis nodded and let her tears fall.

“But you chose to hurt me more…” Nori sadly smiled.

Before Coronis could say something. The clops of the royal horses echoed and slowly came close to the alleyway and stopped at the end.

Coronis’s breath hitched seeing those dark, sharp, and calculating eyes that pierced her soul while staring into her eyes.

The King got down from his horse and slowly stepped forward. Nori looked between the two, not knowing what was going on. But she didn't dare to open her mouth and kept her head lower.

The King stood right in front of Coronis. With the back of his hand, he wiped off the tears and ran his thumb lightly over her lower lip and pulled it down. His hand moved down to her neck and felt around… but nothing.

His sharp eyes snapped back into hers. Under his mask, a deadly smirk formed. “You broke the order, my little birdy,” his voice was deeper and viscous. “You must get punished now.”

Coronis shook her head furiously as she felt shivers of horror travelling her body head to toe. “No,” she whispered. Her body was covered in sweat in no time as she felt her heart picking up pace. It was the feeling that ran over her that this was the end. This was the end of the hope.

“No, my love. You must know what it costs for your actions. For your betrayal.”

…..

Sanaa’s note:

The behaviour of all the characters is visualized.

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes @chimmisbae;

@darkuni63 @mageprincess7 @whipwhoops @ackercute @ane102 @kimseokjinsmirror1233 @unhingedgf @jungkooks21 @namjoonscrabjuice @yluv-damara-13 @jksgirlhere @lavenderymoons @passionandsuga @posionapple24 @blueberry711 @shawtylilsalty @gukiebaby @vantelover07 @douknowbts @andioppsworld @xicanacorpse @ttanniett @koohrs

Have a nice day/night💓

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awkward-walking-potato · 7 months ago

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Hi, mind if I ask for a Hank McCoy fanfic where the reader has a panic attack and Hank comforts them?

The air in the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning was crisp and calm, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. You’d been trying to concentrate, trying to focus on anything but the relentless anxiety gnawing at your insides. But your mutation had other plans.

You hadn’t even fully grasped what your abilities were, let alone how to control them. All you knew was that things around you had started changing—objects would flicker in and out of existence, your body would feel weightless one moment and unbearably heavy the next, and sometimes, when you got too upset, you could feel reality itself warping around you.

Today was one of those days.

You’d been in the library, trying to study, trying to find something in the endless books that might give you a clue about what you were, about how to control this thing inside you. But the words had blurred together, the sentences twisting and turning until they made no sense. It felt like the world was closing in on you, the air growing thick, making it hard to breathe.

You didn’t notice your hands trembling until a book fell from the shelf on its own. Or at least, it seemed that way. The world seemed to shimmer, and the room felt like it was spinning, the walls closing in around you.

Your breath hitched, and you stumbled back, your heart racing in your chest. You tried to focus, to ground yourself, but the panic was too much. Your mutation flared up, and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were even still in the library. The room around you was distorted, colors bleeding into each other, the familiar space becoming unrecognizable.

“I—I can’t—” you gasped, clutching your chest, trying to pull in a breath that just wouldn’t come.

“Easy now, you’re okay,” came a deep, calming voice from somewhere in the chaos.

You blinked through the haze, and there he was—Hank McCoy, standing in front of you, his large, gentle hands raised in a gesture of peace. His blue fur was a comforting sight, a beacon of stability in the swirling mess of your mind.

“Hank—” you tried to say, but your voice broke, tears welling in your eyes as the panic threatened to overtake you.

He took a careful step forward, moving slowly, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos you felt inside. “You’re safe. You’re right here with me. Just focus on my voice.”

You nodded, trying to do as he said, clinging to the sound of his voice like a lifeline. He took another step closer, his blue eyes filled with concern and empathy.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructed softly. “In…and out.”

You tried to follow his lead, inhaling shakily, but it felt like the air was too thick, like it was sticking in your throat. Hank must have noticed, because he stepped even closer, his large, furred hands gently cupping your shoulders.

“Focus on me,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re not alone in this. I’m right here.”

You could feel the warmth of his touch through your panic, and it was like an anchor, grounding you in reality. You focused on the sensation, on the sound of his voice, and slowly, the chaos around you began to recede.

“That’s it,” Hank murmured as he guided you to sit down on a nearby chair. “Just breathe. Everything else can wait.”

You followed his instructions, each breath becoming a little easier, the world slowly coming back into focus. The colors returned to normal, the walls stopped closing in, and you realized that you were, in fact, still in the library, Hank’s steady presence beside you.

“I—I’m sorry,” you whispered once you could finally speak again, your voice still trembling. “I just—everything got so overwhelming.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Hank assured you, his hands still resting on your shoulders, grounding you. “You’re going through a lot, and it’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed. These abilities…they take time to understand, to control.”

You nodded, tears still clinging to your lashes. “I don’t even know what’s happening to me. It feels like everything is falling apart.”

Hank’s expression softened even further, his thumbs gently brushing over your shoulders. “It may feel like that now, but I promise you, it’s not. You’re not falling apart. You’re just discovering a new part of yourself, and that can be scary.”

“How do you handle it?” you asked, your voice small, almost childlike. “The fear, the uncertainty?”

Hank smiled gently, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “It’s not always easy, but I’ve found that surrounding yourself with people who care about you, who understand what you’re going through, makes all the difference. You’re not alone in this, and you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You looked up at him, his words sinking in, and felt a tiny spark of hope. It was still frightening, the uncertainty of what you were becoming, but knowing that Hank and the others were there, that they wouldn’t let you go through it alone…that made it a little less terrifying.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words carrying a weight of gratitude that you couldn’t fully express.

Hank squeezed your shoulders gently before letting his hands fall away, though he stayed close, his presence still comforting. “Anytime. And if you ever feel like this again, you come find me, alright?”

You nodded, feeling a little more grounded, a little more in control. “I will.”

As you sat there, the panic slowly fading, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could get through this.

#hank mccoy x reader #hank mccoy imagine #hank mccoy #x men imagine #beast x reader #beast imagine #marvel imagine

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yandere-fics · 2 months ago

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♡ Elisha Book AU Expanded ♡

(Can't really be taken as fully accurate Elisha lore, because obviously when you encounter her in the usual timeline she's 23 and in this she's about 19. It is true though that she was slacking off on her job just a bit when she first came into the world, only killing things that approached her but otherwise not seeking things out like they wanted her to and when she was 19 the gods did decide they needed to torment her to push her forward, in this they decided to do it by killing her lover but in the normal timeline what actually happened was they just killed her traveling party who had been helping her get used to the new land, she wasn't super attached to them but it still hurt her.)

You had always been fond of the idea of falling into another world, isekai novels happened to be your favorite and even when bad thing happened to the main character that you would never want occurring to you, the fantasy of it was very fun. Your favorite however had been a book named 'The Saintess and I', not a world you would want to fall into unlike the other novel you read but you loved it all the same. The first half of the story took place from a priestess's perspective, bound to serve the same gods that were tormenting the chosen one, able to help the saintess when her gods allowed it but ultimately having to follow her gods rules even at the detriment of the saintess. It was a heart wrenching love story to read with a love interest who you knew basically everything about. Every creator comment, any small detail, little additional fact books, you read them. Of course the twist in the second half of the book was the main character being sick of having to chose the gods over the one she loved, ultimately dying because she defied the will of the gods, the chosen one was not supposed to have a lover, not before they completing the duty they were summoned to fulfill and even then fighting monsters and dragons was always supposed to take priority over the lover they took for their rest of their entire life until a new hero would be summoned and the process would repeat. At a certain point it had begun to feel as though the gods were just toying with the love interest and at the climax at the saintess's doubting of the gods they stole her lover from her. Part of the reason this was not a world you would have wanted to be dragged into, the gods were cruel and there was no winning against them, even in the end when the saintess killed them all in revenge the world was burned to pieces, completely unrecognizable as the priestess came to, the former saintess kneeling before her and promising in this new world they would be gods and nothing could ever hurt the priestess again. It was all very romantic, you couldn't help but squeal whenever you got to that part of the book but it was on the list of worlds you would never personally want to be in, no matter what character you were in the story your fate was not going to be good. Even as a background character there was still a high chance that you'd die as collateral for the fight between the saintess and the gods.

You were something much worse than even a background character. The priestess, doomed to die tragically just before your love story could even truly begin. A catalyst for the saintess's heart rowing pitch black. The priestess in the story had not died an easy death, in the book your character started to develop more and more pain each time she tried to deny what the gods wanted. The gods warned her if she didn't stop her escapades with the chosen one then she would need to die for going against fate but against all warning she went to see the saintess, trying to break it off only for the saintess to kiss her instead. Your character vomited blood and then fell into a long coma, held in the temple, preserved by the gods to taunt the saintess. The message was clear that what happened to the priestess would happen to anyone the saintess got close to until she managed to complete the tasks she had been summoned for, something she wasn't near the power level for and so she left to go train for two years, growing stronger than the gods had even expected before finding where the gods were and slaughtering them in a battle that wiped out most of the life living in the kingdom. Needless to say, you wouldn't be taking part in this horrible deathfest.

The moment you woke up as your character you knew immediately who you were, the simple priestess in the temple who shared your name and looked almost identical to you, so much that it was uncanny, like the gods were fucking with you. It wouldn't have put it past the gods of this world to screw with you like that or perhaps they took you because the you from this world wouldn't obey orders so they assumed someone who knew what was going to happen would do the right thing and not get involved with the saintess. You couldn't really be sure why you were here but whatever the reason, you needed to leave. Not before getting a glimpse of the saintess herself. A rugged girl who had been in the world for a few years at that point though not yet having completed the task the gods had summoned her here to complete which is why at the point in the story you were in, the gods had decided to torment her just a little to push her to stop slacking off and to go kill the dragon they wanted her to kill. The book art really hadn't done her justice though, in the covers Elisha wore a ceremonial gown but the creator of the book had said she usually dressed far more masculine and it truly was a sight to behold. Her training with her spear, the thing that would one day pierce through the gods heart was enough to make you drool but you weren't about to make the same mistake your character made so reluctantly you'd pulled yourself away from watching and decided to leave the temple through a secret passage that had been described in the book, unaware of the eyes watching you leave the training that day.

Elisha didn't get much positive attention from members of the temple, not outwardly. The atmosphere was pleasant but no one dared speak to her much or look at her with any affection in their eyes, she imagined there were strict orders from their god that she hadn't completed her task yet and so she wasn't to be shown any form of kindness until it was done. Even members who had the best intentions had to keep their exchanges quick and formal, only doing things like giving her hot water for baths when the temple usually only ever had cold or making sure her room was always extremely tidy. You however couldn't keep the expression of admiration off your face when you looked at her. It was nice, the gods were not going to be happy about that. She could almost even feel her heart sink when you backed out of the training room with a gloomy expression on your face. She had to make sure you'd be okay after that display and so she asked around only to discover you had been missing from the temple. You left it all together, she didn't know why but it had to have had something to do with the interaction you'd had with her so she went to fetch you under the pretense of just lending the temple a hand. You were so easy to track, she found it somewhat charming.

"So, what 'cha doing out here? It's dangerous so far from the temple." She hide her delight when she saw just how you stared back at her, finally noticing she had tracked you here. This crush of yours was as adorable as it was dangerous. She couldn't decide if she wanted to foster a relationship with you or force this to come to an end. She decided then she'd just have to protect you if the gods tried to strip this happiness from her. She'd go back and complete their stupid task just so she'd be able to pursue this without too much interference.

"I uhm… I just decided being a priestess wasn't for me?" She had hoped you'd tell her the truth, you were clearly lying but she supposed she'd do this the hard way, sprinkling some truth serum in the food you were cooking for yourself while you were looking away nervously, sitting herself down on a log.

"Oh yeah? Guess I'll need to follow you until I learn your real agenda then, baby. Serve me some of that food." You glanced back at her trying your best not to squeal that your favorite love interest ever had just called you baby before nervously serving the food that you'd been cooking. It only took a bite for you to start spilling everything. The plot of the book you were in, how much you loved reading about her, even down to a mole that she didn't even realize she had on her ankle and was surprised you knew about. She didn't really believe this was in a book like you said it was but she did assume you might have been given a prophecy you'd interpreted wrong. Either way she was hooked on you and wasn't going to allow the gods to meddle with her life so she decided to let you leave that night, training herself day and night after that thinking of the day she could finally go to her priestess and tell you it was safe for the both of you to love each other. Unlike in the book though she was even more in love with you and so it had only taken a year for her to gather the strength to kill the gods.

