#are those ink stains or something else?...

[arkaix]

As we all know, Alex canonically voices Toon Lankmann. I can only imagine the recording sessions in the company of this absolute insane boi.

Bonus cookie for whoever gets the reference

[luveline]

Hii i love the way you write!!! Could you write something about bad ass reader X Spencer? I miss them soo much.... Maybe something about her saying I love you for the first time and she's nervous and he's confused bc he's not understanding why she's nervous and what she's trying to say ❤️❤️❤️

some light spencer fluff ! love u. fem

Spencer has hair like silk. Brown, shiny curls in the milky moonlight of a September sky. The cold air nips his nose and cheeks, leaving ruddy blush like cherry stains that bring out the endless brown of his eyes. His hand is callused beneath yours, evidence of hour upon hour of stooped writing, pen ink on his fingertips, dark black smudges that stretch as they squeeze. He tips his head back to look at the bruising sky and the stars are like pin pricks, close and very, very far as he again squeezes your hand. You’re surprised you can see the stars, but this part of the country is quiet. 

“Wow, look at all of those,” he says, like he’s begging you to see them too; worried you’ll miss out on such a heart-rending sight. 

You let your side weigh on his and look up, feeling the cold of each star above you like a sudden breeze. Your nose is ice, your lips chapping despite a little lip balm you’d rushed on before you left the cottage. It’s a small, beautiful place, decorated by its patches, ivy and cobbled roofing, window panes replaced in different shades of pink and orange and green. You can see it from where you’re standing, a light forgotten in the bathroom. 

Let’s go on a walk, Spencer‘d said, before it gets too cold. 

It’s too cold already. You shiver, forcing more of your weight into Spencer’s side, only slightly abashed as he wraps his arm around you and presses the soft of his cheek to your head. “See that one?” he asks, smiling, “I think that’s the North Star. Brightest one.” 

You close your eyes.

“It’s really cold, isn’t it?” he asks. 

“It’s freezing.” 

Spencer noses your cheek. Your stomach flips, a zapping, sickening electricity bending and aching inside you from his innocuous touch. Intimacy with Spencer has become casual, but not less exciting. You feel him like a contusion, sometimes. Right in the pit of your stomach. It borders on unpleasant, though it never quite gets there. You want him to do this to you for the rest of your life, you think, opening your eyes to catch a last look at the dark sky and its rich field of stars like white strawberry seeds. 

Spencer’s watching you when you drop your chin. You’d scowl if he were anyone else, reluctant to be caught relaxed, but it’s him. 

“You okay?” 

“Shouldn’t I be?” you ask. You’ve given little clue of nerves. You’re as rigid as ever, the softest part of you your hand where he’s petting your index finger. 

“I know when you’re… not fully you,” he says. 

“I’m still me. Just worried.” 

“About what?”

There’s a layer of gutted to his voice you don’t like. You shouldn’t be worried about anything. You and your colleagues at the BAU recently received a pay rise at work, as well as a small bonus, which you and Spencer then cashed to vacation here. It might not be the best time of year, but anywhere with Spencer can be perfect. So far it has been. Waking up with him in a space that isn’t his apartment or yours feels new, startlingly good, it makes you think of the future in ways you hadn’t considered in depth previously. The aching puddle of your stomach yawns again. 

“I have something– something I–” You wince through it as Spencer’s brows rise. “I need to tell you something, Spencer. Before it jumps out of me.” 

“Okay.” His breath is like mist in front of him. His cheeks continue in their reddening. 

“I’m worried I won’t say it the right way.” 

Spencer shakes his head. You’d like to rub some warmth into his skin, but you don’t trust your hands to stay steady. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m really happy we’re here. I can’t… there isn’t any other way I’d like to spend the weekend. This is really– Spencer, this is perfect, and it’s because of you. Us.“ Spencer’s overlooked and under appreciated everywhere he goes. Just once, you want him to feel seen for the gem he is. “I really,” —your breath leaves you like it’s been yanked from your chest— “love you.” 

Spencer brings your hand to his chest. “You love me?” he asks, kissing your fingers. 

You dip your chin to your chest. “Yeah.” 

“I love you.“ What an odd emphasis, and somehow the right one. 

You nod. That’s good. It’s good to be loved. You’d known he loved you, of course, but it’s good to have it said aloud. 

“You aren’t surprised?” he asks. “But, why were you worried?” 

Hard to explain. You give in to temptation, cradling the cold stretch of his cheek to rub a thumb over his bottom lip. Your lip balm has left it soft. “I told you, I didn’t think I’d say it right.” 

“You don’t usually say anything wrong.” 

Spencer wraps his arm around you and tugs you in for a hug. You stumble back at the force of him and he sways you from one side to the other, keeping you up with him, frosting grass crunching under your shoes. The night is quiet here, coloured only by the shush of the wind and the stirring leaves of the woodlands. Spencer’s breath is by far the loudest sound, a huffing, happy thing that betrays his excitement. “I love you,” he says on a laugh. “It was nice to see you struggling to talk, for once, but you don’t need to be nervous with me. I love you.” Two admissions at once. You find yourself renewed.

“It was a one time thing, I assure you.” 

“Consider me assured,” he says, ferrying your face up for a warm kiss. 

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: people say suffering is what it means to be a shroud. you could not think more different.

WARNINGS: mentions of blood & self mutilation.

COMMENTS: PHEW THIS ONE WAS A DOOZY!!! idia stop being my muse pls 🙏🙏 i keep writing 2k - 3k word fics in one sitting because of you

“Don’t you wish the world treated him better?”

You blink, entranced by the swirls of green. The voice beckons you closer.

How was that door open...? It should have been closed, right...?

“Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else?”

More voices have joined.

“Don’t you want that for him and his brother?”

It sounds beautiful, like a symphony.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

You step closer, muscles relaxing as you slip under their spell. The voices are right. They deserved better. They should have been able to live where they pleased, to escape this island and their fate.

The voices giggle—they know they’re right.

They’ve reached you.

Black consumes your vision, blocking out the glowing green. You shut your eyes. Your world grows darker. There's a seizing in your chest and a fluttering in your heart as something pours into your body, staining you.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

“Set us free, and we’ll set all of you free.”

—

The hallways are blaring red, but all Idia sees is the floor swimming in his vision. Ortho is by his side as he punches access code after access code into the door panels, running like he’s never run before. He has a stitch in his side but he keeps going, your face flashing in his mind.

He lost Ortho once. He’s not losing someone again.

It’s like the stairs last forever, winding deeper and deeper into the Earth. Idia doesn’t stop running once, even though he feels like he’s going to fall over and throw up. He’s almost one-hundred percent certain Ortho has carried him at some point but his mind is too messy and his vision is too muddled to care.

Time seems to slow as he reaches the bottom. He raises his head as his ears ring, and the second he lays eyes on you it’s like his vision is clear again. Ink pours out of you and the black markings on your face are all too familiar. Blue fire spits out from behind you and your shrieks are heartbreaking, like you’re wailing for something you want so badly but could never have. Wings sprout from your back, broken and crooked, feathers twisted and clumped. Your hands are worn and bloody from stretching at the walls, and that’s when Idia realizes—

You want to be free.

Guilt crashes over him and it's a critical hit. Of course. He should have been sure this is what you wanted. He should have known you’d get sick of life here, even though you said you loved him time and time again, even though you held him on all those nights that he couldn’t sleep because the thoughts were too much, even though you bonded with Ortho and stepped back for him, letting him set boundaries even though that meant not doing things you wanted to do, like holding his hand or kissing his forehead or playing with his hair.

He should have known this wasn’t the life you wanted.

The ring on his finger feels like nothing more than a heavy stone now.

—

It took years for Idia to open up to you about his family situation. In fact, he seemed to be braced for the possibility that you’d leave him in a heartbeat after hearing it. Your heart ached for him when he explained his past and his inevitable future in a soft, low voice, rushing through the whole thing as if it was the scariest thing he’s ever done.

You placed your hand on his knee once he stopped, letting his words trail off into the night.

“I understand you.” you’d said, looking him straight in the eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness of his room, flickering like a fire about to be put out.

Idia curled in on himself that night, dragging a clump of his hair over his shoulder and twisting it into knots. You’d reached over and gently grabbed his hands, stopping him from tangling his precious hair. You’d gently smoothed out the fiery strands before kneeling in front of him, looking up at him as if paying him reverence.

“I want to stay with you.” you’d said softly, cradling his shaking, fragile hands in yours.

In that moment, it felt like his very heart was beating between your intertwined hands.

Soft sniffles filled the room that night, and you kissed each tear away. More kept coming, more and more and more, his eyes blotchy and red as he tried to keep quiet. You kept quiet too, whispering how much you cared about him and how if he would let you, you’d stay with him forever because you loved him and he deserved someone by his side. You kissed each tear well into the night, fighting his overwhelming sorrow with your love.

—

Your memories are patchy. It’s like you don’t remember who you are, or where you are. In the dark expanse of your mind, you remember two things.

Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud.

Your throat feels heavy as your heart starts to palpate—what happened? Where is the green glow? Where are all the comforting voices that whispered your new future to you?

Where were the people you were fighting for?

“Vitals stable.” a faraway voice calls, a sharp clatter piercing through your quiet, inky haze, “Commencing full body scan for blot.”

Blot...

Your eyelids pry themselves open. All the energy has been sapped from your body, your limbs heavy and useless. The strings holding them up have been cut, and it's scary that you can’t remember how you were strung up in the first place.

“Mx, we ask that you please stay still.” the man above you is in a white coat, his hands holding a clipboard and a pen.

You nod passively. Something about him seems familiar enough.

His voice drones on statistics about your well being as your eyes slip shut again, and arms of sludge reach out from your mind and pull you back under the ink, into a deep sleep.

—

Idia is chewing on his fingernails again.

He wishes you were here to scold him for it and paint a new coat over them so he wouldn’t chew on them anymore, being too sentimental to mess up your hard work and too repulsed by the taste, even though he would only ever tell you the latter and—

You were still asleep.

Your vitals are stable, You are fine.

You are fine but there are still black scars all over your body.

Your vitals are stable but the marks will stay there forever.

You almost died and it’s his fault.

You want freedom and he took that away when he said “I do.”

He kissed you and he sucked the soul right out of your body, keeping it clutched in his hands because he’s selfish and stupid and why in the world did you even fall in love with him in the first place?

He has nothing to offer you.

Nothing but this.

Suffering and loneliness and contempt and headaches and cold nights and machines that fill your whole day, leaving no room for the whimsical leisure you enjoyed before. There are no more board games, no more trips to the school store, no more fresh air and nighttime walks, no more watching movies and eating gummy worms, no more talking to anyone who isn’t him.

The ring on his finger burns.

—

You don’t know how long it's been since you went to sleep.