You woke up in the temple yet again, unsure of how you had gotten there, you'd left the country after you escaped the temple but here you were, with a horrifying monster grinning down at you. As you looked up though you realized it was in fact Elisha, just with a more dragon like appearance than before. The books you read never described how she looked after she obtained the power to kill the gods, just that it had been almost unrecognizable. You should had assumed it would have had something to do with dragons though considering in the book the gods were always nagging Elisha to do something about the dragon problem and while part of that was because dragons were eating people at alarming rates, it had been hinted at in the book that they were scared of what power dragons could obtain if left unchecked. Her appearance confirmed it though and the wings confirmed to you part of how she had managed to bring you back to the temple.

"Did I do a good job baby?" You gave a shaky nod as you stared into the eyes of your favorite character, changed forever beyond repair. You always thought the scene was romantic in the past but now you knew why your character had been horrified, seeing someone she had loved in the book destroy themselves for her. You wished you'd never gotten brought into this book, it should have stayed a silly fantasy you had.

#yandere oc #yandere lesbian #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere scenarios #my oc elisha

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fresh-new-yoik-watah · 2 months ago

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FAULT LINES :

chapter 3 – Steps and Missteps

"Why does anyone commit acts others deem unspeakable? For love."

summary : viktor and jayce meet with soleil to discuss funding. viktor suspects rosie is avoiding the lab, and taking advantage of his current location, stumbles upon her. he realizes he might have misread her completely, tension now between them. author's note : tell me why the editing for this actually took longer than the writing itself pairing : Viktor x Rosie (OC) warnings : none! but please feel free to let me know if I miss anything word count : 3.4k masterlist

Viktor had expected something far grander for someone like Soleil—a sprawling estate with spires piercing the sky, perhaps a fountain in the courtyard. Instead, the estate beyond the gilded gates was almost unassuming by Piltover standards. The house, though incredibly well-maintained, was modest in comparison to something like the Kiramman castle—as Viktor liked to call it—maybe barely half its size.

He walked alongside Jayce, his cane tapping against the concrete path leading to the front entrance. He wondered what he might put in a yard like this, if by some absurd twist of fate, he had found himself in another life living in such wealth and as apathetic as the majority of Topside. A garden most likely, plenty rows of plants. Never a fountain, though. Much too overdone and cliche.

The front door loomed tall and imposing, painted in a pristine white, surface adorned with geometric gold detailing, sharp, clean lines reflecting Piltover’s architectural sensibilities. Viktor grimaced. Wealth, it seemed, was measured by how inconvenient one could make their life and call it luxury, he couldn’t imagine how someone could genuinely enjoy a door so large.

His steps faltered as they approached. Jayce, however, strode forward without hesitation, as if the world had been made to accommodate him, and reached for the door handle, pushing it open with ease that made it appear practically weightless. Viktor could only hope that Jayce had been explicitly instructed to simply walk in, the skin between his brows tightening, and follow behind.

They stepped into an entry room with high ceilings, the space bathed in a golden glow from an ornate floral chandelier strung above. Ahead, two staircases curved upward, mirroring and meeting at a second floor like halves of a whole, framing the room symmetrically. Viktor’s cane muffled into softened thuds as they crossed onto a deep blue carpet, its surface embroidered with patterns of white lilies, their petals rippling as if under the distortion of water.

His gaze was drawn to the expanse of wall between the staircases. Suspended there within an elaborate gold frame that curled like delicate vines, hung a large portrait of a family of three, an unrecognizable man and woman standing behind the centerpiece of the composition—a seated girl, no more than probably thirteen or fourteen, posture upright but much less rigid than the adults who loomed over her. Unlike their formal, refined practiced expressions, hers was something lighter, something unpolished, a bit mischievous. Sharp red bangs fell just above thin, pale brows, leaving the constellation of three freckles exposed against an otherwise blank canvas.

Viktor’s stomach twisted. Of course.

He glanced at Jayce, who still continued onward, unbothered, confidence unshaken, conveniently oblivious to his scowl.

A soft creak of floorboards pulled his attention, a deep voice following.

“Gentlemen.”

He turned toward the sound, cane twisting as he leaned on it for balance. Standing across the room was Soleil, sporting a vibrant purple vest layered over a muted brown button-up, and beside him, a man Viktor recognized as an older version of the one in the painting, his features now softened by streaks of wrinkles and uneven patches of age-spotted skin.

Jayce moved to stand beside Viktor, greeting the men. “This is my partner, Viktor,” he began with a gesture toward him. “Viktor, this is—”

“Thomas, Seren,” the older man cut through smoothly, a voice firm, the kind that didn’t wait for invitations to speak. “I know all about you, Viktor. Inventor. Idealist.”

He blinked, processing the descriptors, unsure if he would describe himself such. The interruption felt eerily familiar, instantly reminding him of someone else. He knew exactly where Rosie had inherited the habit.

Seren stepped forward, extending a gloved hand. “Finally, I can put a name to the face I’ve heard so much about.”

Viktor clasped the offered hand, his own grip firm, but before he could respond, Soleil spoke.

“My friend was kind enough to lend us his parlor this afternoon.”

“Ah,” Seren interjected coyly, his lips just shy of a playful smirk. “I am more than just your friend, Erik.”

“Long-time business associate,” Soleil amended with a chuckle. “And advisor.”

Seren gestured for them to follow, stepping through an open doorway. Baby blues and soft whites coated the walls of the parlor, offset by accents of navy and gold trimmings, consistent with the theme of the rest of the house. Furniture centered around a low wooden table, arranged precisely so that the smoothened warm grains reflected the sunlight that poured in through tall windows, framed by royal velvet curtains. Chairs and a plush couch bore pale cushions, surfaces perfect as if untouched by time or wear. And yet, for all its beauty, the room felt hollow, as though designed to impress rather than to live in, like a stage set up for performance.

Seren settled into the couch with a soft huff, the cushions sighing under his weight, fabric creasing as he leaned back and draped an arm clad in periwinkle across the backrest casually. His brown eyes, peeking from below thick brows that had yet to thin, glinted gold from the sun. Beside him, Soleil lowered himself into the remaining space.

“I’m glad you’ve finally seen the vision of these boys,” Seren said warmly. “They’ve been worth every cog the Council’s put to them—a fine investment towards the progress of greater good.”

Viktor’s chest tightened as he followed Jayce, who moved two chairs closer together, their legs scraping against the floor as he positioned them for conversation. His fingers flexed around his cane handle, trying to not relay his emotions onto his face.

They were young—relatively so, especially in the grander scope of their growing careers—but not boys. The term reduced their work to something naive, lacking the weight of substance. Boy implied immaturity, untouched and unbroken surface, unmarked by sulking skin from countless sleepless nights, ignoring the burns and scars left by prototypes gone awry, the toll relentless ambition had beat into their hands, bones, and minds, the sacrifice he was making every single day.

Viktor lowered himself into his chair stiffly, his grip around his handle tightening as he settled into the seat.

“Is that your goal, gentlemen? Greater good?” Soleil asked, his tone amiable, eyebrows raised with the calculation of a businessman who didn’t take things at face value.

Jayce leaned forward, elbows brushing the arms of the chair. “The Council believes new airships made with Hextech would lead to a more accessible Piltover—bringing in more trade, merchants, inventors, all kinds of opportunists.”

Viktor easily could hear the echo of the careful polish of Council Medarda’s accent in his words, the constructed response, the kind of answer meant to appease, to align their own ambitions with the promise of profit and progress.

“And you believe this is a greater good? Soleil asked, maintaining a composed expression, though gaze scrutinizing Jayce, searching for any crack in his presented demeanor.

“I try not to play Councilor,” he replied, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, confidence unfaltering. “They’ve been there for a long time, and so far have had a good hold on things.”

Viktor’s brow twitched, the restraint it took to suppress his reaction nearly visible. A good hold on things? Quite the hollow answer that glossed over the gaping chasm of the lifestyle differences between Piltover and the Undercity, a child born into seamlessly tailored suits and another into toxins and hollow, bleeding lungs. But he knew Jayce’s answer wasn’t for him. It was for them.

“The Golden Boy’s humble!” Soleil exclaimed with a hearty laugh, the sound brash and too loud, seeming genuinely amused, grin wide as he leaned back against the couch cushions.

“Leave the kids alone, Erik,” Seren interjected, waving a dismissive hand. “Our time’s passed. Let the youth take us into the future.”

“I intend to,” Soleil’s laughter tapered into a smile. He gestured toward Jayce and Viktor, his hand making a lazy arc in the air as though presenting them as some grand spectacle. “That’s why we’re here, yes? To talk budget?”

Viktor shifted in his chair to adjust his posture. He knew he should keep his attention anchored on the conversation, but his focus slipped, eyes drifting past the two men seated in front of him, trailing over their shoulders and to the wall behind them.

Another portrait, decently large, framed in ornate gold like some cherished artifact, Rosie its solitary subject. She stared out from the canvas, blue eyes unnervingly vivid, locking onto him. The artist had captured her with meticulous care, brushstrokes landing on the shadows that curved along her cheeks, a suggestion of structure that would later define her features. Viktor’s first thought was that he would despise seeing himself in such proportion, his face magnified and put on display for all to see.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to pull his eyes away from the painting

He struggled to redirect his mind back to the discussion. Fragments of dialogue filtered through his ears—”lighter steel?” and “be enough?”—but the rest was static, his gaze continuing to drift back to the portrait, unwillingly, pulling him like metal to a magnet. His teeth pressed firmer together as if to physically restrain the irritation bubbling inside him.

She’d been a near-constant presence for years, day after day, their lives intersected within the lab, but still manageable, her existence neatly contained within a space she’d leave behind. Now she had even finally freed him, given him the solitude he had longed for—and somehow, she was everywhere else instead.

Viktor wasn’t religious. He had never been. He understood it, the pull of faith, especially for those whose hope for salvation in a next life was the only solace to be found. He understood why people clung to it, but he couldn't bring himself to share in their sentiment. So naturally, he did not believe in fate either. The idea his choices, his path, were shaped and predetermined by some external force contradicted the principles he valued: logic, autonomy, free will. Fate demanded submission, willingness to relinquish control, and he’d spent his entire life clawing for it.

And yet.

He was rational enough to recognize a pattern. The universe, which he’d typically describe as indifferent, had decided that their lives were not meant to separate just yet, threads knotted together even when they frayed, leaving him now to figure out what it was it specifically demanded from him. If this was fate, it was maddeningly cryptic, leaving him no map for aid, only fragments of a puzzle to fumble through, devouring the little time he could ill afford to waste.

His fingers brushed against the head of his cane, feeling the cool metal as he brought his thoughts back to the room, returning to a conversation now about resources. He and Jayce had dissected, refined, and rehearsed every angle thoroughly over the past few days; he trusted Jayce to fare fine on his own, Viktor’s presence being largely ornamental.

And he was nothing if not an opportunist.

“Might I use the restroom?” he interjected, cutting cleanly through Seren’s voice mid-sentence.

Seren blinked, pausing a moment before recovering with a slight nod and gestured toward the door. “Of course. It’ll be right up those stairs in the entry, then to the right. If you’re unsure, the staff can direct you.”

Viktor dipped his head in acknowledgement, rising slowly from his chair. He caught Jayce’s confused glance, a furrowed brow, but he didn’t meet his gaze, making his way toward the exit, and stepping back into the front room.

The high-ceilinged space seemed emptier now, quiet. The chandelier’s glass beads, meant to mimic water drops, refracted soft multicolored lights onto the gleaming banisters of the twin staircases, shapes dancing against their smooth surface. He gripped the railing tightly, lifting his cane in his other hand as he began his ascent, feet meeting together on each step before progressing to the next, a rhythm he’d long since grown accustomed to—painfully slow—the sting of its necessity having never truly faded during his lifetime. The strain in his leg burned almost immediately, but he pushed through. Of course the wealthy wouldn’t have a bathroom on the first floor, why would they? They could never fathom the possibility of a need for one. At the very least, Viktor would have an excuse to linger, to take his time and meander a bit—blame it on his legs.

He paused once reaching the top, resting his weight against the railing as he set his cane down, adjusting the brace on his leg and pulling it higher from where it had slipped down during the climb. A hallway stretched before him, navy carpet muffling his steps as he continued onward, stepping into a tunnel adorned with an endless parade of paintings on its walls. Good gods, there were so many. Scenes of the family gathered in lush gardens, seated beneath sprawling trees with sunlight filtering through the leaves, together on a marble terrace overlooking turquoise sea, vivid depictions with an unsettling amount of detail. Rosie appeared most often, her solo portraits dominating the hall that chronicled her evolution from adolescence to adulthood, one of her seated at a piano, another standing against a backdrop of white clouds, her hair bright in contrast, catching an unseen breeze.

As he neared the end of the hall, a door left slightly ajar caught his attention, its edges illuminated by a warm dim light spilling through the gap and onto the dark carpet, seeming to beckon him, a quiet invitation appealing to his curiosity. If it was a sign he wanted, then it was a sign he got.

He leaned into the doorframe, peering inside.

The room was completely bare, save for a single wall lined with a mirror and a beam fixed horizontally along another, and there at the center, was Rosie.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, her back to the door as she faced the beam, arms raised high above her head, fingers reaching, as though chasing something just beyond her grasp. His eyes flicked to her reflection in the mirror, her profile softened by the light that poured in through a halfway exposed window, one of its curtains pulled back.

“Are you in a fight with Jayce?” Viktor asked, his voice cutting through the quiet, the acoustics of the room magnifying the sound, bouncing it back at him like a stone thrown into still water.

He saw a muscle twitch in her back, exposed by the fitted top that dipped low enough to reveal the contours in her skin that ran along her mid-spine, reflexive, betraying her surprise. She didn’t turn to face him, instead leaning her arms in the opposite direction, stretching the other side.

“What?” she asked after a pause, sounding faintly confused, but her body remained composed.

“You haven’t been at the lab,” he said plainly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her reflection.

“I told you,” she replied, turning around toward him, her left hand coming to rest on the beam, fingers curling loosely around the polished wood. “I’ve been busy.”

He knew she was deflecting, and deflection often pointed to a truth the person wasn’t ready—or willing—to admit.

“You are in a fight,” he pressed, his tone sharper now, like a blade honed by growing impatience.

“I am not,” Rosie said firmly. “I saw Jayce this morning.”

She moved before he could reply, shifting her posture as though the conversation had already ended, bringing her heels together and facing her toes outward. She slowly sank her body downward, knees bending outward as she descended smoothly, and rose again, spine straightened and head lifted, though she avoided meeting his gaze.

Viktor couldn’t figure if she was curt because he had disrupted whatever this was—dancing, stretching?—or if there truly was something else simmering beneath the surface. Perhaps he had misstepped, had thought too much and now looked like a fool.

Still, he ventured forward, trying another approach. “I did not know you danced,” he said, voice quieter, tentative.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” she said sharply, quick and unyielding, like a door shutting firmly in his face.

He frowned. “So you are upset?”

She turned her head just enough for her eyes to meet his for a fleeting second before focusing elsewhere. “Viktor, go back to your meeting.”

He exhaled sharply. He was too old, too tired for this kind of back and forth, this dance of miscommunication and vague insinuations.

“If you are upset with one of us—“

“I’m upset with you,” she cut him off.

He blinked, momentarily thrown. “Why?” he asked, incredulous, confusion knitting his brows.

“Why?” she repeated, spinning the word with mocking inflection. Her fingers tightened around the beam, the tendons pulling taut, then as if he weren’t worth wasting her breath on, she turned, resuming her movements, lifting herself onto the tips of her toes, pressing her weight forward to counterbalance. “You assume I have absolutely nothing worthwhile to offer.”

Viktor’s frown deepened, his mind moving quickly, methodically, dissecting her accusation to pinpoint the moment he might have said something to make her feel that way.

“I did not—when have I said that?” he countered, tone more defensive than he’d intended, frustration catching at his words.

She didn’t look at him, keeping her gaze locked forward, posture unwavering, though the tension rippling through her arms and the line of her neck, revealed by her hair tied together, betrayed her. “I can read between the lines,” she replied tersely.

“And not only that,” she added, quick as if afraid he might interrupt her, “you don’t even allow me to prove myself.”

His brows pressed together. What was the root of this?

He watched her, trying to understand, but her eyes refused to meet him in the mirror, the room seeming to stretch between them, an invisible wall planted firmly in the middle of the space.

Oh. The gala.

He hadn’t even considered that his offhand response could have upset her like this. He’d meant it in passing, a dismissal of practicality, not condescension, but clearly it hadn’t received as he’d intended.

“I apologize,” Viktor said after a moment. “But you’ve misconstrued my words from the other night. It was not meant—”

“Please,” Rosie interrupted again, “just go back to your meeting.”

She’d built an impassable barrier, and he could only stand there, golden eyes fixed on her. He found it unfair, to make assumptions about his intentions and then deny him even the chance to correct, to even explain.

What an impossible, stubborn woman.

He tightened his grip on the head of his cane, the metal cool against his palm, a sharp huff escaping through his nose. She wanted him to leave, so he would—for now.

There was nothing he could do at this moment, and he learned long ago that pressing on a closed door did little more than drive the latch deeper, lock it tighter. But it wasn’t in his nature to leave things unresolved, especially when resolution was the linchpin for progress.

He’d fix this.

This had to have run deeper, some fracture hidden in their tenuous dynamic he’d somehow overlooked, or contributed to unknowingly. Was this what was wanted from him? To make peace and reconcile?

Would it really matter so much if he didn’t?

He sighed, footsteps slow as he moved back down the hallway. Yes, he supposed it would. Jayce certainly would make it matter if his lab partner and dear friend couldn’t get along, already annoyingly persistent about forcing harmony between them. He’d be insufferable, disappointed, then insert himself into their conflict, always relentlessly optimistic, and it would eventually bleed into their work. The sooner this was resolved, the better.

The problem really was Rosie herself. How was Viktor meant to fix things with someone who refuses to engage with him?

The soft tufts of his cane against the plush carpet punctuated his thoughts. He’d need to find a way to soften her stance, coax her to a place where she would actually listen, physically and mentally. Sweets? A pastry? No, that was how he apologized to Jayce, and she knew that. She’d roll her eyes, and nothing would change.

He reached the top of the staircase, pausing to grip the smooth, polished banister, hand pale against the dark grain. He’d figure her out. He’d made the mistake of a foolish man already, spending the years refusing to adjust his trajectory to meet her comet on a collision course into his orbit, unavoidable now.

The universe seemed to have forgotten Viktor could be quite persistent too.

#fnyw #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane x oc #canon x oc #arcane fanfiction #arcane oc #arcane viktor #Viktor #Viktor arcane #viktor x oc #viktor fanfiction #viktor fanfic #viktor lol #viktor league of legends #viktor nation

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liswee · 5 months ago

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The sky cried for them, its tears falling in unrelenting streams, soaking the earth. Cold, unmoving, their bodies were no longer their own. The rain whispered against their skin, tracing the stitches that bound their foreheads—a mockery of their once-proud existence, now defiled by others’ hands. It dripped on the grey asphalt, mingling with the dried blood and the dirt, weaving sorrow into the fabric of the air. The rain did not cleanse; it eroded.

(The strongest died with his eyes still open, but he couldn’t see anything anymore.)

Gojo’s body was cold, his skin pallid like porcelain shattered and hastily glued back together. His big blue eyes, hidden beneath lids that would never open again, had once seen everything, grasped the infinite. Now, that limitless was shut by the cruelty of a world that had always demanded too much from him. Threads wove across his face, a visceral mark of the man he was no longer. The weight of the rain traced the lines of his jaw, pressed upon his chest, and the cold crept in as if to claim him entirely, drop by drop, plic, plic, plic.

It seems the void had finally reached Satoru.

Far from him, Geto’s body laid in shadow, missing from the narrative, equally silent, equally lost. Suguru had been snatched from the earth, perhaps entombed in some forsaken corner, still bearing the weight of a cursed love. His once warm, knowing smile was twisted in a way that felt wrong, stitched up by hands that didn’t know how to shape his suffering. His body had forgotten how to feel. He had fought for something once, something that fluttered like fragile wings, only to watch it wither. The same black stitches crept over his brow, crossing the lines of his face.

There was no peace, no quiet resolution. Only the earth beneath them that accepted their weight with indifference.

In another universe, perhaps they would have found peace. In another universe, perhaps they would have laughed about the absurdity of it all. They would have walked shoulder to shoulder, they would have tasted the salt of shared tears, spared one another the agony of what was to come. In another universe, they wouldn’t have had to die like this—alone, their bodies repurposed.

But in this one, they were cursed.

(And hope hanged itself in that instant.)

The rain did not relent. It washed away nothing but left behind the stark truth: they were no longer saviors, no longer gods. The water soaked through their clothes, binding them together in death, but there was no warmth. They were remnants of a world that had moved on, bodies violated by forces they could not resist, puppeteered by unseen hands even after their souls had departed. Their bones weren't allowed to crumble into the earth with grace, to be mourned, to fade away like normal men.

Regret hovered above them, bitter and thick, clinging in the air like smoke. It lingered, as if the world itself could not decide whether to mourn or forget. The scars of their betrayal—by the world, by each other, by themselves—ran deeper than the stitches on their skin, of the love twisted into something unrecognizable. They had once been so much more than this, but in the end, they were corpses. Dead, but not allowed to die. Even in death, they were never their own. Empty, used, discarded. Was this what it meant to be strong?

(Strength was a lonely thing.)

Wherever Suguru’s remains lay, they were forever connected to Satoru’s—two souls intertwined even in absence, caught in a dance of grief and longing. The earth, soaked in sorrow, became their rained graves.

The stitches they share would remain long after their bodies decayed. At least now, in death, they were closer than ever before.

The water fell, and it seemed as though it would never stop.

this was a slight breakdown a few days after seeing a lot of gojo's heartbreaking artworks—i was actually going to post it like 2 am while drugged with sleep. i plan to either delete it and pretend it never happened or post it on ao3. for all that matters, i know gojo didn’t have a proper funeral in the manga, and that he isn’t actually buried or anything like that. i confess that i haven’t finished the manga, so i had to do some research to find out that geto’s body is gone—beforehand, i just had the idea to talk about their corpses. since it’s all a matter of context, i hope you don’t mind the poetic license i took. see what i refer to as “earth” as a metaphor for death and “rain” as something like their connection/friendship, or as anything else you choose. all of this is quite hypothetical. this isn’t necessarily a romantic matter, but feel free to interpret it however you wish. i hope you liked it! also, english isn’t my first language, so i’m sorry for any possible mistakes. please like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world <3

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #jujutsu satoru #geto suguru #jujutsu geto #gojo death #gojo deserved better #geto death #jujutsu suguru #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #satosugu

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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 3 months ago

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to the other side | lewis hamilton, charles leclerc

🪞 synopsis: At an Italian villa, you and your boyfriend attend a high-end auction where a wealthy owner reveals a mysterious mask. When he puts it on, reality starts to warp, twisting the villa and its guests into something unrecognizable. tags: psychological thriller, suspense, liminal horror, cosmic horror. (inspired by hp lovecraft, alan wake 2, impossible landscapes and the substance) | (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 5.2k words)

ps: i’m not even apologizing for the insanity that is this story, cause if i can’t write something like this on tumblr, where else?

part 1

Subject: That Night at the Villa – Remember?

It started off like any high-end event: champagne flutes clinking, people in all kinds of designer clothes and expensive jewelry, showing off their wealth. You and Lewis had come straight from Maranello, didn’t you?

The villa – what was it called? They always have these ridiculous names, old Italian stonework, ivy climbing up the side, a view of a lake that looked like something out of a painting. It was one of those places that reeks of money and secrets and scandal.

You kept your arm looped around his, the two of you doing your best to blend in. Then there was Charles, smiling like a schoolboy when he spotted you two across the ballroom, Alexandra draped on his arm. She looked stunning, of course, in a dress that seemed to catch every glint of light from the chandelier above.

You four made your way through waves of laughter and small talk with the other guests. Hollow compliments about the villa, polite lies about how you’d love to see their next art collection or spend a weekend in their ridiculous summer homes. All the while, the real prize waited in the center of the room: that thing they were auctioning off.

Remember?

The mask. It was hidden under a heavy cloth like it was something sacred – or cursed. You weren’t paying it much attention, though. Not then. Why would you? It was just another overhyped relic with a story too good to be true, probably something they dug out of a long-abandoned Italian church and decided was worth millions.

Lewis had just leaned over to whisper some joke in your ear when the lights dimmed. A spotlight clicked on, washing the stage in a harsh, artificial glow.

The host began the auction. Everyone’s attention focused in, holding their breath for the reveal. The fabric slipped off, and that’s when you got your first look. Just a glimpse, really. But it was enough. There it was, a mask. Black, polished. The host, the villa's owner, lifted it up. The room fell quiet.

He said a few words, the kind of speech you'd heard a hundred times before at events like this. And then, without warning, he slipped the mask over his face.

The lights flickered, and it felt like the room stretched – walls bending away, the chandelier overhead swaying without a breeze. You looked around, and half the faces in the crowd seemed... wrong. Like they'd blurred for just a second.

The host froze, his eyes wide behind the mask, but he didn’t move to take it off. A hush ran through the guests, confused laughter, someone dropping a glass. And then, with a cracking sound, the room snapped. It was like everything twisted at once, and suddenly the villa wasn’t the same.

Charles was the first to move, he tried to walk toward the stage, but Alexandra caught his arm. “Don’t,” she said. Her eyes were locked on the owner, who was standing dead still with the mask covering his face. His chest was heaving like he was trying to breathe but couldn’t remember how.