You wake up to a room with dark walls and metallic shelves above your head. The bed (cot?) is firm underneath your body, which is adorned by a gray uniform. There’s a desk right across from you with a tablet and a chair. You can’t see anything it’s hooked up to. The one constant among all of these things seems to be the triangular details, criss-crossing and curving and connecting with each other.

They make your vision spin, so you look away.

You stay in bed.

For some reason your face and neck sting, as does your back. You trace the parts of your face that burn, finding that the areas are almost symmetrical on both sides.

What happened?

“...Idia?” you whisper, your left hand resting over your smoothly beating heart.

The door opens.

Your heart lurches into your throat when you see a dark uniform, fiery blue hair that swings well past his elbows, and eyes that are sunken in. His skin is as pale as ever, his lips chapped and bitten by worry, his nails stubbed and torn, but—

He came.

But it’s him.

He came when you called.

“...Idia—!” you gasp, choking on your words as you lurch forward and cough, black ink splattering all over your gray shirt.

“Easy!” he yelps, rushing to your side. You feel his cold hand press against your back and you lean into the touch, starved for it.

“What happened?” you ask between smaller coughs, following his hand and he lays you back down.

Idia bites his lip. He does not answer.

Instead, he turns his back to you and moves over to the desk grabbing the tablet. He still doesn’t look at you as he taps a few bottoms. He gnaws on his lower lip before twisting the chair to face you and sitting down.

“How much do you remember?” he counters your question with another question, eyes heavier than usual.

“I remember green.” you whisper, the intriguing whispers poking into the corners of your mind again, “I remember voices...they said sweet things to me.”

Idia winces as if that’s the last thing he wants to hear.

“You overblotted.” he says, so blunt it surprises both of you, “You went...deeper than you should have, and you overblotted.”

You touch your face. The burning sensation wiggles as if it’s been recognized, and is pleased. It’s like there's something under your skin, something alive and yearning,that was waiting for him to say it.

“Oh.” you whisper, and in turn, the voices begin to beckon you again.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud. Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else? It’s not fair, is it? He deserves better. His brother deserves better. You all do. We can help you, we can make that happen, you just have to help us—”

“They were phantoms.” you breathe, tracing the lines on your face over and over and over and over and over—

You don't notice when he gets up and reaches for you. Idia grabs your hand when it looks like you’re pressing too hard, your nails digging into your skin. You stop immediately, looking up at him with glossy eyes and trembling lips.

“Idia...is this what it means to be a Shroud?” you ask, forming each word carefully.

The phantoms said as much.

But he says nothing.

“I don’t blame you if you decided this isn’t what you want, you know.” he says, tone flat and disinterested, like you’re someone he doesn’t even know.

“What do you mean?”

“Your phantom looked like it wanted to be free.” he says, tablet still in his hand.

He pulls up the footage of your rage and shows it to you—your crooked, clumped wings and your bloody, inky hands and your screams as you cry for freedom, freedom—

He misunderstands.

“Not for me!” you seize his wrist, squeezing it so hard you fear it’ll break but this important, “For you! Freedom for you! It’s always you and it always will be you! I wanted you to be free and Ortho to be free. I wanted all of us to be free—!”

You start coughing again, this time even harder. Ink splatters on your bed and this time Idia is on you, he’s truly with you, cradling you against his chest as the ink stains his uniform as well. It pours out of you like a dead, polluted river, and yet in a twisted way it’s a symbol of how much you care.

You vaguely feel his nose pressing against your head in the haze, whispering what sounds like swears and pleads but none of it reaches your ears over the sound of your coughing. By the time you’re done, both of you are thoroughly painted with the remnants of blot.

The voices are gone.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” he whispers it into your head like it's a confession, meant for your ears and your ears only, “I thought you...wanted to leave here. Leave me.”

His arms are around you like a vice grip.

You’re grateful you’re alive to see him be selfish.

“Idia...my love.” you say, equally as soft, “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to be with you?”

“It’s hard to believe!” he protests, voice cracking.

He pulls away from you, just enough to look over your face. His eyes are watery and he’s so vulnerable—you really scared him. His thumb traces down the parts of your face that burned, the parts of your face you know will be scarred for life now.

“Good thing I’m still here then.” you smile weakly, cupping his face, “I’ll remind you every single day.”

His ring no longer burns.

His left hand rests over your left, and your rings clink together as they connect.

You’re okay. You still want him. You’re alive.

“You’re crazy.” Idia groans, stepping forward and falling into your arms, “You are absolutely crazy. Any normal person would be running for their life right now, calling me a freak and hyperventilating. A normal person would never want to come back—”

His slumps over you like a big cat, arms encircling you in warmth once again. It’s his way of hiding his expression when he’s getting a bit too into his feelings—you know this by now.

“Goodness. It’s a good thing I’m madly in love with you then.” you laugh, hands splayed out on his shoulder blades as he hugs you again, “You know what they say about love making you do crazy things.”

“Please don’t ever do that again—oh Great Seven.” he squeezes you even tighter and you let him, putty in his hands.

“I’m not planning on it. I promise.”  you reassure him, “I don't want to leave you—”

“It’s not about leaving me, you could have died!” he protests, cradling the back of your head, “I’d be fine if you just left! If you were somewhere else...somewhere safe!”

“You would not be okay with that. Don’t pretend to be.” you chastise him quietly, and you know you’ve won when he goes quiet, “You want to keep me here, and you want me to stay. I want the same thing. You don’t have to pretend I’m a sacrifice that can be made. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re noble or a goody-goody.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then—

“I love you so much.” he mumbles.

It’s a rare confession, one that has never lost his sweetness even after years together.

Now this, this is what it means to be a Shroud.

It means staying with each other no matter what.

It couldn't be farther from loneliness.

“I love you too.” you murmur back, and his thumbs trace your blot scars as he presses a single, barely noticeable kiss to your forehead.

[after-witch]

Late Night Break In [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Title: Late Night Break In [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Synopsis: You never expected to find your soulmate. After all, it’s not like there were lots of people named “Uvogin” out there.

Word count: 3000ish

notes: yandere, soulmate AU, breaking and entering

Another Friday night alone. 

But it’s okay. You won’t wallow in self-pity and think about the couples who were out and about the city on romantic dates, or snuggled up on the couch prepping for a night of passionate (or not so passionate, depending on the strength of their relationship) sex. 

Life’s too short to wallow. And it’s not like you were exactly alone.

You’ve got your movie collection and your antique figurines and your latest purchase, a vintage sofa with restored upholstery that means you get the benefit of the original aesthetic without the downside of years of stains, rips, and potential bed bugs. 

And you have friends. Maybe you don’t see them very often, admittedly because you got tired of being asked when you were going to find your soul mate, whether or not you’d consulted a searching service to find them, if you were interested in one of them paying for the service if you didn’t have the money…

Sure, some people might get a little lonely without their soulmate. Someone who you were meant to be with forever and ever, until one or both of you died. And your coworkers who’d long since found their soul mates or who were actively searching day-after day (usually using those paid services that were perfect for such things--not that you wanted to spend your money on that) sometimes looked at you with these awful pity-filled expressions that made you want to roll your eyes.  

More so than your friend’s worried clucks and glances between each other, because at least you knew your friends were coming from a place of worry and not from a place of “why haven’t you done this thing society expects you to do?” like your coworkers.

And, really--

It wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t found your soul mate. 

It’s not like there were tons of people in your home city named “Uvogin,” after all. 

At least his name was well-hidden on your body. It was written, as everyone’s was, in a neat cursive scrawl in black ink that would never come off. You’d heard stories of people who had gone so far as to cut off the skin that contained their soul mate’s name--fighting destiny and all that--only for the name to pop up somewhere else or sometimes even on the same spot, black as ever on the healing, mangled skin.

It wasn’t something you were going to try. 

Uvogin’s name, whoever he was, was on the back of your neck,  low, between your shoulder blades. You liked it that way. It meant you couldn’t be the target of scammers or people who’d been unable to find their real soulmate and were obsessively, dangerously desperate to get someone (anyone) to be with them.

And you? Well. You wouldn’t deny that it might be nice to find your soulmate. Some of your friends and coworkers and passers-by-on-the-street certainly seemed happy to be together. 

But you weren’t going to stop living your life just because you were still on your own. So if you spent your evenings watching movies or rearranging your decorations or making the perfect beef-and-wine stew for one, what was so wrong with that? 

--

You don’t wake up when someone breaks through the wood of your door with a simple stab of their fingers, slides their hand in, undoes the lock, and turns the door knob to enter without any more fanfare.

You don’t wake up when someone’s eyes dart around your apartment, looking for your bedroom.  You don’t wake up when your bedroom door opens with only the tiniest creak.

You only wake up when a hand is slapped over your mouth, and you jolt from a dead sleep with a dizzying suddenness that leaves your head swimming.

You’re awake--you think--and there’s someone above you, a big, heavy presence that seems to take up everything in your field of vision. The taste of salt and flesh is on your mouth, a big hand pressed over your lips and jaw to keep you from moving them.

To keep you from screaming.

“Where is it?” The voice asks, and you can tell it’s a man. But he’s huge, tall as anything, and even in the dimness of your room you can see he has a wild shock of hair that makes him look more like a lion than anything else. The thought is almost silly in the fogginess of your head, but as reality comes in, clearing the way, there’s nothing to laugh about right now.

“Where’s what?” You ask, or try to ask, though you can’t do more than mumble against the large meat of his hand against your face.

  It takes him a moment to register that you can’t actually answer. You can see, barely, his eyes narrow down at you.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, and you won’t be. He wants money, presumably, and you can give him that. Or your TV. Or whatever he wants. As long as you make it out alive.

Slowly, he removes his hand, as if waiting to see if you’ll try to scream.

You don’t. As he moves his hand away, your thoughts come quick, untethered, flitting about the unfairness of the situation. You haven’t really lived yet, and you’re too young to die, and you hope he doesn’t hurt you at all but if he does just let him not kill you at least, is that too much to ask, God, you hope not--

“Where is it?” He repeats. And maybe it’s just your imagination or the fear getting to you, but he seems like he’s lowered his voice a little, sounding less harsh and more considerate. Maybe because you didn’t scream and you aren’t making trouble. That’s a good sign, maybe. It’s hard to tell. 

You swallow. You wish he would move back, so you weren’t lying on your back in bed. But he does no such thing, so all you can do is stare up at him, heart hammering, mouth dry.

“Where’s what?” 

He snorts. 

”Your soulmate’s name.” 

Does your heart stop? No, but it feels like it does. You expected him to say something else. Like. Your money or your safe or your most valuable items. But your soulmate’s name? Is he some sort of deranged loner who couldn’t find his soulmate and he thinks you’re itt? 

Or… 

You swallow, thick, as the thought finally comes to you. It’s not something you thought about often, because most people weren’t worried about things like this. But sometimes your soulmate was someone Not Very Nice. Someone that Hunters might be tasked to go after. And this man, bulky and strong and intimidating as hell, could definitely be a Hunter.  

More often than not, they went after civilian soulmates when catching the criminals proved to be too difficult--though no one could say for sure what might be done to them afterward. 

Some of them were used as bait. Some of them were taken to the authorities to help track down their not-so-law-abiding soulmates. And some… well. You’d heard rumors that killing a soulmate could hinder certain types of criminals. 

“None… none of your business.” Your teeth clack against each other, a thin, quick pain that seems to linger on in your mouth. 

The man’s lips twist into a frown, half-shadowed by the darkness in the room, although as your eyes adjust you can see more of him. It doesn’t make you feel any less worried about what’s going to happen, though. 

“No?” 

You see his arm move, and think he’s about to slap his hand over your mouth again, but what he does instead is shove his arm right in front of your face.

You blink.

And stare.

And it takes you a moment to realize what you’re looking at--on his arm, bulky as it is, scared as you are. 

It’s your name. In a nice, neat scrawl. Unmistakable and permanently stained on his skin.

This man isn’t a Hunter sent here to kidnap you or drag you into a station or kill you. And he certainly isn’t here to steal your wallet or your television or your collection of rare comic books.

He’s your soulmate.

Uvogin.

“B-Back… back of my neck,” you say, stammering. 

He hums. And then he shifts over on the bed, and you instinctively sit up in your bed, glad to no longer be prone underneath him. 

“Let me see,” he says, gruff. But there’s a gradual lessening of heaviness in the air, now that you know he isn’t here to kill you or rob you or who knows what else. That still doesn’t excuse breaking into your apartment and doing this, but…

You lean forward, and with a surprising gentleness considering his size, he pulls down the back of your nightshirt enough to see what’s underneath. 

“Heh, there it is, huh…”

 He lets the fabric go and you lean back, looking at him. He stares down at you, his weight sagging your mattress, his bulky frame taking up most of the bed.

“You gonna scream?” 

You think. You bite your cheek. You shake your head.

“You gonna try to run?”

You breathe out through your nose. And you think. And you shake your head. You won’t scream, you won’t run--you can tell without asking that neither of those would do you any good. And… do you really need to? There’s a strange sort of curiosity that’s building inside you, now that you know who he is--your soulmate. 

He nods, tilting his head back a little, craning his neck as if to stretch it.

“Hope so. Would be stupid if you tried, and I hope my soulmate isn’t that stupid. You get me?”

You nod again, and your breath hitches just a little when he stands up and begins to stretch his neck again. He sighs, evidently pleased by the releasing of tension, or maybe pleased that he’s found you and you didn’t shriek like a wild banshee and try to get away.

You could still try to run. Your fingers grip on your sheets, still uneasy. Sure, he was your soulmate but… soulmates didn’t usually burst into people’s rooms at night and tell them not to scream. Usually.

Uvogin, like his name, was definitely an outlier. 

He leans against the wall next to your bed, looking down at you with appraising eyes. It almost makes you wish you weren’t sitting in bed wearing an old nightshirt, eyes bleary, hair messy. It wasn’t exactly a good first impression. 

“Been looking for you for a while,” he tells you. “I thought maybe you were good at hiding… Shalnark’s soulmate kept him out of the loop for a while.” He chuckles to himself, reliving some private memory. “But looks like you’re just that much of a nobody.”

Something inside your chest bristles.

“Excuse me?” You sit up straighter, and finally get the nerve to lean over to your bedside table and flick on the lamp. Your eyes squint for a moment. The addition of new light doesn’t make your soulmate look any less intimidating. But it does make you feel less like some helpless rabbit in the dark, at least.

He raises his eyebrows, and there’s a small part of you--a churning in your stomach--that tells you to sit down and shut up. But you’re not about to be 

“That’s rude,” you say, as calmly as you can. “I’m not a nobody just because you couldn’t find me. Maybe it means you’re bad at looking.”

There’s a pause, a beat. You wonder if you’ve pissed him off. But then he throws his head back and laughs. 

“Fair enough,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Fair enough.” He sighs, then, and looks up at the ceiling. “There is the question of what to do with you, though.”

Ah, there it is again. That churning in your stomach. A growing pit, tight and electric. 

You sit up straighter, and piece what little you know of these puzzles together in your mind. It doesn’t add up to anything particularly wholesome, even with giant chunks missing. 

“I… I’m guessing you wouldn’t be okay with a long distance relationship,” you mutter. 

He scoffs, a little laugh. “Oh? What gave you that idea?”

He leans forward, and you don’t know exactly what you expected him to do, but it wasn’t to pat you on the head. But he does. 

“Smart,” he says, while his voice is teasing there’s something that sounds a little genuine in there. Or were you imagining it? Was it just part of the soul mate bond, maybe, to automatically see things your soulmate did as pleasant? 

He sits back down on the bed. The bed frame creaks. You aren’t keen on spending money to replace it, but you aren’t keen on scolding your very large, very strong soulmate right now either. So you keep mum.

He leans forward and rests his hand on his palm, keeping his elbow on his knee.

“Well. I don’t exactly got a house with a white picket fence. Or without one, for that matter.” He rubs at his nose, and it strikes you, how casual this conversation is… your soulmate, sitting on your bed, after breaking into your apartment in the dead of night. You take the moment of his consideration to lean over and look through your bedroom door, which faces the entryway. You can just make out the busted wood of your front door… fuck. What would your landlord say?

“Some of the others got one place they keep their soulmates, suppose I should think about it…” He glances at you, gauging something. “Makes it easier when you have one place to go, ‘stead of dragging your soulmate everywhere.”

His words finally do let you feel a sense of unease. You don’t know who the “others” are, or why they would need to be dragging their soulmates everywhere. He wasn’t a Hunter, but maybe something like it. Something that kept him moving. Or, more likely considering the circumstances of your first meeting, something that kept him on the run.

The thought of being dragged around or even taken to some sort of strange house brings back that churning in your stomach, an awful, lurching feeling. Your eyes dart around your room, to everything you’ve set up in your life up until now. 

Every inch of your apartment was carefully chosen, down to the rugs on the floor and the color of the tension rods you’ve shoved into the windowsill. But it’s not just the decor. It’s… your whole life. Your job, the coworkers you’d carefully built relationships with, the fact that you have a favorite diner for breakfast and takeout spot for the weekends. 

“I… don’t want to leave here.” Your voice is soft and at first you think he doesn’t hear you, but when you see him raising his eyebrows and lean forward, you get the nerve to continue.

“If-if that’s possible,” you add, a little quickly. “I’d like to stay here. This could be your… the place where you keep me. Or whatever.” The last words come out mumbled. They’re almost embarrassing to say, like you’re some kind of pet.

He doesn’t say anything for a little while. You almost start talking again, some half-baked plead, but he leans a little closer to you. His look is serious.

“How could I trust that you won’t just run away after I leave?”

Your lips press together. 

“I worked hard for this place. For this life. I would hate…” And you search for the words, lost somewhere in the dimness of your room. “I would hate for it all to become worthless.” 

You sit up straighter, before leaning towards him. Maybe it will be easier to convince him if you don’t act so rigid, so scared. You can do that. 

“If you let me stay here, or-or even if you just let me take my favorite things with me, I’ll be… good?”

He snorts. There’s a hint of a smirk as he leans forward.

“Yeah? You’ll be good?”

Warm flushing creeps to your cheeks, and for the first time you think about what it really means to be someone’s soulmate. Togetherness. Intimacy. 

Your words come out halted, and fumbling. But you mean them, as long as it guarantees that you don’t have to give up your life. Your apartment, your spots, every carefully curated bit of your existence here. Or even--and the thought is desperate--if he is going to take you away, it would be enough if you could keep your belongings. Just enough. 

“I’ll do what you want?” You shrug, keeping your eyes downcast on  your lap, though you can see him shift out of the corner of your gaze.. “Cook or clean or… whatever.”

There’s a hand on your chin, but this time he doesn’t cover your mouth. Instead he tilts your chin up and holds it there, forcing you to keep eye contact.

“So what? You want to make a deal? I let you keep some furniture, and you’re going to be a good little housewife for me?”

“I didn’t--” You say, practically spluttering the words out. “I didn’t say that.” Your cheeks feel impossibly hot. 

He laughs, and lets go of your chin. You don’t look down.

“No, I like it. It’s cute.” He grins at you. “I’m lucky. Some of the others, well…” He rolls his eyes, and you don’t press him on it. 

He drums his fingers against the bed. 

You look up at him, eyes wide, hopeful. 

He sighs, then gives you a lopsided grin that makes your stomach churn in a different way than before. Though the feeling is just as unnerving.

“All right,” he says, with a casual sort of finality. “You can stay here.” A pause. “For now. If you try anything--and I mean anything, like going to the cops, telling your friends, whatever…” He moves his wrist around in a gesture that you can only take to mean “all of this goes away.” He looks at you with a seriousness that makes you want to press yourself through the headboard and into the wall. “Got it?”

You nod.

But then…

“There’s… one thing I need you to do before morning, then,” you say, voice tight and quiet but determined. “Uvogin,” you add, hoping that using his name might make him a little less intimidating. It doesn’t, but maybe that comes with time. 

Both of his eyebrows raise. You almost think he’ll just shut you down, but instead he asks--

“Yeah? What’s that?” 

You gesture towards your open bedroom door, towards the front of your apartment.

“You have to fix that door first. My landlord will have a fit.”

For the second time since meeting you, Uvogin throws back his head and laughs. 

[charliemwrites]

Yes yes, I know. Part 9 for Charmed Slasher is coming out soon, I promise.

BUT! I had this Thought and just had to do it real quick!

(CW for violent imagery and actual violence)

Simon's been watching you for weeks.

You're such a sweet, quiet thing. Shy. Happy to let your coworkers lead conversations, chiming in only when directly addressed. You smile like sun peeking through clouds, slow and beaming, prying through darkness.

And they way you peer up through your eyelashes, the corners of your mouth tipping up. Oh, oh... he wants to ruin you.

Thinks of you while he strokes himself in bed, looking up at him through those thick lashes. Sticking together with unshed tears as you choke on his cock. That quietly pleased smile when he purrs that you're doing so well, almost halfway there...

It's becoming a distraction, this preoccupation with you. So many others just let their eyes slide over you, but not Simon. No, he sees you.

That you shred your bottom lip bloody when you're deep in thought. You wrinkle your nose and squeeze your eyes shut when you're trying not to sneeze. Always burn your mouth on your first sip of coffee.

He watches you in your home. The way you curl up with your favorite blanket, leaned up against the arm of the couch. A perfect open space for him to share with you. He memorizes your routines and imagines slotting himself into your life.

He shouldn't. That's not going to stop him.