Lewis turned to you, his voice low and urgent. “We need to go,” he said, but you didn’t move. Your eyes were fixed on the chandelier. It wasn’t swaying anymore. It was spinning, slowly, a single crystal breaking away to drift upwards, vanishing into the ceiling.

The host took a step forward. The mask shifted, catching the light in a way that made it look alive. His eyes flickered – two points of dull light behind the mask’s empty gaze.

And then he spoke, but it wasn’t his voice. It was a chorus, layered, distorted, and far too loud.

“Stay.”

The room twisted again and chaos broke loose. The guests screamed in unison, their voices melding into a single, distorted roar that ricocheted off the walls. Every time someone shouted, the room cracked. It started with a loud snap, like a bone breaking, and then the walls shifted – bending inward, stretching outward – before everything returned to its original form, but slightly off. A second later, the chandelier flickered and snapped in half.

“Go!” Lewis pulled at your arm, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the shifting walls.

You turned toward the nearest exit, only to find it had vanished. Where there was once a wide archway, now there was a blank, seamless wall. The guests were running, frantic and disoriented, shoving each other, trying to push through a door that wasn’t there anymore.

Charles was already moving, pushing past people, Alexandra gripped his arm, trying to keep pace with him.

“Stay close,” Lewis said. He was tugging you behind him, weaving through the crowd, but the sea of bodies was relentless. Every step you took, someone else pushed forward, screaming, hands reaching for nothing.

The room cracked again. A low, spine-rattling noise that made the air vibrate. You heard the walls groan, stretching and twisting, reshaping. The floor buckled beneath you, causing everyone to stumble. People yelled, falling into each other.

“Keep going,” Lewis urged. His hand was tight on your wrist, pulling you toward what you hoped was the exit. You saw Charles ahead, fighting his way through a tide of panicking guests.

Another crack. This time, the floor split wide open. It wasn’t just a crack, it was a tear in reality itself. It spread in all directions, as if the building was being torn apart. People scrambled to the edges, slipping on the uneven ground, but you couldn’t focus on them. You had to move.

You reached the end of the hall. There was a door – a real door, maybe – at the far end. But as you took a step toward it, it flickered. The wood rippled, its edges curling up like paper in a fire. It didn’t matter. You kept running, pushing past the last few people.

Another crack. The walls snapped and rearranged again, and the ceiling tilted – an impossible angle, as if gravity had stopped caring. You made it to the door and walked through it.

part 2

You blink and when your eyes open again, you're knee-deep in warm water, your Versace dress ruined, heavy against your legs. The fabric clings to you as you step back, heart pounding in your chest.

Lewis, Charles, and Alexandra are there with you, standing in the water, their expressions mirrored with shock, terror, and confusion.

The cracking, the yelling, the chaos – it’s all gone. You take a deep breath, the stillness around you unnatural. The water ripples gently around your ankles, but there’s no sound, nothing except the beating of your own heart.

You look around, trying to find something familiar.

The villa stands at the far edge of the lake, its silhouette barely visible in the low light, like a shadow cast by something far too large for the space it occupies. But there’s no one else around. No guests, no cars, no sound of life.

And the moon – God, the moon – hangs far too close in the sky, so close that it seems like you could reach up and touch it. Its glow is sickly, too bright, casting a harsh light on everything it touches. The world feels off-balance, like you’re caught in a dream that you can’t wake from.

“What the hell is going on?” Lewis says, his voice shaky.

You can’t answer. You just stare at the moon, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing.

The water laps at your legs, warm and strange, but it doesn’t help to calm the feeling creeping up your spine – that this is no longer real, and you’re not sure how to get back to what is.

“We need to go,” Charles says, his voice cracking.

But where? There's only the lake and the villa, stretching out endlessly in front of you. No way forward. No way back.

“It was the mask,” you say. It feels true, even if you don’t fully understand why.

Lewis looks at you like you’re insane, wide-eyed in a way you’ve never seen before.

"Okay…? What does that mean?" It’s clear he’s terrified, not just by what’s happening, but by the fact that you’re buying into whatever madness is going on.

The words catch in your throat. You try to explain, but it’s like the reason isn’t coming from your head – just from somewhere deep inside, somewhere that feels like it’s not yours anymore.

“Back at the villa... when he put it on –" you start, but Lewis cuts you off.

“The mask?” He spits the word like it’s poison. “You think that’s what’s doing this? You’re seriously –” He shakes his head, unable to finish the sentence.

You feel the weight of his stare on you, a judgment you’ve never felt before. It makes the air feel colder, tighter.

"Yeah," you say, “I think it is. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Lewis takes a step back, like the distance might help him figure out what to do with you, what to do with this mess. His eyes dart between you and the dark lake, the villa standing silent in the distance. He doesn't want to believe you. Hell, you don’t even want to believe you.

“Right. Okay,” he says. He’s not angry, not yet, but the doubt in his voice is worse.

"I'm not going back there!" Charles shakes his head violently, "If that’s what you’re implying, then good luck! 'Cause I'm leaving!" He starts to turn, his eyes wide, his breath coming in short gasps.

"She’s right," Alex says, her voice uncertain, but firm. Her eyes flick to the villa in the distance, then back to you. She’s still not sure if any of this is real, but even if this is a dream, she wants out.

“Alex, no,” Charles pleads, his voice breaking. He steps toward her, a desperate plea in his eyes. “We’re not going back there. We’re not chasing some stupid mask.”

But Alex doesn’t move. Her eyes are locked on yours now, and you can see her mind working, slowly coming to terms with the same horrifying truth. She’s not sure, but she’s willing to try.

And then, something changes in Lewis. It’s like a switch flips inside him. He’s no longer the scared man trying to deny it. He looks at Charles, then back to you, and finally says, “There’s nowhere else to go.” His voice is steady now, a quiet resolve taking over.

Charles stands still for a moment, his eyes flicking between the three of you, unsure. But in the end, he exhales, defeated. He looks to the villa, then at the water, and then, reluctantly, back at you.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But if we end up stuck here forever, I’m blaming you.”

You don’t argue. There’s no time to argue. The water laps at your ankles as you take the next step, each ripple distorting the moon’s reflection, stretching it into strange, unrecognizable shapes. You start walking back toward the villa, slow and tense.

“We need a plan,” Lewis says.

“We need to stick together,” you add.

“How are we supposed to make a plan if we have no idea what’s going on?” Charles asks. He keeps looking at the villa like he expects it to disappear at any moment.

“Maybe we just need to take the mask off his face?” Alex says. She sounds desperate, clinging to any thread of logic. “Maybe it’s... witchcraft or something.”

Lewis scoffs, but there’s no humor in it. “And then what? We kill him?”

“What? No!” Alexandra shoots back, but then she looks at you. “I mean, I don’t know! What if that’s the only way?”

"Wait, hold on," Charles says, eyes narrowing. “What if we’re all hypnotized? What if this isn’t real?”

"Yeah, and what if it is?" you counter, voice steady even as your stomach twists.

You keep moving, the group tightening into a loose circle, every step forward bringing you closer to the villa's shadow.

"Almost there," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just stick together.”

The water grows shallower, and then you’re stepping onto the cold, slick stones that lead up to the villa’s entrance.

The doorway yawns open, waiting, darkness spilling out like ink.

“Okay,” Lewis says again, his voice steadier now, like he’s trying to convince himself. “We go in, we get the mask, we end this.”

You nod. You don’t look back.

One by one, you step up to the entrance.

part 3

It’s like you’re passing through a thick veil of static, a buzz that tingles along your skin. The air inside is cold and sterile, with a faint, artificial scent of old wood polish mixed with something sharper, like ozone. The grand ballroom is gone.

What greets you instead is a long corridor, stretching farther than it should. The walls are featureless, off-white, but they flicker under the dull fluorescent lights overhead, like a bad digital image struggling to load. The carpet is thin and industrial, a pattern of faded squares that vanish into the shadows. There’s no sound except the echo of your footsteps and the slight hum of the lights – too loud, too present, making the silence that much more suffocating.

“Where are we?” Charles mutters. His question hangs in the air, unanswered. No one dares to speak again.

The corridor splits, opening up into a space that feels too big to fit inside the villa – a lobby, empty and desolate, with walls that stretch upward and vanish into a fog that swallows the ceiling. It looks like a hotel abandoned in mid-construction: half-finished hallways, doors leading to nowhere, spaces that don’t belong. A row of identical elevators lines one wall, their buttons glowing a soft, sickly green.

“No... no way,” Alexandra whispers, backing away. But there’s no retreat – the corridor behind you is gone, swallowed by the same fog that hangs above. There’s only the lobby now.

There’s a small, unassuming reception desk in the corner of the lobby with a brass bell on top, the kind you’d see at an old hotel, polished and gleaming.

Without thinking, you step forward and press the bell. The sound is sharp, echoing through the empty space – too loud, too final. Lewis grabs your arm. "What are you doing?" he hisses. Charles is shaking his head, backing away as if expecting the walls to close in on him. Alexandra’s eyes dart around, panic setting in. “This is insane,” she whispers.

But before anyone can say anything else, a man appears.

It’s as if he’s materialized out of nowhere, stepping out of the fog behind the reception desk. He’s wearing an old-fashioned hotel uniform, pressed black suit, gold buttons, and a pillbox hat with a thin gold stripe. His face is pale, his eyes hollow.

“Good evening,” he says, his voice calm and formal, with a slight, unplaceable accent. He stands perfectly still, not blinking, not moving.

“What is this place?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but your words feel small, insignificant.

The man doesn’t answer. He just stares at you with a polite smile on his face. It’s as if he didn’t hear the question at all. Or worse, as if he doesn’t understand why you’re asking.

“Who are you?” Lewis demands, but the man doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are fixed on you, unblinking. It’s like you’re the only person in the room.

“Do you require assistance?” the man asks finally, but there’s something off about the way he says it. His tone is warm and welcoming, but the words seem empty, hollow, like they were recited by someone who has no idea what they actually mean.

“Yes,” you say. “I need to go to my room.” You decide to play along, to see how he reacts. His face brightens instantly, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Oh, of course.” He reaches under the counter and hands you a key. It’s not a keycard or anything modern – just an old-fashioned brass key with a heavy tag attached. Room 44. “Mr. and Ms. Hamilton,” he adds.

“And for my friends?” you ask, feeling a little bolder now that he’s responding.

The man doesn’t hesitate. He produces another key and holds it out to Charles. Room 16, just like you’d guessed. Charles takes it, but his hand is trembling, his eyes wide with disbelief.

You decide to push your luck, “Do you know where I can find Mr...?” You falter. You can’t remember the name. The man in the mask, the owner of the villa – his name slips away as soon as you try to focus on it. A sharp pain stabs behind your eyes, and you shake your head, wincing. “The man with the mask,” you manage. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, Mr. Hartley?” the man replies smoothly, and something in your gut twists. You know that’s not the name. You’re sure of it, but you can’t remember what it was supposed to be. He continues without hesitation. “He’s at the ballroom, of course!”

“The ballroom?” Lewis jumps in, the panic rising in his voice. “And how do we get to the ballroom?”

The man goes silent, his polite smile frozen in place, like someone hit pause on a recording. His eyes flick to you, then to Lewis, and he says nothing.

“Come on, man!” Lewis snaps, his frustration boiling over. He takes a step toward the desk, but the man doesn’t flinch. He just stands there, his expression serene, unfazed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice almost regretful. “You can only go to the ballroom when it’s time for the dance, of course!”

You don’t like how he says of course – like you’re missing something obvious, like you’re the only one who doesn’t understand the rules.

“Fine,” you say.

The man’s face lights up again, his smile so wide it seems to stretch beyond what’s normal, the edges of his mouth curling just a bit too far. “Enjoy your stay,” he says. He turns and walks away, vanishing back into the fog before anyone can say another word. It’s like he was never there at all.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Charles mutters, staring at the keys like they’re about to bite him. You’re not sure how to answer. Your head is still pounding.

Lewis’s jaw is set, his eyes dark. “This is bullshit,” he says. “What are we doing? Are we really going to play along with this?”

You look at the key, at the number stamped on the tag – 44. You don’t have any better ideas. There’s no exit, no way out of the lobby, no way to find the ballroom until... until it’s time for the dance.

“I think we have to,” you say, and you can’t keep the uncertainty out of your voice.

Charles doesn’t look convinced. Alexandra bites her lip, her eyes darting to the row of elevators. She’s scared, but she nods.

“Whatever this is,” she says quietly, “we’re already in it. Might as well see it through.”

Lewis sighs, but doesn’t argue. He takes the key meant for you both and grips it like it’s a lifeline, even though you all know it’s anything but.