Price has been staring at him hard when he thinks Simon won't notice. Gaz has been jumpier; the recruits whispering more fervently. They can sense him slipping; too many missions. Too much bloodshed. It's soaked past clothes and skin, muscle and marrow. His soul, if he has one, must be drenched crimson.

He needs an anchor to keep him from floating adrift in this sea of blood.

He's found you. So precious. So delicate. He couldn't let himself be too rough with you; you'd break so easily. Oh, his hands itch to break you down piece by piece like his favorite gun. Gut you and clean you out, only to put you back together again with his own hands, his initials stamped into you.

There's no salvation for someone like him, but you're all the Paradise he needs.

And then you go and do such a stupid, silly thing.

You go on a date. Look like something he wants to stain in your clingy jeans and low-cut top. Hair done just so. He wants to see it sweaty and tangled after burying his fingers in it; his vision goes red at the thought of anyone else getting that honor.

But no... no. It's not your fault, really. You don't know any better. But you will. You will very, very soon.

Simon watches your date greet you outside, slip an arm around your waist like it belongs there. Like you belong to anyone but Simon. The only things that saves the man from a bloody end right there is that you gently extricate yourself to go inside.

He seethes on the sidewalk across the street, fingers twitching for his Ka-Bar. The images of his initials on your perfect skin is burned behind his eyelids, and afterimage superimposing itself over his vision.

It's time you knew who you belong to.

--

Your father always said you have a temper like the Devil. Didn’t understand what he meant as a sunshine six-year-old, giggling after butterflies and munching on cheese sticks. Your parents’ pride and joy, their first and only babygirl.

You understood later, though, standing at the broken window and watching a pool of blood spread and spread and spread….. like leaving a marker tip on the page too long.

You’re Old Testament wrathful, fire and brimstone, churning beneath a lake of oil and ink. Pitch black, iridescent rainbow on the surface, too thick to realize what roils beneath until one misstep breaks that molecular tension—

Rage will boil up in your stomach, scorch your chest. Burns acidic in your throat and stains your teeth on venom. You don’t drown in anger, you wade into it until you float.

Not to say that you’re an angry person. You’re not. Not much to bother being angry about, by your estimate. Disappointed, resigned, annoyed, exasperated - sure. But the raw fury that sharpens your teeth and claws? It’s an energy expenditure your mind hardly ever feels the need to spark.

But there are some things…

“C’mon don’t be a fucking prude.” He’s drunk. He’s drunk and pushy and you feel your ribs expand, expand, expand…

“You fuckin’ owe me something.”

You show a little too much canine as you reply. “Because you bought me a couple drinks I didn’t ask for?”

“Fuckin’ spoiled bitch. Wha’ else d’you want, huh? Fuckin’ money?”

He pushes you. Your shoulders bump the alley wall behind you. The sky is so so dark above, no clouds, no moon. Even next to trash, the stink of that awful whiskey burns your nose.

You think of broken windows and blooms of blood.

“Just fuckin’ get on your knees.”

“No.”

“The fuck do you jus’ - it wasn’t a fuckin’—”

“No.”

His face twists, ugly and red (not the right shade of red) puffing up like a particularly loud bird.

“C’mere, you little—“

It’s nothing, nothing at all. A sidestep and a full-body shove. Your timing is perfect. You didn’t touch your second drink when your nail polish turned black.

Your “date” however, is wobbly and uncoordinated, you lean forwards on the balls of your feet in anticipation. Watch him bounce off the brick, stumble over a couple overfilled bags, and crack his temple on the metal corner of the dumpster.

You tilt your head as he collapses in a pathetic heap, barely conscious. Make a point to roll him over onto his back. The last sky he’ll ever see with any luck. You lean your foot into his stomach, watch him turn pale and then green. He’s not going to be able to roll over before all that drink comes up.

Satisfied, you step back as you brush brick dust and dirt from your pants and sleeves. Movement at the head of the alley catches your attention, but by the time you look, the disturbance is gone. Likely someone just passing by. You don’t care if you're wrong.

Below you, the man - you never bothered to actually remember his name - gurgles and starts to rasp wetly. The fury ebbs, a tide dragging out with bloody foam at the edge. You let out a slow, satisfied sigh and navigate to the alley's entrance.

You've barely stepped from the shadows of the buildings when there's a sharp pinch in your neck. The world goes black in seconds.

[cupids-chamber]

— “ FOREVER IN LOVE “  Overblots x Reader / Gender neutral reader |         [ Can be read as yandere / non-yandere ]

— “ RED ROSE “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Riddle 

The lights dimmed, as the garden darkened—your surroundings were cold, heartless.. dead.. even, the beautiful garden was nothing on par nor comparable to what it once was, the pride of Heartslabyul.. just like its ruler. Marvelous and adorned in black and red, similar to his emotions at that very moment—everything was distorted and irry, as ink covered all corners in sight. Like smudged ink on plain white paper. 

You watched him walk up to you, no one else in close sight— The familiar clank of heels, as he walked in your direction, looking directly at you... "My dearest rose.. something tells me, you don't quite like what you're seeing.." you heard the man chuckle as he approached you slowly, his soft and sweet smile, no longer there.. "Why, my love?", he laughed once more, except this time it came out in a more threatening tone then the last.. “I’m still your beloved Rosehearts, my red rose.” 

— “ ROTTEN INK “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Malleus

The nulling, sickeningly sweet lullaby rang in your ears, you heard him chuckle and sing along.. that perfectly synced melody, that could calm anyone—struck fear within you, your movements hastening, hoping to run out the door as fast as you possibly could. 

"Why the hurry, my dearest treasure" he hummed softly, hugging you from behind.. You could feel the slight wetness of the ink, staining your clothes.. how his body reeked of a sickeningly pudent smell of ink—rotten ink, if that even existed.... "Just close your eyes, my dearest... and then we can be together.. forever…", you felt his grip tighten, as he continued humming that melody, nulling you to slumber without much of a choice.. 

— “ BELOVED APPLE “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Vil 

You felt the claws dig deeper into your skin, as he mumbled sweet nothings in your ears.. he looked odd, different. Vil embraced you tighter, needing to feel all of you—too feel your skin, on his own. He smelled of poison, a strong one. It was overwhelming and you couldn't help but want to escape his cruel grasp, as you felt those cold claws dig into your raw flesh, easily ripping through your skin. "You aren't leaving, are you?... You won't be leaving, will you.. my beloved apple..?"

— “ ALL HE WANTED “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Azul 

You could feel the tentacles wrap around your leg, pulling you deeper into the waters... back into his crushing embrace, where he refused to let you go. Refuse to allow any form of space, he was suffocating—he knew he was suffocating, he was well aware of how forceful he truly was... yet when you were in his arms, where he could feel you, keep you, call you sweet names, hear your voice, the sound of your breathing—everything... it was all he needed.. all he craved.. all he wanted… 

— “ NEVER-ENDING EMBRACE “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Idia His breathing was heavy, as he pulled you closer into his embrace. You could hear the soft curses coming out from his mouth, as the salty teardrops fell from his eyes. He refused to let you go—it was getting hard to breathe, in his crushing embrace. It's as if he wanted to hold you close, until you melt and mold into him, into an extension of him, and everytime you'd try and escape, he'd only pull you closer, his grip would grow a tad bit harsher as he tightened his hold on you…

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[ashdreams2023]

The prince

Summery: you’re a stark employee with a simple crush on Loki

Loki x fem reader {reader’s last name is Carter}

You’ve worked at the stark tower for over six months now, a desk job, nothing too glamorous, dealing with finances and was basically the only female in your department but you blended in.

And by blended in it meant you didn’t know how to stand out, you wore suits like everyone else, had your hair out of your face and wore your reading glasses for the majority of the time while you work.

Hunched over paperwork with your sleeves rolled up, everyone around you was planning to go drinking after work but you obviously couldn’t join because no matter how much you liked to believe you blend in you were still a woman in a male dominated department.

By the time you were done the whole department was empty, the walk down the hall to leave was quiet, your hair looked a mess and your jacket hanged loosely on your shoulders.

As you reached the elevator a door opened, you glanced briefly towards the door and phased for a good few seconds before looking back straight.

Loki’s tall frame stood beside you waiting for the elevator and all you could do was pretend like you weren’t hearing the sound of your pounding heart in your ear, you’ve always thought Loki was attractive but this was the first time you were this close to him.

You could smell the woody with a hint of lavender smell on him, maybe it was a perfume or were asgardians just born this way?

"To give you some peace of mind I don’t bite" he spoke making you instantly feel humiliated, he noticed how stiff you were.

After swallowing you stared down the floor, his boots looks shiny and they had some sliver lining "I’m sorry…" you mumbled.

Loki sighs and lifts your chin up with his finger, his green eyes scanned your features before wiping away something on your cheek "there an ink stain on your cheek"

You blushed immediately and tried to look for your mirror to check your face, this night couldn’t get anymore embarrassing.

The elevator opened just when you got your mirror out, he stepped in and watched checked your face in the small hand mirror, he smirked faintly before the doors closed and left you waiting once more.

After that night you noticed some things, nothing drastic but for example, the lunchroom trays were fuller than usual, the department didn’t stink of annoying overly strong men’s cologne.

"And everyone should dress accordingly, and I mean It you" your manager pointed at you as he announced the party that would be held in the tower.

For your defense you did try to dress up nice for events but you just…didn’t stand out? You were paid handsomely but you didn’t exactly understand what might suits you best.

Although one thing gave you hope, Loki was coming with his brother this time around, perhaps if you looked decent he’ll start conversation with you.

So that meant using the big guns…pepper.

The woman was fortunately so considerate and sweet, going as far as booking you a hair appointment and directed you to a boutique you could buy something nice from.

You remember seeing yourself for the first time after getting finished and thinking to yourself…"I look quite pretty" it left you feeling lighter, like a butterfly that finally came out of her cocoon.

You didn’t steal everyone’s attention like one of those movies but you indeed got a few smiles from some of the staff, you sat in one of the tables holding a glass of champagne and minding your business when you glanced up and saw him walking towards you.

Your heart skipped a beat at how nice he looked.

Loki the one person you always both admired and envied at the same time for his sense in fashion was smirking gently at you with an extended hand "Care for a dance miss Carter?"

At times like these you remember that Loki was a prince on his planet…surrounded by beautiful princess throwing themselves at him.

But here he was leading you on to a slow song, holding your waist firmly and looking down at you with playfully amusement "I thought this party would be a boring affair much like the ones stark usually hosts, they are just not my taste"

You found your voice shortly after "I…you must miss the parties back at Asgard…must’ve been entertaining there…"

He chuckled "perhaps but back home they don’t have cute little secretaries with ridiculously round glasses"

Loki managed to make you flush and quickly snorted at your resort to hid your face on his chest.

"Now you’re tempting me like this…or are you planning to seduce me with your antics and take me to your bed miss Carter? Is that your evil scheme all along?" He whispered into your ears.