You head for the elevators, walking side by side. The floor feels unsteady, like it’s shifting with each step, but you keep moving, reaching out for the nearest button and pressing it without thinking.

There’s a brief pause and then, with a ding, the elevator doors slide open.

“Together,” you say, and everyone nods.

The doors close with a mechanical hiss, and the elevator lurches upward, taking you to whatever waits on the other side.

part 4

The door slides open and you step out into a corridor that feels too modern, too perfect, like you’ve stepped into the lobby of a luxury hotel in Dubai. Everything shines – polished marble floors, deep gold trims along the walls, and soft ambient lighting casting a warm glow. It’s unnervingly normal.

The door you need to find is just down this hall. Charles is ahead of you, eyes darting from room to room, his breath coming faster. Then you catch a glimpse of something in his hand.

“My phone,” he says, holding up the screen. “I don’t have reception.”

Lewis rolls his eyes. “Yeah? No shit!”

You all go silent for a moment. Without thinking, you pull out your own phone. Lewis does the same, then Alexandra. Nothing – no bars, no data. But everything else is there. The date is right. The time matches what it should be.

“Come on,” you say, snapping everyone out of it. You nod towards the end of the hallway.

When you reach the door, Charles hesitates, eyes flicking to the brass numbers on Room 16, then to the identical plaque on the next door over – 17.

“You want to knock on 17?” Lewis asks, his voice attempting nonchalance.

Charles nods. He reaches out, the moment stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, until he raps his fist against the door, three sharp knocks. The sound echoes in the silence.

It opens almost immediately, revealing a room decorated in minimalist luxury. A woman stands in the center of the room, her face unnaturally still. Her skin is too smooth, almost waxy, a vacant look in her eyes, like she’s staring at something far away – something no one else can see. She steps toward you slowly.

“I’ve been chosen,” she says, her voice a soft, eerie monotone. “I’m finally beautiful.”

Before any of you can respond, she turns, lifting a mirror in front of her face. Her reflection, now distorted, grins back at her, showing her face stretched and pulled into a grotesque smile. She mutters to herself, “I’m perfect. It’s happening now. You’ll see soon enough.”

You exchange looks with the others and then, suddenly, the door slams shut, leaving you all standing in the hall.

“Let’s just... keep moving,” Charles mutters, his voice shaky, but he doesn’t wait for anyone. He moves to the next door quickly, too quickly, as if trying to outrun whatever just happened.

He knocks twice on the next room door. It opens slowly, revealing a room filled with dim, flickering lights. Inside, a man is standing in front of a mirror, staring at his reflection. His hands move methodically, brushing his hair over and over, the motion too practiced, too mechanical.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks his reflection, his voice hollow, but the reflection – his reflection – is grinning in response.

The man’s hands tremble as he grabs a brush from the vanity and begins to brush his hair violently, faster and faster, each stroke more desperate. His eyes never leave the mirror, and the smile on his reflection widens.

“I’m so close now,” he murmurs, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. “I’m perfect. Can’t you see? I’m perfect now.”

As if on cue, his reflection steps out of the mirror, impossibly, without breaking the surface. Charles shuts the door quickly. A sound, like skin stretching, comes from inside.

“What the hell was that?” Alexandra breathes, her voice shaky.

“I don’t know,” you answer. You keep moving to the next room and knock before anyone can stop you, more out of habit than anything else.

The door opens to reveal a man – no, a thing – sitting on the bed. His clothes are torn, his body covered in jagged, fresh cuts. But it’s his face that makes your stomach turn. It’s been pulled back so far, his skin stretched, and his eyes are wide, wild with excitement.

He looks at you, his lips stretching into a smile that’s more animal than human.

“I’m finally beautiful,” he whispers, “Look at me. I can feel it. I’m perfect now. Finally.”

And then he begins to tear at his skin, ripping away the flesh, revealing a form beneath. His hands claw at his face, and with each pull, his body grows grotesque, his form shifting and changing. His arms extend too long, his neck elongates as if he’s trying to tear himself free from his own skin.

You stumble back, breathless, horrified.

"Do you see it now?" he asks, his voice now distorted, a chorus of voices overlapping. "We’re all changing. We’re all becoming the beautiful ones."

Without saying a word, you back out of the room and shut the door quickly.

part 5

You’ve been walking for hours, lost in a maze that defies any sense of order or design. The hallways stretch on and on, the walls shifting from luxury to dilapidation. At one turn, you’re moving through the hall of a five-star hotel, at the next, you’re in a narrow corridor that smells of mold and old carpets. The elevators are gone. You don’t find Room 44. Every door you open leads somewhere else – hallways leading into more hallways, stairs that only go down.

You’re exhausted. Your feet ache, and each breath feels heavy.

“Wait,” Alexandra gasps, leaning against a wall. You stop, slumping down to the floor, pulling off your shoes, the heels scuffed and ruined. The hallway you’re in now looks like a run-down motel – cheap patterned carpet, faded pastel walls, flickering fluorescent lights overhead. There’s an ice machine humming softly, its pale blue light casting long shadows. Next to it is a narrow door with a faded brass plaque that reads, in chipped lettering: Ballroom.

“There!” you point, voice hoarse with a mix of desperation and relief.

Lewis, Charles, and Alexandra stare at the door, faces twisted with confusion. It doesn’t make sense.

“This can’t be it,” Lewis says, but his voice lacks conviction.

Charles shakes his head. “This isn’t right. This place... it’s messing with us.”

“Too late for that now,” you say, trying to muster some certainty. The logic is unraveling, and you can feel it slipping away, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing makes sense, so you have to stop expecting it to.

You step forward and rest your hand on the cold, tarnished doorknob. Your fingers tremble, and you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to believe. You twist the knob, push the door open, and step inside.

You enter what appears like a mockery of the original ballroom. It’s all wrong – like someone had tried to recreate it from memory and failed. The chandeliers are made of painted cardboard, and the marble pillars are cheap plastic, their surfaces crudely textured to mimic stone. The floor is a painted canvas, creased and worn, stretched over what feels like plywood.

The guests are all mannequins, dressed in the same finery you remember, frozen mid-conversation, faces expressionless and blank. Some hold champagne flutes filled with what looks like painted liquid. They don’t move, just stand there, locked in a grotesque parody of life.

At the far end of the room, standing on the stage where you’d last seen him, is Mr. Hartley. He’s still wearing the mask, his posture unnaturally rigid, like a marionette waiting for its strings to be pulled.

Something catches your eye and you grab it. You pick up a bidding plaque, feeling the cheap plastic smooth under your fingers. You stare at it for a second, a flood of memories hitting you all at once: the lights dimming, the unveiling of the mask, the first crack in reality. It all started at the auction.

“Look,” you say, holding up the plaque.

“What if we... bid?” you suggest, the idea coming out in a rush, barely formed but somehow feeling right.

“Bid?” Lewis repeats, looking at you like you’ve gone mad. “What are you talking about? There's no auction.”

“No,” you insist, stepping closer, forcing the words out. “There was an auction. Remember? That’s how all this started.”

Charles swallows hard, glancing up at Mr. Hartley, who remains perfectly still on the stage. “What does that even mean?”

You lift the plaque high, your arm trembling, but you hold it steady. Mr. Hartley’s eyes fixes on you, like he’s only just now noticing you. His head tilts to the side, his shoulders lifting, jerking unnaturally, like a puppet pulled by strings.

“Very well,” says a disembodied voice, echoing off every surface, as if the walls themselves are speaking. “You found the room.” The words bleed together, overlapping – a thousand voices speaking in unison, each word rippling through the air. “Now tell me your price.”

You swallow hard, the thing behind Mr. Hartley isn’t playing games anymore. It wants to know what you’re willing to give, what you’re willing to sacrifice.

A dozen answers flash through your mind, but they all feel wrong. You steady yourself, and take a breath.

“My price?” you say, holding the plaque a little higher. "My beauty," you say, the words clear and deliberate. "I'll bid my beauty in exchange for the mask."

The room goes deathly silent. Mr. Hartley’s head jerks again, and you hear a ripple of confused, overlapping murmurs – sharp, dissonant. The mask trembles on his face.

Screams pierce the air, distorted and echoing, like they’re coming from a great distance. The whispers that filled the room moments ago are now chaotic, panicked. You can feel the entity’s confusion, a raw and alien fear.

“That’s what you’re obsessed with, isn’t it?” you say, your voice stronger now. The words hang in the still air, cutting through the noise.

Lewis steps up beside you, fists clenched. “That’s right, you freak! We don’t care about your shit – none of it! We just want to go home!”

Charles nods, his face fierce. “Leave us alone!”

Alexandra is defiant and clear. “Keep your bullshit and let us go!”

The whispers turn into a wailing chorus, high and frantic. The lights overhead flicker wildly, the mannequins around you twitching, twisting in slow-motion like they’re caught in a loop. The mask cracks, a hairline fracture spreading across the surface, and you can see something shifting behind it – something dark, writhing, struggling to maintain control.

“You’re not ready for the dance,” the entity says, the voice no longer disembodied but coming directly from Mr. Hartley. It’s deeper now, colder. “This was a minor mistake, a mere misstep. I’ll let you go... for now.”

The ballroom around you starts to disintegrate, the set pieces falling away like ash, dissolving into nothing. The walls stretch, shudder, and then collapse inwards as if the world itself is being unmade.

“But you will come back,” the entity promises, its voice echoing through the crumbling room, reverberating in your bones. “And when you do, you’ll beg for my help. You’ll beg for what I have to offer.”

The world blurs, everything tilting and spinning, and then –

You blink, and the cool night air rushes over you. You’re outside the villa again, standing on the gravel path, just as you were hours ago. The moon hangs high in the sky, distant and indifferent. The villa looks abandoned, its windows empty and dark.

Charles is the first to move, checking his phone. “I have reception,” he says, his voice shaky with disbelief. “We’re... back. It’s real.”

You look around – Lewis and Alexandra seem equally stunned, but there’s a quiet understanding between you now. Whatever that thing was, it’s not gone. Not really. It’s watching, waiting. But you survived.

“Come on,” you say, breaking the silence. “Let’s get out of here.”

You walk away, leaving the villa behind, never looking back.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagine #i don't even know how to tag this #charles leclerc fanfic #alternate universe #brightlightwrites

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aghost-writer · 25 days ago

Text

Ocean Eyes

Chapter 12

This is a Yandere Jujutsu Kaisen/JJK x Female Yandere Reader x Yandere Nanami Fic!

MDNI!!!

Nanami leaned heavily against the wall of his office, the steady, unyielding surface doing little to ground him. His chest rose and fell in measured breaths, though the control he forced on himself was tenuous at best. With a deep sigh, he ran a hand through his blond hair, fingers tugging slightly at the strands in frustration. This wasn’t like him—none of this was like him. He prided himself on self-discipline, on unwavering composure, yet here he was, unraveling over a dream.

It had to be a dream. There was no other explanation.

Y/N had recounted the mission clearly and logically, her version of events straightforward and believable. She wouldn’t lie about what had happened. Nanami knew that much. And yet, the memories, or whatever they were, played in his mind with startling clarity, refusing to fade into the background where they belonged.

He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, as if the force of his breath could expel the images. But they lingered. Her voice. The way she had looked at him. The feeling of... No. He wouldn’t let himself finish the thought. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

His hand dropped from his hair to pinch the bridge of his nose, his posture slumping slightly against the wall. “God,” he muttered under his breath, his tone heavy with self-reproach. What was wrong with him? He was her teacher, her mentor. Someone meant to guide and protect her, not...

He couldn’t even finish the sentence in his mind.

The heat creeping up his neck and settling in his chest made him clench his jaw. It was inappropriate, unbecoming, and entirely out of line. But no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, the phantom sensations remained.

Straightening, he pushed away from the wall and paced the length of his office, his shoes tapping rhythmically against the floor. He hoped the steady motion might settle his thoughts, but the tension in his body refused to dissipate. Every step he took felt heavy, weighed down by the guilt gnawing at him.

The worst part was how real it had all felt. He could almost hear her voice, the softness of it as she spoke, feel the way her eyes had lingered just a fraction too long. The memories, no matter how much he tried to suppress them, were vivid enough to make his pulse quicken.

“No,” he muttered aloud, his tone firm, as though he could command his thoughts into submission. “It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been.”

He stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the room, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Y/N’s account had been clear. She’d fought the curse, overexerted herself, and found him passed out. There was nothing in her demeanor to suggest she was withholding anything—or that anything else had transpired between them.

She wouldn’t lie about something like that.

Nanami inhaled deeply, trying to shake the lingering sense of unease, but the heat in his chest only seemed to intensify. It felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch, a restlessness he couldn’t quite place. It had to be the curse. That was the only explanation. The lingering effects of its influence were clouding his mind, twisting his thoughts into something unrecognizable.

That had to be it.