Your fingers stretched on the fabric of his tailored vest "I’m not that bold"

"Are you sure?" He smirked pressing his forehead against yours.

You swallowed with your pupils wide, your body shivered staring back at his intense gaze, holding you firmly and shamelessly in place "if…you say my name…I’m yours to take"

His grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly before his lips moved and the sound of your name echoed in your ear softly like a soft bell in a late summer afternoon.

"Mine" he said.

[piano-hoarder]

Soo I watched Across the Spiderverse for the first time and my art brain made me notice something that I'd like to point out.

Most of you probably noticed how The Spot has lines like a base figure model (which I think is very cool character design):

Especially paired with the literal ink stains that are his portals, he is just a blank sketch, which is very cool.

HOwever, I was considering how all the characters have their own art style/design aesthetic and how that correlates to their universe. And I noticed that Miguel has the same thing:

And yes, most of the characters have lines on their faces which define nose, cheek, and eye shape (look at Miles, Gwen's, Peter's noses, you'll see it). But Miguel's face is just generally more... lined than anyone else's (such as those cheekbones). He has the same sketch-like look to him (though much subtler) as the Spot.

Coincidence? Maybe. I just thought it was interesting, and thought it might indicate some kind of connection between the two characters.

[monstersdownthepath]

Homebrew Horror: The Unnamed

The world hosts all manner of boogeymen and ghost stories, many of which are based on very real entities that prank or prey upon mankind when the sun sets and the lights go out, but few enjoy the obscurity and success of the Thing with No Name. There is perhaps a handful of people in all the world who can claim to have witnessed the nameless horror hunt its prey, and fewer still who are telling the truth about it, as to speak of it to another is to invite it into your life.

The scant scratches of concrete information that can be pieced together all paint a similar picture: It is predator that has haunted thinking beings as far back in history as anyone can look, its methods of hunting and its means of killing leaving precious little evidence behind. What it truly is, where it came from, and why it hunts the way it does are all mysteries which cannot be solved. Rare and esoteric writings which tell of it list numerous titles, all unhelpful; The Thing with No Name, the Stain on the Page (or simply "the Stain"), the Nameless Legend, and simply the Unnamed. It is written that such ambiguous titles are to protect the reader, not the creature, for attempting to affix any more descriptive title to it is the surest way to invite its horrific attention.

The Unnamed is one of several self-keeping secrets in creation, hunting down and annihilating any creature which knows too many details or who becomes too curious of it, for reasons which may never be truly known. For those it hunts, it seems like a nightmare made terribly real in a way few other creatures can match; an unstoppable, inescapable force which will use seemingly any trick to disorient, mislead, and ultimately capture its victim.

Anyone targeted by the Stain can always feel when it's near, and rarely do they ever manage to find help before they're simply never seen again. Witnesses to the scenes rarely speak, and never coherently, never to say what they saw, lest it target them next. Even in scenes where a tremendous struggle obviously took place, investigators struggle to turn up so much as a single drop of blood or scrap of hair of the victim... but sometimes they find something else. A misshapen footprint, a handprint caused by something deeply inhuman, or some strange fluid almost but not quite like blood that causes the mind to reel with a single touch.

Not enough to solve a mystery, just enough to make one curious. Just enough to make one try and wipe away a stain of ink on some dusty old report tucked away in the back of an archive to see what could have been written underneath.

The Unnamed CR 13 Chaotic Evil Medium Aberration (Shapechanger) Init: +8 Senses: Darkvision 60ft, low-light vision, thoughtsense 60ft, blindsight 20ft; Perception +23 Aura: Unwind (30ft, DC 24) ------ Defense ------ AC 29, touch 14, flat-footed 25 (+4 Dex, +15 natural) HP 193 (15d8+105), Regeneration 5 (Cold) Fort +12, Ref +9, Will +14 Defensive Abilities: Amorphous, Unbound, Undone; DR 10/Cold Iron and Lawful; Immune: Charms and compulsions, death effects, poison; Resist: Acid 15, Electricity 15, Fire 15; SR 17 ------ Offense ------ Speed: 50ft, climb 30ft Melee: Bite +17 (1d8+6 plus poison/19-20), slam +15 (1d8+6 plus grab), 3 tentacles +15 (1d4+6 plus pull) Ranged: Bone dart +15/+10/+5 (1d3+6 plus poison/19-20) Space: 5ft, Reach: 5ft (10ft with bite, 20ft with tentacles) Special Attacks: Pull (10ft), rake (Bite +17, 1d8+6 plus poison), Unwind Spell-like Abilities (CL 15, concentration +17) Constant: Freedom of Movement At-will: Dancing Darkness, Ghost Sound (DC 13), Ventriloquism (DC 13) 3/day: Rusting Grasp, Telekinesis (DC 17), Warp Wood 1/day: Knock, Modify Memory (DC 16), Teleport, Traumatic Eyebite (DC 18) ------ Statistics ------ Str 23 Dex 19 Con 25 Int 13 Wis 21 Cha 15 Base Atk: +11; CMB: +16; CMD: 31 Feats Combat Reflexes, Critical Focus, Improved Critical (bite, bone dart), Improved Initiative, Multiattack, Traumatic Spell-like Ability (Eyebite), Sickening Critical Skills Acrobatics +13, Bluff +13, Climb +21, Intimidate +15, Perception +23, Stealth +21, Survival +23 Languages All; language mastery. SQ Change Shape (any past victim; see Uncanny), Compression, Unknown ------ Ecology ------ Environment: Any Organization: Unique Treasure: Standard (taken trophies) ------ Combat: The Stain enjoys toying with its Target out of both sadism and pragmatism, forcing them to make mistakes and expend resources battling shadows and hallucinations. It goes Unseen as long as it is able to, tormenting them with its spell-like abilities to haunt them, destroy or remove light sources, weapons, and escape routes, and make it seem as though it is coming from everywhere at once. It will attempt to hit them with one or several of its bone darts to infuse them with its poison and terrorize them with the hallucinations, but it will try to avoid killing them with its darts (including by making them nonlethal). It will further toy with them with its tentacle attacks from a distance, making them think their hallucinations are real, until eventually wearing them down and closing in to finish them off and consume them. Against a large group of victims, it will attempt to isolate and pick them off one by one after loosening their reasoning with its poisonous aura, stolen voices, and Eyebite. When the mood strikes, it leaves one survivor (never its Target) alive but traumatized and possibly insane, usually using its Modify Memory to erase the majority of the encounter. But never all of it.

Morale: If a group of creatures has no Target among them, the Unnamed will fight only long enough to potentially traumatize one into becoming a Target later, and then flee to let the memories fester. When in a combat involving its Target, the Unnamed will always attempt to kill them, even if its own life is in danger. If its foes prove to be beyond its power, it will still attempt a death or glory attack against its Target. Its own life doesn't matter. It will come back eventually. ------ Special Abilities ------

Unbound (Ex): The Unnamed will not be denied its happiness. It may make an additional saving throw at the end of each of its turns to remove any effect causing any of the following conditions, even if the effect causing the condition does not normally permit a saving throw: blind, confused, dazed, deafened, exhausted, fatigued, nauseated, sickened, slowed, staggered, and stunned. This does not require an action. If it is affected by multiple effects or conditions, it may only make one additional saving throw with this ability each turn.

Uncanny (Ex): The Unnamed can use its Change Shape ability as a full-round action to change into any creature it has ever consumed, but its shape is grotesquely twisted to the point it could not possibly be mistaken for a normal creature. It does not gain any additional abilities, the changes are purely cosmetic. Similarly, though it can speak any language, its voice is completely inhuman and distorted. Creatures under the effects of its poison (see Unwind, below) or who are confused or insane instead see and hear it as if the transformation was flawless. This effect is lost if they are adjacent to it.

Undone (Su): If the Unnamed reduces a Target to 0 HP or lower with its attacks while the Target is both within its reach and suffering from the effects of its poison (see Unwound, below), the Target's body crumbles to a fine dust the Unnamed may inhale as an immediate action or at any point within the next minute as a swift action. When it does so, it regains 4d8+15 hitpoints and may immediately end one condition or effect on itself.

Unknown (Su): Whenever a creature attempts to give a more descriptive title or a name to the Unnamed, or attempts to describe its appearance or abilities in detail to another being, they become a Target. When creature becomes a Target, they are shaken automatically for one round by the sense that they have committed some unfathomable wrong. What "naming/describing the Unnamed" entails will vary at the DMs discretion; it could be as simple as writing details into a document meant to be read by another, speak the details aloud to another, or drawing it, but it must be a willing, conscious attempt to define or describe the Unnamed to another intelligent creature. Creatures defining or describing the Unnamed only for themselves may still become Targets, at the DMs discretion (it often allows these creatures to write just enough to make a potential reader curious, but no more). The Unnamed knows the precise location of all Targets not shielded by divine power, as well as the distance and direction to them relative to itself. Targets become permanently shaken whenever the Unnamed is within 1 mile of them as a sense of impending doom creeps into their minds, and if it is within 100ft, this condition pierces all forms of immunity to fear. All parts of this ability works across all boundaries and through any barrier.

Unseen (Sp/Su): When not being observed by an intelligent creature, the Unnamed may become invisible as a standard action, as per Greater Invisibility, except the effect lasts until an intelligent creature successfully sees the Unnamed through any means (such as if it's outlined through Glitterdust or mundane dust, or viewed through True Seeing), until any creature ends its turn adjacent to the Unnamed (or vice-versa), or until the Unnamed ends the effect itself as an immediate or free action. It can only use its spell-like abilities while invisible using this ability.

Unwind (Ex): The Unnamed produces a powerful, hallucinogenic poison which it delivers with its bite and dart attacks. It may also produce a colorless, odorless version of the poison as an aura that slithers 30ft out from it, affecting all creatures which inhale it, though they gain a +5 circumstance bonus to the save. It may begin producing this aura version of its poison as a full-round action and stop as a move action; its bite and dart attacks do not poison their targets while it's producing the aura, and it can only maintain the aura for a total of 7 rounds a day (they do not have to be consecutive).

--Unwinding Venom: Bite, dart, or aura--injury, contact, or inhaled; save Fort DC 24, frequency 1/round for 5 rounds, effect 1d3 Wis damage plus hallucinations for 1 round (all other creatures have 20% concealment), cure 2 consecutive saves.

[katakosmos]

the rosier family

evan, pandora, félix, amélie, beatrice, alexandre

people who say that the rosier family is french are right, even if they aren't telling the whole truth. because it's true, every rosier child is born in france, in the family mansion in provence, but it is rare for them to grow up in their homeland. the rosiers travel, move, explore. the rosiers are in love with the world.

pandora and evan grew up in london, in the city where their father, alexandre, and their aunts, amélie and druella, moved in their youth. london, where alexandre met beatrice and druella met cygnus. london, where the twins learned to say their first words in two languages.

but before the capital, there was athens, where alexandre, amélie and druella grew up. their parents, passionate about classical culture, had met at university. and before athens, there was munich; and before munich, vienna, rome, st. petersburg, shanghai. different cities, with different names, different traditions, different history. cities that will never forget the name rosier.

those who travel, get married and change their lives. for this reason the pure rosier family is only a small group. alexandre is the pater familias. he developed the same passion for greek, latin and literature as his parents. he's a good man and a loving husband. nice, always ready with a joke and with lots of stories to tell. but, unfortunately, he's a terrible father: strict, even too much. unfair.

then, the twins. strange children, curious but disturbing. physically identical, but temperamentally opposites: one is violent and controlling, the other peaceful and sweet; one is incapable of lying, the other cannot help but do it. they're the precious heirs of the family, powerful and intelligent. pampered and loved, but always kept under control. with no possibility of escape.

beatrice, their mother, a strong and respected woman. she's rarely at home to take care of her children, like everyone expects her to do: she's always needed by someone, always traveling for meetings. her well-ironed, elegant branded clothes always smell of smoke. and when she returns home, smiling even if exhausted, she always has something for her children. a toy, a book, a magazine. she passed on her interest for fashion to evan.

aunt amélie married for love, to a sick man. he was a young frenchman. she, more than anyone, loved provence, so she left london to live in the mansion, where the family returns every summer for the holidays. she's a painter, an artist: she dives into the bottled memories of her family members and experiences their travels, she sees what they have visited with her own eyes. she paints magnificent landscapes. every room in the house is an exhibition of her talent.

and finally felix, amélie's only son, who she loves more than anyone else in the world. felix, sweet to her but wicked to everyone else. he's cruel and ruthless, jealous of the power of the twins (his little cousins), jealous of the attention they receive. there were never sweet words between them, only arguments, opportunities to make fun, humiliate and hurt each other deeply. what they share is only hate, a deep desire for revenge. or, maybe, also love: no one knows the twins better than felix, no one knows felix better than the twins. what they really have is deep connection that they'll never be able to dissolve and forget: this is family.

life never gave evan and pandora the chance to travel, but i think they would have stayed in france, moving to paris or the surroundings. they would have loved spending afternoons at the louvre, walking along the seine, sneaking into their small, squalid and cramped apartment. reading until their eyes burned, answering letters and staining doors with ink. trying to cook and failing. falling asleep on the couch.

they would have loved to live. waking up every morning and seeing the sun, sunrise and sunset, hearing the noise of people coming from the street.

they would have loved to live. together and forever.

[qin-qin16]

SWEET SWEET LOVE

Summary: book tropes with Cross, Error and Ink!

cw.: 0.6 k content: sfw, short headcanons, hurt/comfort, everyone gets a happy ending… unless?, depressive thoughts in Error’s part, but nothing extreme!  note: i really don’t know how to end headcanons, but have fun anyway! Error's part was inspired by this post!

Cross - you fell first, he fell harder + dog poetry

You always compared Cross to a dog, one of those who trust in nothing and no one; 

They bark, they bite, they hurt anyone who crosses their path. No one wants to get close to a dog like that; 

However, you began to see more than just that wild layer that Cross seemed to want to display. Behind all that anger, all that hatred towards everything and everyone, the deep envy of happy worlds, you managed to see the pain, the fear of never being able to live happily again after so many sacrifices; 

And, just like a dog, Cross just needed to learn to trust again, and of course, you were willing to be the one to teach him; 

Both of you had to be patient—and you also had to be very understanding during Cross's outbursts of feelings or the moments when he wanted to be alone; 

It wasn't easy, but God, how worth it it was after all this time; 

As you like to say: you fell in love first, but Cross fell harder in love; 

It was like having a poorly trained guard dog: he would do anything to protect you. Bites, growls, endless fights if it meant your safety; 

He wouldn't lose you, not like he lost everyone else; 

And if not losing you meant acting like a dog, he would act.

Error - Soulmates + second chance 

Before Error became, well, Error, you knew him as Sans; 

Souls intertwined across different multiverses, but after a long time, they managed to find each other again — even after Sans' death and his afterlife state (Geno); 

For a long time, you lived like this: a love between a ghost and a living, souls that should not have been separated by death; 

However, something changed. Overnight, he simply disappeared; 

No more gentle touches, no more whispered promises before sleep, no more starry nights where only the two of you were witnesses to your love; 

Any mere memory of him was like digging a hole deeper and deeper, a hole that, no matter how much you dug, seemed to have no end; 

So, was this what it was like to lose a soulmate? 

But even as this emptiness consumed you more and more, something deep within your SOUL would not let you give up, an unknown determination that refused to let you believe Sans had vanished forever; 

And your SOUL was right... well, partly right; 

Sans was indeed alive, but no longer as Sans; 

Again, something happened, and now you found yourself facing Error who, with great insistence, claims to be your former boyfriend; 

And even though your SOUL was telling you that yes, that was the Sans you knew, are you willing to give it a second chance? 

Whether he knows your answer or not, Error would not lose you again.

Ink - Enemies to friends 

Your first impression of Ink was far from pleasant; 

The disgust you felt for him at the moment was only surpassed by anger when he vomited black ink on your new shoes — and to top it off, he barely apologized, just turned and vanished behind another ink stain; 

Obviously, a presence as striking as Ink's wouldn't be easily forgotten by you, and sure enough, when he appeared in front of you again, you wanted to make him eat those same shoes (now permanently stained with ink); 

But to your surprise, he had returned to learn more about your universe (something he would explain much later what it meant); 

As much as you detested the idea of serving as a tour guide for someone like him, an airhead who had no consideration for anyone, you went along with it. After all, the sooner you started explaining how your universe worked, the sooner he would leave;

Through ups and downs, you ended up softening your heart towards Ink. Even though his lack of personal space sometimes irritated you, you could see a certain fascination in him every time he talked about universes and art, and whether you liked it or not, you also felt sorry for him for not having a soul; 

And like a great (new) friend, he even promised to take you to other universes to explore and have fun — what could possibly go wrong?

[its-dari]

The Loving Hands of God

Creator AU - Where the reader is treated like a diety by the characters of Genshin Impact

Pairing(s): None || PLATONIC: Son! Wanderer & Parental! Gender Neutral! Creator! Reader Summary: He is reminded everyday that you chose him. But some days are harder than others; and he's grateful to have you sweep the cloudy skies away.

A/N: I don't really play Genshin but here we are, I'm just getting out my ideas - don't mind me.

This Wanderer is named "Kaito(神愛)", with the characters written for "god" and "love". I thought it could be cute to kind of give a call back to his origin but something also to remind him of how far he's come. He also calls the reader "Oya", which is the best thing I could get to a gender neutral Japanese term for mother or father.

I won't be taking requests! This is most likely a one time thing. This is also inspired by "this lovely piece" by @dropletpetals

(Extra Miscellaneous HCs: "The Son of Graces")

Warning(s): Wanderer backstory spoilers! Some revenge. This was written on my phone so forgive any errors.

Over grassy, rolling knolls - filled to the brim with blooming flowers in his favorite colors and breeds. Even under the loving warmth of sun on his cheeks and clouds turning themselves into the childish shapes of his desire. Even as the song on the winds speak his new name into his ears, the bonfires below burning it up so it reached the heavens. to the voices of acolytes proclaiming it so...

He was worried.

Worried and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He was unwanted everywhere else.

By his mother, who made him a puppet - who left him with no identity or name

By the Fatui, who deemed him unworthy.

So when it came to be; the Creator's return to the mortal plane...

When he'd come to demand answers, angry about simply existing.

Your voice so gentle and warm, apologizing that you were not there to help him when he called to your name in begs and prayers. When the world you made and hurt him so much and how sorry you were that it treated him so cruelly... He felt the sincerity pouring through every pore, it washed over him - like a blanket.

You understood his pain.

He found that you had long since been asleep, since the dawn of the Archonic creation. Even the small bit of divinity used to create each drained your body, already tired from forming Teyvat with your hands. So you could not know of the acts being committed in your name, what those of your own blood were doing.

"If I had known one of mine created their own, I would have cherished them like I did them." You said with a softness only rivaled by your hands.

He had fallen to his knees, unable to stand after the crushing weight of pain fell upon him. You were not completely blameless...

But you did not lie to him.

Did not abandon him.

You stayed until the tears dried up, stroking his sore eyes.

"So now that I know she did not love you like you deserve... You are mine now." He nearly fell again, but your embrace held him up. "You will be my son... And I will give you everything."

How it was so warm and loving, arms cradling him as if he were nothing more than a babe. His hands white-knuckling at your divine robes as he just sniveled into your chest, no doubt covering them in his snot and tears... But you didn't care, cooing sweetly to the boy about how he's already made you proud. How you already loved him.

He nearly cried again when you gave him his name.

"You will be my son, so your name will have our title."

You pondered about it for a while before having a servant fetched ink and parchment. It was a bit unusual, seeing you hold the calligraphy brush. Seeing the ink touching the edges if your sleeves and staining them, but you just smile so brightly when it is finished.

「神愛」

He longed for a place to belong, for an identity... For someone or something to give him worth.

You have given him all these things.

He was uncomfortable at first having it, as it was blatantly a reminder of his lineage. of the woman who abandoned him... Of beelzebul.

But you only smiled.

"It is to remind everyone where you started," your hands come to guide him "and how far you've come."

"The character for god, so you always remember me and so I am always with you." You hummed a lullby as the strokes appeared across the parchment. "And the character for love so you know how much I have for you."

He smudges ink on his robes too, unable to stop smiling as his whispered his name to himself.

Kaito was the name on the tongues of the acolytes once his adoption was raised outside your walls domain. Call of festivals was announced to welcome him into the fold, into the public, as the beloved son of Teyvat's dear Creator soon to be celebrated as well.

For if he was worthy in the eyes of the Creator; he should also be worshipped.

He laughed at Beelzebul's frantic correspondence sent to you; of which descended into begging for at least a letter to be sent... You had found yourself simply unable to deal with her after finding out what she'd done to him, decidedly icing her out on his behalf.

It was a wonderful feeling being loved, as sweet as it would be showing her what had become of her puppet.

He allowed an invitation to his coronation be sent to her, despite your worries about his mental health.

"Are you sure you want to see her, dear? it'd be so dreadful if she ruined your special day." You asked him gently, your concern making his cold heart swell.

"I will be fine," he insisted as you settle another crown to test on his head, amused "it will show her what she missed and how much it cost her."

You laughed at the cruelty but don't otherwise protest.

You didn't find a crown suited to him that day, though you thanked the providers. The items were returned and shop-keeps were able to keep them as they were considered beautiful pieces by the creator.

The day came and he still did not have a crown.

But he trusted you to find one, as you insisted it would be only appropriate as he was your son.