Yet the memories—or whatever they were—felt so real.

He rubbed his face with both hands, his frustration bubbling to the surface. It wasn’t like him to dwell on such things, especially not over something so... inappropriate. He was supposed to be better than this. More composed. More disciplined.

And yet, here he was, acting like a schoolboy hopelessly infatuated. The thought made him grimace. He prided himself on being steady, on being the one people could rely on, yet now he felt as though he was coming apart at the seams.

This was ridiculous. Unprofessional. Entirely beneath him.

Still, no matter how much he told himself that, the images persisted. Fleeting and fragmented, yes, but potent enough to stir something in him he’d thought long buried. He could still feel the faintest impression of warmth, the soft cadence of her voice, the way she’d looked at him during their conversation earlier.

His jaw tightened as he replayed their interaction in his mind. She’d spoken so calmly, so matter-of-factly, without a hint of discomfort or hesitation. If something more had happened, surely she would’ve shown some sign of it. Wouldn’t she?

Nanami shook his head, his frustration mounting. “It was just a dream,” he said aloud, as if hearing the words might make them true.

He sank into the chair at his desk, resting his elbows on the polished surface and cradling his head in his hands. He couldn’t let this continue. He couldn’t let his mind spiral further into these thoughts, not when they were baseless and fueled by whatever residual effects the curse had left behind.

But even as he told himself that, the heat in his chest remained, simmering just beneath the surface.

His hand clenched into a fist on the desk, his knuckles white against the dark wood. He couldn’t afford this. Not now. Not ever. He had a job to do, responsibilities to uphold. Y/N was his student, and whatever this was—whatever his mind was conjuring—he had to put a stop to it.

She trusted him. That thought alone was enough to make his stomach twist. He couldn’t betray that trust, even in his own mind.

With another deep breath, Nanami forced himself to his feet. The motion was deliberate, a small act of defiance against the chaos swirling in his head. He straightened his tie and smoothed down his shirt, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy.

He was fine. He would be fine.

But even as he returned to his work, the phantom sensations lingered, a constant, nagging reminder of something he couldn’t quite explain.

┌─────────────────────────────┐

Y/N opened the door to her dorm room, stepping into the quiet hallway of the school’s dormitory. She stretched her arms above her head, her body sore from the previous day's mission, but the sharp, focused energy she’d felt after waking up had returned. She was starting to feel like herself again, even though she’d spent the night thinking about everything that had happened since joining Jujutsu High.

As she closed the door behind her, she spotted Megumi, standing a few steps away, his back leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he observed her. She offered a small, tired smile, recognizing the familiar face.

"Morning," Y/N greeted him, her voice warm but still heavy with the lingering exhaustion.

Megumi uncrossed his arms, his usual stoic expression softening slightly. "Hey. You alright? You looked a little out of it yesterday." His voice wasn’t overly concerned, but there was a quiet curiosity behind his words. It was clear he wasn’t accustomed to seeing Y/N in such a state.

"Yeah, just a little drained," Y/N replied with a shrug, the smile lingering on her lips. "But I'm good. Just needed a good night's sleep."

Megumi nodded, though his eyes lingered for a moment as if trying to decide whether to press further. He didn’t, however, choosing instead to push himself off the wall and walk toward her. “We’re supposed to meet Gojo and the others. You ready?”

Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown off by the abrupt change in topic. “Oh, right,” she said, shaking her head as if snapping out of her thoughts. “Guess I better get going.” She motioned for him to lead the way, though she was already certain where Gojo and Itadori would be waiting.

Megumi took the lead, walking a few paces ahead of her. He seemed quiet this morning, his usual calm demeanor in place. Y/N followed behind him, noting how the sound of their footsteps echoed down the hallway of the dormitory. The air still had a chill to it, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, feeling a faint buzz of anticipation. She hadn’t been in the best condition to meet the new student yesterday, but today was different. Today, she felt ready.

"So, you’ve fought curses before, right?" Megumi asked, breaking the silence between them as they walked down the narrow hallway.

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the question. It wasn’t exactly unexpected, given their line of work, but it was the first time Megumi had really asked her about her abilities beyond their usual tasks. She gave a brief nod, the subject something she’d been meaning to touch on with him sooner or later.

“Yeah,” she said, keeping her voice light, though there was a slight edge of seriousness to it. "I’ve fought my fair share of curses."

Megumi looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his face unreadable. “You know, I’ve heard from Gojo that you’re strong. You’re not the type to back down from a fight.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. She wasn’t the type to brag about her abilities, and it wasn’t in her nature to gloat. Still, she couldn’t deny the satisfaction she’d felt the first time she took on a real curse. The water-based attacks had served her well, but she never went into detail about that. Instead, she kept things simple, focusing on the sword that always rested at her side.

“I use a sword to fight,” she said, casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The words were true enough, and though it was far from the complete picture of her abilities, it was a detail she was comfortable sharing.

Megumi glanced at her again, his eyes narrowing slightly as if processing her words. He didn’t ask any more questions about her fighting style, which Y/N appreciated. She wasn’t in the mood to elaborate—at least, not yet. Her water abilities weren’t something she openly spoke about, at least not until she felt like it was necessary. The last thing she wanted was to overexplain herself to someone she wasn’t fully comfortable with yet. Besides, the sword was more than enough to get her through most situations.

“I see,” Megumi said after a beat, clearly accepting her answer. He didn’t press, instead looking straight ahead as they reached the end of the hallway. “Gojo’s waiting for us.”

Y/N nodded, her thoughts briefly flickering to the enigmatic teacher who had been guiding her through the motions of Jujutsu High. Gojo was... unpredictable, to say the least. She respected him, but at times she found his eccentricities difficult to keep up with. Despite his often laid-back demeanor, he was a powerhouse and incredibly skilled. But that didn’t stop him from being just as chaotic as he was talented.

The two walked in silence for a few more moments, reaching the main entrance of the dormitory where Gojo and Itadori were waiting. As they approached, Y/N noticed Gojo standing with his hands tucked into his pockets, his ever-present blindfold covering his eyes. It was hard to tell if he was focused or just waiting for them to arrive.

Itadori stood next to him, his usual cheerful smile greeting them as they walked up. Y/N had met Itadori before, and despite the strange circumstances under which they had crossed paths, she found his energy infectious. There was a lot of enthusiasm in him, and while she wasn’t sure if that was always a good thing, it was hard not to appreciate the effort he put into everything.

“Morning, Y/N!” Itadori called out, raising his hand in a friendly wave.

“Morning,” she greeted him back with a small smile, her gaze briefly flickering to Gojo as she approached.

“Ah, good morning, Y/N!” Gojo chimed in, his voice as energetic as ever. “Ready to meet the new student? It’s going to be fun.”

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to shake off any lingering fatigue. "Yeah, let's get this over with."

“Good, because you’ve got a big role to play today,” Gojo said, his grin almost mischievous. “You’re going to help me evaluate them, right?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, not sure exactly what Gojo was thinking, but she didn’t argue. She trusted him, even if his methods were... unconventional.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Gojo continued, his tone lighthearted. “We’ll have some fun with this one, but first... let’s make sure they’re ready for the real challenges.”

Y/N nodded, though a small part of her wondered just how much "fun" Gojo had planned. But whatever came next, she’d be ready. The team she was with, despite its chaotic tendencies, had her back. And she was determined to do the same for them.

As they stood there, preparing to go, the anticipation of meeting the new student filled the air. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a slight thrill at the thought of the unknown. She knew one thing for sure: things at Jujutsu College were never boring.

┌─────────────────────────────┐

The sun hung lazily over the streets of Harajuku as the bustling crowds continued their daily routines, unaware of the peculiar gathering forming by the train station. Amidst the usual city noise, Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro waited eagerly for the arrival of the third first-year student. The two had already met, and though their class was small, their curiosity about their new classmate was palpable.

Yuji shifted impatiently, looking at the crowds of people walking past, each face unfamiliar, every figure a stranger. “Should be here soon, right?” he asked, glancing at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. The train had arrived, but they hadn’t yet seen the new student. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that their class, consisting of only three first-years, was so small.

Megumi, standing beside him, offered his usual calm, detached response. “Yeah. She’ll be here.” His voice held a note of finality, as though he was accustomed to the long waits that came with things he couldn’t control. “The new student’s acceptance was finalized a while ago. It’s just that there aren’t many jujutsu sorcerers to begin with. That’s why we get such small classes.”

Yuji, ever the optimist, raised an eyebrow. “So, jujutsu students are, like, rare? That’s crazy.”

Megumi gave a brief nod. “Jujutsu sorcerers are rare. Quality over quantity, remember?”

Yuji frowned. He could accept the rarity of it all, but he still found it hard to believe that they’d only have two others to train with. It didn’t feel like enough to him.

Before he could ask more questions, a voice rang out from behind them, playful and familiar.

“Hey, hey! You two!” Gojo Satoru, their teacher, greeted them with his usual carefree energy as he approached. He waved cheerfully, though it was clear he wasn’t in any rush.

Yuji couldn’t help but grin. “You’re late,” he teased.

Gojo waved off the accusation. “I’m not late. I had some things to take care of. But hey, look at you two! Waiting for the new kid? Pretty good job of being patient. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re here now, right?” Yuji said, clearly more interested in getting to the point.

“Right,” Gojo answered with a grin. “She’s almost here. Just finishing up with her things. You’ll meet her soon enough.”

Yuji still wasn’t quite satisfied. “I don’t get it, though. Why’s the class so small? I mean, it’s just me, Megumi, and now her, right?”

Megumi crossed his arms and sighed. “I told you already. Jujutsu students are rare, Yuji. This isn’t your average school.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but it’s still weird. You’d think there’d be more of us,” Yuji mused.

“I guess the ‘good’ ones just get picked,” Gojo added with a cheeky grin, as though the whole thing was obvious.

Yuji scratched his head in frustration. “I’m just saying. There should be more.”

Before Gojo could respond, there was a rustling from the direction of the station. The group’s attention snapped to a figure walking toward them: a tall girl with striking, fiery red hair, her stride confident and sure. She was wearing a stylish outfit that stood out even among the fashionable crowd of Harajuku. She seemed to glide through the street, completely at ease, with a suitcase held firmly in one hand.

Yuji immediately perked up, excited to meet her. “That’s gotta be her!” he said, pointing as the girl approached.

Gojo gave him a nod of confirmation. “Yep, that’s Nobara Kugisaki, the third first-year. I can tell you’re gonna get along just fine.”

The girl reached them with a mixture of determination and attitude. Her gaze swept over them quickly, sharp as a blade, before she spoke.

“You guys from Jujutsu High?” she asked bluntly, not a trace of hesitation in her voice.

Yuji, ever the enthusiast, nodded eagerly. “Yeah! We’re your new classmates. I’m Yuji, and this is Megumi.”

Nobara looked them over with a calculating gaze. “Good, because I’m not here to babysit. You guys are lucky to have someone like me on your team,” she said, her tone oozing confidence.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, an amused smile curling on his lips. “I see. Someone’s confident.”

Yuji laughed. “I like her already.”

Nobara threw a quick glance at the group. “You’d better. But I’m not here to just be ‘one of the boys.’ I’m the woman of the group, so consider yourselves lucky.” She said it with such finality that no one dared argue.

Just as she finished her statement, her eyes landed on something—or, more accurately, someone—across the street. A man holding a camera and eyeing the crowd. He looked like he was scouting for models. Nobara’s face immediately twisted into something akin to disgust, and she marched up to the man, glaring at him as she approached.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, glaring at him with fury. “You think you can just wander around taking photos of people without asking? You’re not some creepy photographer.”

Yuji blinked, surprised by her sudden outburst. “Uh, okay, that was… intense.”

“Not in the mood for it,” Nobara shot back as she turned on her heel, striding back to the group.

Gojo was still grinning, clearly entertained by her assertiveness. “Don’t mind her. She’s got a fire in her.”

Yuji chuckled nervously, looking between Gojo and Megumi. “I can see that.”

Before the conversation could continue, Nobara finally seemed to notice Gojo properly. Her eyes widened as she took in the strange blindfold that covered his eyes. Her confusion was obvious.

“Uh… What’s with the blindfold?” she asked, a little wary.

Gojo’s grin only widened. “Oh, this?” he gestured to the blindfold. “Just a little something to keep things… interesting. Gotta keep the world from getting too bright for me.”

Nobara stared at him in disbelief. “What? So, you’re blind? Or you just don’t want to look at people?”

Gojo merely laughed. “Something like that.”

Nobara blinked at him, but she quickly decided to move on. “I’ve got no time for this. But whatever. I’ll deal with it.”

Just as she finished, Gojo suddenly spoke again. “There’s one more first-year you haven’t met yet, Y/N. She’s out shopping right now, but she’ll be back soon enough.”