The day had come quicker than he would have liked, how he was primped and cleansed - donning the celestial robes of the creator.

Of you, his darling guardian.

They were deep violet, small pearlescent spots likes stars crawling up the gold trimmed edges. His under clothes blacker than the abyss, the servants in awe of his beauty. Leaving him bashfully flushing and modestly brushing off their assorted compliments. He dripped in opulence, gold pieces to accent his looks as the crackle of blessing came from the Gnosis you made personally for him.

As he finally was ready, he wondered if he was worthy.

Your eyes sparkled like gems when you saw him, taking him in your open arms and bursting in joy. Happy to see him looking so handsome and playfully crooning about his future partner in a manner that made him absolutely red in embarrassment.

You only laughed and softly spoke, "Come baby, there is a whole world to show that you are worthy of worship."

His hand was clasped in your's, the walk slow and almost agonizing. The chattering of people growing less distant with the passing moments, his hands shake and he needed a second as you stepped onto the balcony first.

The cheers of Teyvat boomed like a sonic roar, your hymns and prayers called to the wind as the ground and skies bellowed your name. He is terrified....

But he is ready.

You lifted your hands for silence, still smiling as bright and as warm as the sun. The hush that came was nearly instant, eager faces peering up in utter reverence. Archons on high waiting to hear your lovely voice.

"My dear creations, Teyvat.... As you have heard, I have found a son." The cheers from below just made you smile wider "It is much more than just finding someone worthy to hold my place and succeed me, it is because I love this boy... Love him so dearly that I wanted him as my own, he deserves your worship. Deserves to be loved as much as I. He'd gone through much pain and it broke my heart to know that this world that I made treats its kind people with such cruelty."

Your eyes watered when the people join together, holding hands and each other.

"If I could take all the suffering, I would... But feeling and understanding pain is what shows we are alive, that we are stronger for persevering." your voice shook, "And my poor boy had been through so much."

Your hands wipe your eyes and they watch, captivated at your grace and beauty - even in your sorrow. But then you give them a smile again and step aside, calling to the masses in pride that is so reminiscent of a parent.

"I, the All-Creator, Jewel of Celestia, have the greatest pleasure to present to you; your prince and my son..." The curtains pull back and he walked onto the balcony, beams of light shining off his hair and deep eyes. "Young lord Kaito of Teyvat!!!"

The screams would be deafening if you both weren't so high up, the chants of his new name louder than he can even think. The shouts of praise nearly make him shrink, but he stood tall. Especially as your hand touched his back, as your smiling face came into his peripheral. With his head up, he looked at them dead on and waved.

He smiled.

Especially as his sharp eyes caught Beelzebul's pale, shocked face. but the fuzzy warmth in his chest only grew as your fingers touched the top of his head.

From your touch, your grace washed over him. The weight of a diadem formed on his head. The Gnosis on his chest buzzed to life and his body rolled in a brightness rivaled only by the stars, from his skin to his blood - it was if he was charged with energy. A power that was unlike anything else he'd ever had.

"Divinity suits you, Kaito." You hummed, taking his hand.

Kaito smiled shyly and just squeezed your hand and whispered, "Only because I take after you, Oya."

At your side, he finally has a place.

He finally has his rightful godly status.

As he looked to see pride in your glittering tears and smile nearly blinding... A peace like no other settled within him.

He belongs.

He is worthy.

[dimepdf]

★  𝐈𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒, 𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. + 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. your small town was known to those who carried money in their pockets, especially attention-grabbing men like Miguel, who needed a place to stay in town for the night. luckily, your hostel-owning cousin is willing to make just the perfect bargain for the traveler.

─── ☆ notes. oh brother here we go again. | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 4k (30 minute read)

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | medieval au | warrior!Miguel | servant!reader | one night stand | strangers to lovers | brief plot | pwp | love motel | size difference | height difference | size kink | body worship | degradation kink | name calling | eye contact | cream pie | marking | biting | rough sex | hair pulling | strength kink | we ignore typos here | song title Inspo

THE POPULATED TOWN of Edgewater was a place you called home. It was strange when it came to its fair share of travelers, from coin-hungry merchants to empty welding warriors and the cobbled roads that stretched from land to the seashore.

Edgewater was known for its lively community, always something happening from dusk till dawn, the moon only encouraging those of the night to linger on.

Most would call it anarchy. You would call it a pisspot full of people who didn't know what else to do with their lives, so all they could do was drink. 

Your uncle, who had owned one of the town's most sought-after local love hostels, catered to the sleazy travelers that would stumble their way into the heart of the town with more coin than they knew what to do with, calling the grotty drunken things that would come through looking for an easy way to settle their darkest desire good for business. 

Your uncle, who wasn't actually your uncle but had been the closest thing you unfortunately considered family since the day you could first remember, had always been guided towards the promise of good wealth. He was a grimy older man you had been stuck with since he had first adopted you after your mother's unfortunate passing. She had been one of his workers who had collected more debt than the men she would have ever bedded combined.

Debt that had been carried on down like a tragic legacy, leaving you shackled as the one and only handmaiden forced to clean whatever was leftover from the men you would envy as they had the ability to actually leave. Your forced imprisonment was the main reason why you would snide at every man that would struggle through the front door, drunk fools with not enough coins in their pockets to pay for rent or take care of their families back at home, yet just enough to come to your uncle's love hotel and buy off one of the mistresses to give them a temporary good time.

You thought them to be all the same, balding drunks running away from their lives off with some mistress that falsely tolerated the disappointment that they used to think with between their legs for the coins in their pockets. You couldn't blame them for their jobs. In fact, you preferred to be the one scrubbing the aftermath, then bed with some of the toothless, grimy slobs considered customers your uncle would welcome as if they were his old friends.

You would even consider the fact of having some sort of liking for your job. Being considered a lowly maid came with its rare but useful perks. Other than not being a lady of the night because you were too busy wiping the stained cum from sheets, you were allowed to dawn more comfy drapes, allowed to eat whatever you pleased without your uncle chastising you about your weight since your body wasn't his to display, and lastly, the best part of it all: the eavesdropping.

The town was big with gossip, word to mouth was how normally word would spread throughout businesses and homes faster than the ink would dry from the papers being passed out. Since you were the only real task hand in the love hostile most upkeep jobs besides cleaning were included in your wages. During afternoon runs through the market, you oh so loved to keep an ear out for bickering couples, big-mouthed children, or even merchants that would slip their tongues of secrets. 

Said way was also how you caught word of an interesting wanderer that had stepped foot on the town's soil. With whispers of a dark-skinned, broadening warrior that stood out from the rest, hipping an iron sword and battle scars, you heard word that he was merking somewhere around for a place to rest for the day, along with some supply trading.

Your brow almost raises at the mention of places to stay the night. Edgewater was a place where you could murder someone and then sell the clothes off their back for a nice dime, not necessarily the place you could go trusting just about anyone to stay the night, especially if you were lugging around the type of gear the merchants already had as big as the target on your back as this guy did.

This is why you were surprised later in the night to see two men ram their way through the front door of the building. You were working on sweeping some of the dust from the wooden floorboards near the entrance, almost flinching out of your own skin as the doors slammed open. You quickly collected yourself, holding back from muttering something rude under your breath instead of turning to greet the guest.

An older man, who you had assumed to be the cause of the door hinges being in their last life, stumbled in and almost slumped over if it weren't for the man beside him carrying his drunken dead weight as he rambled on and on to the other man he leaned against about how great this hostile was for the eye candy and how he whiffed on and on about how he could get them both discounted personal rooms just to prove his point. The other man made you halt in greeting, almost choking on your words as you took in his appearance.

You were starting to understand how he had managed to grab the town's attention now that you were able to see him with your own eyes. He was a much taller man compared to the other, you only assumed he'd be taller in his own height if it weren't for his hunched structure, practically lugging a grown man on his left shoulder. He had been a fit fighter for the warrior description, with his broadened shoulder and the peak of muscles from his sleeve being yanked up as the dark curtain of hair that shields most of his face from where you stood. Though his clothes were tatted and worn-looking, on his hip was sheathed a sword.

His presence alone would suffocate you alone if it weren't for the awkward situation of him babysitting some bubbling idiot. It only took seconds for your uncle to come budging in, greeting the two and settling them into separate rooms. He had managed to even squeeze a little more coin out of the newcomer, your uncle offering him a place for the entire night since he heard he had nowhere to stay "out of the kindness of his heart." You almost snorted at his fancy act of knocking up the prices and throwing in packages that didn't exist to the poor mystery tourist.

Since the unnamed stranger's arrival, the powder room has erupted into a fit of frenzy. You hadn't seen this many of the women chatter about being excited and happy since a few years back when a strangler of men came back to town with their hunt earnings and decided to make the poor decision of blowing all their newly earned money in one night.

It was sad to say that the excitement would slowly die out more and more as the night progressed. Even though who you considered the most stunning women to come back with pouty faces and empty pockets cussing the new handsome-faced fellow's name under their breaths, the man had managed to do his rounds of rejecting just about every working lady in the hostile, much to your uncle's dismay, who at first just waved his dismissal off as him being just being another picky man with a type.

Your uncle wanted to charge him for more than just the bed he had offered him, yet no matter how many times he would send a new girl to his doorstep, the man had gotten to the point of annoyance where he wouldn't even bother to have the courtesy of not slamming the door closed in their face before they could utter a word. Unfortunately, due to their demise for failed flirting, you were the very last option at your uncle's attempt at ringing money out of the warrior's pockets. You put up a quiet fight, making every excuse under the sun until your uncle flat out struck you across the face and spat that he would threaten to stop giving you pay and instead add the wages you've collected to the long list of debts you were trying to pay off.

The threat was enough to have you taking your sweet old time, shuffling your feet against the floorboards, making your way down to the stranger's door, your hands tracing over the soft throb of the cut he had lifted, marked in a scratch from the backhand of one of his rings. You hadn't even bothered changing out of the clothes you had been working in all day. Instead of protesting with what was left of your pride in your hands, you held some spare straw pillows that your uncle gave you to use as some sort of excuse to coax you into at least opening the door.

You lightly tapped your knuckle against the wood for a moment before you knocked once more with just a bit more force, "Excuse me, sir." You hadn't even finished your sentence before the door creaked wide open.

By the slight raise of his brow, you guessed that he too wasn't expecting to see that you were the one behind the intrusion. Your words shriveled down your throat at the towering sight of him. Now standing tall in his full glory, his height almost reached up to the top of the door if he hadn't been using the frame to slouch against, very shirtless.

You took a step back out of instinct, taking in his muscled torso, bared with scars and marks you could only imagine the battle he earned them from. In Between the distance that parted you two was another beat of silence, his as he stared down at you, his features now plastered with what you could only assume was boredom as you gaped up at him, your mouth parting like you were some type of fish as your brain struggled to form the words you wanted to come from your throat.