“Shopping?” Nobara repeated, a hint of surprise in her voice. “In the middle of all this?”

“She’ll be back soon,” Gojo confirmed. “She’s just taking care of some things. It’s noon now, so she should be finished shortly.”

As they stood there waiting, Nobara couldn’t help but glance over at Yuji and Megumi again. “So, you two don’t mind being around someone like me? I guess that’s good. You wouldn’t have a choice anyway.”

Yuji shrugged, his usual smile returning. “I think you’re cool. Just gotta get used to the fact that we’re all in this together, right?”

“Exactly,” Megumi added dryly, his usual calm tone betraying none of his thoughts. “It’s a team effort.”

Nobara gave a sharp nod. “Good. Just don’t slow me down.”

As the conversation carried on, the group moved along the street toward a nearby café, the anticipation of the last new classmate’s arrival still lingering. It was only a matter of time before Y/N would arrive, completing the first-year class at Jujutsu High. The group chatted in the meantime, but the quiet undercurrent of excitement remained palpable as they waited for the final member of their class to join them.

#yandere x reader #yandere #jjk x reader #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen

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melestasflight · 1 year ago

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23 "winter there was cold" for Russingon, rated T or lower if you're so inclined? ♥️

winter there was cold

As they descended the mountains, the barren plains of Oiomúrë stretched open before them. It was the furthest away from Tirion Findekáno had ever come, and he felt the change in pressure as the last of the treelight faded behind them. Maitimo and Makalaurë walked in silence beside him, absorbed in their own wonder, and Tyelkormo and Carnistir were waiting ahead with Fëanáro.

Winter there was cold as the Ice of the North drew nearer but the discomfort was a price worth paying for the view of the stars that shone uncontested with the intensity of beating hearts, so close, Findekáno believed he could feel their trepidation against his palm if he only reached out a hand.

As their small group came together, Fëanáro told them in a whisper, as if taking care not to disturb the calm of the land. ‘The mists of Oiomúrë are known to be treacherous. The nearer we are to the sea, the harder it will be to see the path. Stay close to one another.’

Findekáno instinctively stepped closer to Maitimo, seeking the solidity of his body. Maitimo acknowledged him with his small smile that he had begun gifting to Findekáno lately. It was no more than a gentle twist of his lips but it made Maitimo’s face glow as few other things did. Findekáno chased after these fleeting moments, living from one smile to the next and letting his longing fill all the time in between.

This smile, like all the others, was entirely too short and Maitimo looked away toward the uncharted path ahead. They fell in step beside each other, matching the rhythm of their strides. The deeper into the plains they dove, the thicker the mists that surrounded them until even the stars above were blotted out as if painted over with a fine brush.

Time here was passing at a different pace, it bent and shifted like the sands under a tide. They had been walking back into history with every step further away from Tirion. Findekáno knew these lands to be ancient, unchanged for many ages since the time the world was still young, and the Valar stretched and folded the earth like bread dough, materializing the music they had sung together in the Timeless Halls. The stories of creation Findekáno had read in Tirion’s library were now unfolding before his very eyes as shapes strange and marvelous appeared like enormous statues, relics of things that had long evolved unrecognizable. It was Arda’s own museum preserved in the mists between the mountains and the Sea.

It would normally have been more than enough to hold his attention, but despite all the beauty around him, Findekáno found his heart pulled in a different direction. He snuck another glance at Maitimo, preferring to see the world in the reflection in his friends’ curious gaze. Maitimo’s presence tugged at his heartstrings, pulling him into its orbit. All the things Findekáno once had the patience for — Fëanáro’s teachings, the thrill of discovery, the merriment of spending time with friends — were now shadowed by Maitimo’s small smiles and stolen glances.

It had been thus since that day the two of them had sat together, as was their custom, conversing in the privacy of the weeping willow in Anairë’s gardens. Findekáno had said something in passing and Maitimo had laughed as a friend laughs not for what is told but for the sheer joy of simply being in the company of the other. Findekáno had sat listening, isolating that sound as a thing that only ever existed upon Arda for his sake alone. That Maitimo laughed like that only because Findekáno was in this world beside him.

It had been a swift moment, as long as the time it takes for a breeze to shake the willow branches but it had slammed against Findekáno with the force of a windstorm. A sudden realization of something that had already begun growing some time ago, Findekáno knew not when or how exactly, only that he no longer wished for their friendship only.

He knew no moment of peace after that.

‘I would like to show you something, Findekáno. Follow me,’ his friend whispered now as he pulled him by the hand, and there it was again, that feeling that Maitimo did some things for him only and no one else. They had separated from their companions, and Findekáno could hear no other whispers around them. He let himself be led toward a dark granite block that stood in the mist as a small mountain emerging from deep waters.

‘These shapes are remnants of Yavanna’s first trees,’ Maitimo explained, ‘when her creations were all but indistinguishable from Aulë’s. They were drawn from the earth like jewels, needing no light other than the stars.’

Findekáno placed his hand upon the trunk carefully as if afraid to damage its ancient body. Its surface shone as polished stone, the ridges smoothed by years uncountable, but he sensed the faint rhythm of life within like the languid breath of a slumbering giant. His fingers traveled along the body of the tree, caressing it with deep instinctive reverence while his other hand still held onto Maitimo’s. They had interlaced their fingers in their silent reverie, fitting perfectly against one another as a key falling into its lock.

They kept walking between the granite forest, holding on to each other. So thick was the air around them that Findekáno felt blind with his eyes open. They were moving into nothingness. Findekáno was there, and the ancient trees, and Maitimo beside him but they were casting no shadow. There was only the mist all around, everywhere. The illusion was so complete that Findekáno had trouble keeping his balance. He held Maitimo’s hand tighter.

It was a strange but not unpleasant experience. Findekáno’s mind turned still, all the worries that had rattled his waking hours on the long journey from Tirion dispersed somewhere. It was an entirely new feeling, this emptiness of thought, of existing fully within a moment and not knowing if it is the present, the past, or the future.

He sought the comfort of familiarity, something to ground him, and his memory recalled a scripture he had found among Indis’ collections. A transcription of a short verse by an unknown author, perhaps someone who had made the Great Journey to Eldamar.

Of the emptiness was Arda born

shapeless and nameless,

as all things that emerge

from Darkness unto Light.

Findekáno recited the words quietly, and the moment he spoke the last verse, he felt it in himself, this duality, the sensation that he was only one half of a whole. That there was another, made just for him.

I only am because there is You,

the stars are only bright

because darkness lies beneath.

‘Maitimo.’

‘Findekáno.’

He heard his own name just as he called Maitimo’s. They were reaching for each other in the half-light fitting their bodies like hands clasped together. Two halves becoming one.

There was no treelight, no starlight, no world, nothing. Only the two of them, existing in the harmless timelessness, Findekáno because there was Maitimo, Maitimo because there was Findekáno. Findekáno knew the ending of his hand only because Maitimo held it into his own, he could feel the borders of his lips only because Maitimo’s were pressed against them.

He knew then, no matter where or how far down the line of time they went, that they would always seek one another, be part of each other as the darkness exists within the light and the light in the darkness.

When they came apart, after some time that could be the blink of an eye or a full blooming of Laurelin, the mist around them had begun clearing. The space felt tangible again and sounds reappeared in the distance of their companions calling for them and the breaking of great waves against the shore.

They were standing at the edge of the world. Findekáno looked ahead and smiled, still holding Maitimo’s hand.

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to drop me a note/kudo on AO3. It makes my day!

#fingon #maedhros #russingon #valinor #prompt fills #ficlets #Holiday Silm Prompt Fest #my writing #silmarillion #tolkien

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thedawningofthehour · 2 years ago

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I also like cupcakeslushie's au but other than donnie living with draxum I don't see the similarities. your draxum is WAY too nice

When I first started writing the fic, @cupcakeslushie's au (I felt like I was talking behind your back if I didn't tag you lol) was also in its very early stages. Donnie hadn't been introduced in the proper comic itself and it was mostly just asks and little blurbs she had posted. So I literally had less Draxum to work with. (also she has made some changes to her Draxum portrayal, his insanity via empyrean was not revealed yet, which...doesn't really explain anything on my end, no)

The biggest inspiration was probably the restraint scars on Three's arms and legs, that's probably what gave me the brain worms for The Table in the first place. Also I was not...planning to make Draxum this good of a father. Like, I knew I wanted him to see Galois as his son and have some complicated feelings about that, but he was originally much worse. Much colder, very high expectations, still good at praising his kid but would also not hesitate to do a 180 if Gale ever fell short. I also planned for him to be much more manipulative and physically abusive, and I briefly considered adding a SA element. (I am very glad I didn't go with that idea) But I was never totally satisfied with that, it just made things too...straightforward, I guess? Just good vs. evil, very little nuance to the story. AUs where Draxum is just evil generally work because he's a driving force behind the story, so it doesn't really matter if he's basic. But I knew I wanted Draxum to have more complexity to his actions, so he had to be much more likable for the audience to consider his validity. Cue Marxist, environmentalist goat-dad who read like a hundred parenting books for this.

Plus I just really enjoyed writing their more soft moments. Draxum is such a hard character, but through Book 1 of doth we see that armor slowly chip away, and now Gale is one of the few people he allows to see in his 'true' form. The removal of Draxum's helmet in chapter 20 of doth is both a metaphor and literal-he's discarded the hard shell that keeps him separated from everyone else, but also he literally did not take that thing off until Gale came into his life.

Also, my original plan was for the 'cracks' in Gale's memories was a little different, and that's where the Three influence would have come in. I don't want to elaborate on that too much because I think I am still going to do something with that idea starting in a few chapters, but it's going to be a much smaller thing. What I originally had planned would have taken over his arcs completely and made them something else entirely, and that's no longer what I want.

So in short...yeah, this is like when fanon takes a character and twists them until they're unrecognizable.

#also this was supposed to be a 'separated except not really' au #where just donnie was separated but with maximum angst because his brothers know how it Should Be #but it just...grew #this was literally supposed to be a low-effort fanfiction i DIDN'T dedicate a ton of time and headspace to #doth #doth asks #baron draxum

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skyedancer-system · 1 month ago

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It’s weird, missing someone who’s here in the system with me. We spend almost all our time out of front together, but because of the weird memory barriers between headspace and front it feels like I haven’t seen him in ages whenever I come out here without him.

Listening to his favorite song helps ground me a lot. Clair de Lune is what he always played on the radio in his little store, and I heard it from his room a lot too when I walked by. He always turned the music off when I went in though so we could just talk. I appreciated it a lot.

Even when we both almost lost ourselves to the Ichor, each other and our other partners (who were also struggling against the Ichor’s effects) being the only grounding things left, that song still followed him wherever he went, almost like magic with the way it played from the speakers whenever he went in a room with them installed. It only ever happened when he was in his Twisted form; I never bothered to try understanding how it worked. I just appreciated having him and the music by my side, even if I couldn’t fully remember myself, or anyone else.

It’s relieving having my full memory back again, and being able to mostly control the Ichor’s effects. I can tell he feels the same, though he’s less comfortable in his Twisted form than I am. I understand why; it warped and changed us both into something near unrecognizable, something dangerous. One of the others in here, Uzi, helped me get more comfortable. I hope I can do the same for him. We’ve been making progress, thankfully.

If we didn’t have a roommate, I’d let the song play on loop from my phone as I fell asleep. I still could with headphones, but sleeping with them isn’t the most comfortable. I’ll listen to it a few more times before I go out for the night; the edgy hedgehog in co-front will just have to deal with it.

If you see this later, good night Dandy. Love you <3

-🍓Sprout (He/It)

#sorry for the long post; didn’t realize I had so much to say about this song #🍓sprout #plurality #actually plural #plural system #multiplicity #fictive #dandy’s world fictive #in system relationship #in sys relationship #in system dating #system love #plural love #system positivity #plural positivity

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kiskivmiske · 2 months ago

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Warning in advance: this is a *friend*ship ff.

Tldr: headcanon that small kits have a connection with StarClan and occasionally play with SC kits in their dreams.

❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄

Ribbons of sunset orange, green and purple danced around the night sky across the Silverpelt, painting a thick blanket of snow covering the camp. Bright sparks on the ground moved in unison with colorful waves above. Chilly breeze dusted fresh snow off twisted pine branches, showering ThunderClan camp with frosty glitter.

Even though it was freezing cold outside, thick fluffy snow wrapped itself around woven walls of the nursery, protecting kits and their mother. Leafkit peeked out, trying to get a glimpse of the night sky over mom's tail curling around her, and through a narrow entrance of the nursery. Her eyes only began to open slightly and she tried to explore as much as they allowed at the moment.

Every time they stepped outside their cozy nursery, leafbare would start nipping at their noses, turning whiskers and faces white and sparkly. It didn't hurt much, but mom wouldn't allow to play outside for too long. She was worried, even knowing that her daughters were way too small to even reach the fern tunnel on their tiny weak paws. Sisters spent most of the day inside, drinking milk or wrestling with each other. Dad also visited them from time to time, accompanied by a small gray she-cat, who offered mom some herbs to eat. When nights started to get even colder, dad and his friend carved out a slab of hardened snow to cover the entrance, leaving out just a small window.

Squirrelkit was sleeping soundly, her face buried in fur on Sandstorm's belly. Unable to fight the sleepy, Leafkit plopped next to her sister. Feeling warmth of mother's body, sweet scent of milk and herbs, she quickly fell asleep.

Leafkit jolted awake, feeling that something just isn't right. Squirrelkit was still next to her, sitting up and looking at her sister. But mom wasn't there. And neither was the nursery. Two kits were in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by dense forest vegetation. If they were born in the newleaf, they would notice what exactly is wrong with this place. But, now knowing how trees and plants are supposed to look like, they didn't pay much attention to tall maples with glistening purple leaves surrounding the clearing and silvery blue grass under their paws.

Leafkit sniffed the air, trying to pinpoint where her mom went. The smell of Sandstorm still lingered nearby, but it was hard to tell where she was. Maybe she's just dreaming? However, this time sister was in her dream, too, and Leafkit could clearly feel Squirrelkit's tail brushing across her paw. Yet, it definitely was a dream, both sisters moved easily, as if pulling of the earth loosened its grip on them. Normally, Leafkit would get stuck if a particularly thick branch got in her way, but now she bounced like a mossball. Leafkit felt like, if she jumps high enough, she could reach Silverpelt with her paws.

Tiny she-cat looked up at the starry sky. It was different now, covered in patches of colorful smoke floating around. Stars also moved, jumping between nebulous islands.

Crack!

Leafkit jumped up, turning around in the direction of the sound. Something big was moving towards them through dense underbrush! And it didn't smell like a normal cat, either! She-cat stood next to her sister, expecting an unknown entity to appear. Squirrelkit arched her back in response, preparing to protect Leafkit. Through a dense underbrush, she could see something white and... glowing! Something that looked like a big sparkly cloud appeared before two sisters. It was just a kit. Older tom they didn't recognize. Big, fluffy, with stars shimmering in his pelt. Leafkit could sense the strange smell of minty cold leafbare air, sweet honey, unrecognizable herbs and old leaves.

"He-o! Am Snokeet."

Leafkit tilted her head. The kit spoke, but his language was slightly different from mom's and dad's. Maybe he's from a different Clan? Leafkit tried to reply, but all she could manage with her limited vocabulary was "Hhhh... aaai!" Squirrelkit also babbled something, her posture loosening.

Older kit smiled and waved his paw. Several big snowflakes appeared in the air around the kits and slowly fell on glistening grass. Something about this stranger seemed familiar. His features slightly resembled that of a big tabby brown tom, who accompanied them on their first day outside. As if leafbare frost colored the whole Bramblepaw's face and body white. Squirrelkit slowly approached that strange kit, who waved his tail, as if telling to follow him. Leafkit followed her sister, looking around.

Trees and flowers around them looked like they were glowing from the inside. Flowers swayed in the breeze, dropping yellow, purple and cyan petals. Wind carried them away and into the sky, where colors mixed together, turning into green, purple and orange ribbons. Leafkit carefully stepped closer to the edge of the island, looking down. Below them was a Moon. Leafkit opened her eyes just recently and didn't get a chance to see a full Moon. Just a tiny, thin claw in the sky. The surface of the Moon glittered with a net of tiny lights. Its top was covered in snow, with colorful ribbons dancing around.

White kit warned her, signing to step away from the edge with a wave of his tail. Leafkit noticed something moving behind him. In a patch of glowing yellow flowers, Leafkit noticed two small shapes. Kits! Most importantly, kits of their age, maybe even younger! They were funny looking, with tiny flat noses and grumpy expressions. Both moved to look closer, almost poking Squirrelkit and Leafkit with their noses.

"Manee keets heah," white tom chirped, signing at the two and actively gesturing with his claws. "Ther mom is here. My mom is steel don theh!" He looked in the direction of the edge, at the white cap of the Moon visible through the fog.

Leafkit looked at the tom, not understanding why would his mother abandon him. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't have time to react when something big, even bigger than their new friend, leaped over a patch of flowers, landing in front of two sisters. It was dark gray and scary, with glowing yellow eyes and long matted fur.

"Ah! Little kits! Nice prey for Yellowfang!" the creature growled, showing sharp yellowed teeth.

Leafkit squeaked and turned around to run, followed by her sister and white tom. She ran fast, jumping over weird glowing mushrooms and small colorful berry bushes. Only when Leafkit was far enough, she turned around to see a shaggy gray cat sitting next to kittens, tilting her head back in a fit of soundless laughter. White kit was also giggling, covering his mouth with a big fluffy paw.

"No funee!" Leafkit scolded him playfully, tackling the tom.

He rolled on his back, laughing and trying to wrestle off two kits pinning him to the ground.

"Oh!" he suddenly froze, his smile fading slightly. He looked at the sky, which began turning deep blue, then green. "Sun! Tss time to go!"

The sky was getting brighter, glowing yellow with streaks of pink clouds. The Moon also changed its colors, turning shiny blue with patches of green. Leafkit and Squirrelkit sat next to their friend, looking at the sky. The air became thick and foggy. It smelled of milk and nursery.

Leafkit opened her eyes. Her sister was stirring next to her, pawing at mom's belly.

***

"I'm sorry, Sandstorm. There's not much I could do," Cinderpelt dipped her head, looking through her storage. "This leafbare lasted longer than it's supposed to. We ran out of catnip half a moon ago, and it's long before it grows big enough again! Firestar tried to ask his sister to share some, but twolegs didn't give her any in a long time."

Sandstorm tried to shrug off the chill of the night. She could hear Squirrelkit coughing in the darkness of the medicine den.

"So, what options do we have?"

"Let's hope that the herbs we have at the moment will suffice," the gray medicine cat sighed. "And that StarClan will have mercy on her."

Leafkit curled up in a ball next to her cousin. Cloudtail sat with his mate and her tiny daughter Whitekit, trying to drown out conversation outside with his purring.

"Is Squirrelkit going to be okay?" Leafkit asked, turning towards Brightheart.

The queen moved her head to look at the small she-cat with her only eye.

"Of course she is, dear. My sister is a talented medicine cat! She won't let her down!" Brightheart purred softly, but Leafkit could hear uncertainty in her voice.

Leafkit frowned and covered her head with thick fluffy tail, preparing to fall asleep. But, no matter how hard she tried to relax, she couldn't. She had to lay awake for a long time, listening to the sounds outside. Muffled voices of Graystripe and Brackenfur guarding the camp, conversing about a new kittypet, about a dog with foam at its mouth spotted near carrionplace, and about depleting amounts of herbs. Nightingale sang its song in the treetops. Squirrelkit cried for Cinderpelt to help her breathe. In two and a half moons they are going to start their apprenticeship. Is her sister really going to make it? Or is Leafkit going to become an apprentice alone?

"Buh I dint go fah away," she heard someone whisper outside. Looking up she saw a small and fluffy white kit she couldn't recognize. The kit appeared to carry something to the medicine cat's den. Their fur glittered like snow in bright moonlight. Temchnically ts my clan so- mrep!" The kit squeaked as a big gray cat with shaggy fur lifted them up by the scruff, quickly walking away, leaving whatever they carried on the ground.

Who's that kit? Seems oddly familiar. Leafkit shook her head, trying to remember, but her tired state made it harder to concentrate. She definitely saw that fluffy, white and sparkling fur before. But the only white kit here at the moment is...

Leafkit jumped up, forgetting about sleep. Whitekit! Whitekit is being kidnapped!

"Cloudtail!" she shouted. "Brightheart!"

"It's okay, dear, go back to sleep," Brightheart murmured. "You had a bad dream."

"No! We have to hurry! Whitekit is-" Leafkit stopped, looking at Brightheart's belly. Whitekit was attached to it, drinking milk. With a grip she had on her mother, it was very unlikely that the whole ShadowClan could pull her away from milk.

"Where did this come from?" Leafkit heard Cinderpelt shuffling around her den. "Cloudtail? Did you bring this from your mom?"

White warrior looked up, shrugging.

"Bring what?"

"Catmint! Or was it Firestar?"

Cinderpelt pointed at several fresh green stems laying at her paws.

"Nuh-uh! I was sleepin' here the whole time!" Cloudtail responded.

Leafkit's yellow eyes widened in surprise. There was a shimmering purple leaf attached to the bouquet of catnip. Before she-cat could get closer to pick it up, a rush of wind came from above, lifting it off the ground. Leafkit looked up, towards Silverpelt, to notice two stars, one yellow, and one blue, soaring next to each other. Looking back at her clanmates, tabby kit noticed she wasn't the only one watching the stars. Speckletail, golden tabby elder was also looking up, her eyes following the movement.

"I saw him! I could've sworn I heard him, too!" she whispered and looked down, noticing an oddly colored flower at her paws.

Before turning back to the nursery, Leafkit noticed a couple of snowflakes falling down from the perfectly clear sky.

***

"Are you sure-sure these things do not bite?" Squirrelpaw narrowed her green eyes.

"I dunno, touch it and find out!" Dustpelt looked inside a piece of twoleg trash filled with water. Inside it, there was a transparent creature with a circular head and thin tentacles.

"I'm telling you, that's twolegs' doing" Feathertail said, sitting next to Leafpaw. Cinderpelt was busy with Ashfur's bee stings and ordered Graystripe and Dustpelt to show Leafpaw ThunderClan territory and to ask Mudfur for willow bark.

"Yeah, they brought some wingless birds with them one day. No wings, no head, just round torso and long tail. Or some proboscis, I dunno. They cling onto each other to fly. I swear to StarClan, I had nightmares of that flock carrying me away! Yeow!" Stormfur shuddered. "This is something similar, but aquatic. It doesn't even have eyes, does it?"

"I once had a dream about giant water lilies. They were so big we could make dens in their flowers! And we gathered on their leaves for clan meetings," Feathertail shared her story and pressed front paw pads together awkwardly. "It was fun. Till giant bees came."

"Oh, keep that story for Ashfur!" Dustpelt meowed. "He must love bees now that his nose is as big as his head!"

"I also remember a weird dream," Leafpaw added. "A few times, my sister and I played with a fluffy white kit who pronounced his words in a funny way."

"I barely remember anything," Squirrelpaw confessed. "But I guess I saw one white kit when I was having a fever."

Dustpelt frowned, pushing a shiny piece of trash with a weird animal away, almost turning it over.

"Funny way? What do you mean by that?" He said seriously.

"Well, he had some sort of foreign accent? Like he tried to imitate our speech but didn't practice long enough."

"Did he say what his name was?"

"He did. Sounded a lot like... Either Smokekit or Snowkit?" Leafpaw shrugged.

Graystripe and Dustpelt looked at each other, their eyes widening in sync.

"Were you sick?" Graystripe asked slowly.

"No, I wasn't. Oh, and I remember him saying that his mom isn't with him."

"She isn't!" Dustpelt flicked his tail, looking deeply concerned. "That's Speckletail, Snowkit was her son and Bramblepaw's uncle."

"Was?"

"He's in StarClan now. I assume that's where you met." Graystripe looked up to see a big white bird drawing a line across the sky with its tail. "That can't be good! I heard something about cats visiting The Place Of No Stars in their dreams, but... StarClan?"

"Mosspelt once told us," Feathertail started, "that very small kits still have a strong connection with the other world. It isn't broken until they are around a moon or two old. That they can see and even visit StarClan cats on their territory. Some queens believe that, if a little kit is moving paws in their sleep, that means kits from StarClan came to play with them. I guess they get lonely in the afterlife. Older cats need Moonstone to regain that connection. I also remember dreaming of a she-cat who looked exactly like me, but with short fur. She could be our mom. But I'm not exactly sure. It's been a long time and my memories are fuzzy."

"You mean, it wasn't a dream?" Leafpaw exclaimed. "It was an actual living- well, not living anymore, but a real kit?"

When Mudfur came back with a bundle of bark, Feathertail and Stormfur said goodbyes to their father, hurrying to the opposite shore. Leafpaw stood up, following sister, her mentor and Graystripe. But she didn't pay much attention to what they were saying. She thought about Moonstone. She's a medicine cat apprentice! Surely, she's going to visit Moonstone soon! Will Snowkit recognize her?

She suddenly stopped in her tracks. A single large snowflake fell on the ground in front of her, following by a quiet voice.

"Fcouse I will!"

#do not tag as ship #squirrelflight #squirrelkit #leafpool #leafkit #snowkit #starclan #warriors headcanon

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