"Uh, sorry, just—would you mind if I….offered company?" Your voice trembled as you couldn't make the request sound more awkward, forcing the strength surging through your veins to hold you upright as his eyes shamelessly traveled down your body as if you were some sort of prey ready to get swallowed up.

"And what company would you ever have to possibly offer me?" An annoyed grimace soon followed as he spoke, making it difficult for you to even process if the question was supposed to be insulting.

"I offer an exchange. You take these pillows and let me hide out in your room—at least until you leave, so my uncle stays off both of our backs." In the offer, you lifted the pillows towards him, watching as he scanned them with the same expression of boredom as if you were offering him vegetable soup.

"I should mention that if you do not accept, my uncle will be more furious with me than you." Clarifying the stakes you were taking, the beast of a man gave your face a once-over, his expression softening to something that you could only guess was a pity as a sigh parted his lips, gesturing you inside with a careless limp wave. He had not bothered moving over, only raising his arm to let you walk under and into the room before closing the door and making his way to the bed.

You could only watch, standing close to the other corner of the room, as he slouched, sitting against the headboard almost too comfortably against the creaking wooden mattress to what you assume he continued his interrupted task of sharpening his sword. 

The room, besides the moonlight that leaked onto the floor from the open curtains. Had the room been poorly lit, a light orange from the oil lamp that sat on the crate-made nightstand illuminated the man's figure and sword dangerously. The light kissed his muscles and tanned auburn features, basking in the handsome aura that he was intertwined with, reminding you of the portraits you would see strung up in royal galleries of oil-painted men ascending from the parted clouds.

Your staring had not gone unnoticed. The man's dark eyes flitted over to you, gazing upon all the scabbed, light scars that riddled up from his torso to his face as if they were tattoos. "Could you at least give me your name before undressing me so unkindly with your perverted eyes?" he offered out another vague-sounding insult, dipping his sword back into its sleeve as he reverted his attention to you. The raising of his thick brow was the demise of any offense you could have possibly reacted with. You spoke your name softly, almost as if you were in the blink of forgetfulness, falling under whatever spell came with him bearing his charming canines.

"And I, Miguel," he returned, easing back his shoulders slightly, bowing his head, and reaching his arms out for you in a small polite greeting, which you could only assume to be considered manners outside of your town. Your steps were skittish, pausing for a moment before your legs processed the placement that you stood away from had to be closed for you to shake his hand. You had practically wisped across the room with the light of your feet as your hand ghosted close to his.

He took the first step in closing the distance, reaching for your hand and pressing the back of your palm against his lips. To say that the gestures had not stirred something inside of you would be a deep lie as you caught your eyes following his mouth. Your hand flinched under his gentle hold, molding against the callus of his fingers before you had even realized it. Your fingers brushed up against the scar that stretched against the end of his brow.

Miguel yanked back in a wince as your breath hitched, his brows knitted together, and a large hand fisted around the bend of your wrist, yet his hard stare never left the same mouth your fingers had just rudely traced over. "Just what is going on in that perverted mind of yours?" His tone held a strong accent that made every word sound condescending yet more gentle than the last time he spoke, his grasp planting you just beside the bed between his legs. 

You wanted to call him out on his insulting accusation. If it had been any other man on the street, you probably would've given him an earful by now, yet there was just something so alluring about Miguel that left the bend of your knees threatening to wobble as he glanced up at you with his dark, intimidating eyes. "I bet you're not even going to apologize. How rude."

Your own lips parted in hopes of a response, yet shut quickly as his hand interpreted you once more, guiding your hand by the hold on your wrist back to his face and letting your palm rest against the curve of his cheek. Your fingers dance against all the small scabs and smudges he had yet to clean from his face, almost as if he were caressing himself with your own hand. You didn't bother pulling away, letting his warmth dance under your palm at his grasp. Your thumb graced under the most prominent scar caught close to the side of his lip, tracing the mark and pausing at just the underside of his mouth.

The very inmate exchange had opened a portal of doors for your hands to explore the curious marks on his body, from dark specks of moles scattered against his brown skin as if they were constellations to the ugly scabs dug on top of his abs from wounds that healed over from his troubled past. Spread against his skin were stories and experiences, all of which you could never imagine from the bubble of your small rural village.

Miguel let your curious fingers wander on their own, the palms of his hands coaxing around your hips and guiding you into his lap. Not once did you break contact with the light gleam in his dark eyes, not even when you realized that you were practically straddling yourself over just one of his spread-tensed, muscly thighs.

There was no point in squirming away. You had no desire to lean back now, no want to back now, backing away from the control of his cosset, instead melting into the warmth that engulfed under his touch until you were supporting yourself up by the brace of your swung arm around his neck to stabilize yourself.

All senses are overcome with sheer curiosity, with your fingers tracing every ridge and mottle, following the rise and fall of his bare chest. There grew a stained festering of want, a need now revealing its restlessness growing tight within you, so much so that your initial fear was soon drowned out by the heat shifting within your core.

Miguel did just about everything, yet so little to entertain your touch, letting your eyes swallow him whole, knowing just what he was doing and pressing just the right amount of pressure into his fingertips that held around your waist. 

His expression had shifted from that bored and somewhat tired look to something more heavy that you could not quite decipher in the low light. You would have been mistaken for thinking that he hadn't had any interest in the fact that you were sitting in his lap if it weren't for the faint throbbing reaction you felt pressing against your thigh.

You were all for self-respect and protecting your dignity, but you just couldn't help but yank that fucking bar down to the dirt and throw yourself at him. If anything, it was more of a freefall you took, leaning in and pressing your lips against your body to cut through the thick tension.

It was your nervousness fading at the sooth of his hands, bringing you in closer by the waist, your back arching to press closer to his chest. His kisses were as rough as you thought they would be, from everywhere his lips grazed, from your mouth to the curve of your collarbones. They left your nerves jolting at the brush of his sharp canines brushing against a sensitive spot close to your jugular.

The whiny small pleads of encouragement were all that could part from your kissed lips, his hands unknotting from the hold on your hips to slowly undoing the buttons to your nightgown, exposing more of your skin for him to assault, his hands cupping your breast through the cotton fabric, groping and suckling at your budded nipples through the fabric of your arching body with a drooling obsession.

With your eyes fluttering shut and head tilted back, drowning in pleasure, already putty under his touch, it was easy for him to lay your limp figure down against the uncomfortable hay-stuffed mattress your uncle would be too cheap to call a bed.

Hiking your thigh over his shoulder with a quick yank, his clean-shaven face smooth against your spread thighs, burying himself between your legs. The ghost of the ghost wanting to admit to it being your first time caught in your throat, cutting through the thick cloud of your worries and insecurities. The moment he brought his mouth close to your mount, his tongue was practically savage against your poor clit. 

The vibration of his grunts as your nails knotted around a handful of the hair that curled around the nape of his neck, shifting your hips against the rhyme of the roll warmth of his tongue. A sigh was launched down your throat the moment his thick dark lashes fluttered open, instantly latching onto your gaze, a shiver running down your spine at the lewd scene of the man between your legs desiring your pussy with his mouth.

In the back of your mind, you found it ironic how you were practically close to screaming out Miguel's name as if it were a praying plea for your life, yet in an earlier time in your life, you would always look on in disgust at the moans that would leak through from rooms your coworkers serviced, swearing to yourself that you would never find yourself behind those same doors, yet there you were climaxing under a handsome stranger's tongue as he lapped your twitching cunt through the hard ripple of your orgasm.

His lips tasted like you. 

That was the first sense that welcomed you back down from whichever cloud you were floating on. Miguel's tongue invaded your mouth, and swallowing whatever breath you tried to pant out, the struggling continued. He pressed your thighs apart enough to slot himself in between them as a tensed string itched in your lower thigh muscles, your legs trembling under his fingers.

The head of his cock was intrusive and rude, to say the least, bumping his girthy length against you, shamelessly shifting his hips, covering himself in the wetness of your legs, kissing back every whimper that came up your throat at his fat tip, threatening to breach between your lower lips without any proper hopes of a graceful welcome.

The stretch of his fat tip parting you open left a cry falling from you as Miguel grunted into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath against your sweat-clad skin. Your back arched up against his broad chest as the lewd size of his cock overtook the rest of the sense you had left within your fogged spirit, his dawning pace merciful with experimentally slow strokes deep enough to make your toes curl against the scratchy duvet bedding to a rough pistoning rhythm against your core.

Your fingers clamping tight into the straw pillow at the all too familiar tensing knot forming in your stomach, begging with each harsh thrust, you let outpaced, panting, punched-out moans, following the lead of Miguel's hips, who barreled through your tight cunt as your second orgasm rudely yanked you back to bliss. Your body trembled from exhaustion under Miguel's unsetting ramming hips. The minutes flew by as your brain struggled to do anything but cry out unfinished sentences leading with his name.

Using your noises of encouragement, Miguel chased after his own pleasures, slowly drifting into a less rhythmic pace. His hips buried themselves as he rutted deep inside of you, filling you to the brim with his size, snug enough to twitch his cum into where he lay with one last low, strung-out, stuttering groan.

With each other's hearts hammering, you and Miguel fell fatigued against one another, welcoming the slug of his weight as a comforting weighted blanket, neither bothering to curl away from the other nor making any effort to pull himself out, instead using the strength that you deemed to be infinity for him to reposition you on top.

His arm wrapping around the lower part of your torso and nuzzling his chin against you with a tired breath, more than content with spending the night in his room, knowing that your wobbling legs would betray you the moment you stood on your own, closing your eyes and slumbering against his chest in comfort.

Maybe that was why you shifted away with an aching start, the bruising mark littered across your skin a shade of a hinting purple and red, as well as the mess between your legs painted as a lone reminder of the acts you had committed last night. Miguel had apparently gone after sunrise, leaving the spot in which he lay empty with a stricken feeling in your chest and a defeated spirit after hearing your uncle congratulate you for milking enough money out of the visitor to pay off all of your debt completely.

★  @xylianasblog / @knightlythoughts4 / @tanith13 /@niyizh /@maki-z / @inspace1 / @marzipaanz / @inumakiiz / @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom / @adonis-is-dead-lmaoo / @dressycobra7 / @pondering-peach / @foxymask001 / @haitaniwhor3 / @creamyarishi / @iheartlinds

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[depresssant]

don't get me wrong, guys, i would DIE for satosugu, but i just had to do this

title : and i love you, darling

synopsis : but for now, satoru would run, and you would have no legs to chase after him.

aristocrat!gojo x writer!reader

〉❈〈

empty.

again.

you placed the quill gently on the stack of paper and leaned your head against the wall to let out a sigh. thunder rumbled and lightning lit up the dark sky as the rain that pattered a familiar tune on your window reminded you of why you felt this why⏤why you were this way.

there was nothing left.

he was once gone.

he was at the far end, but you had no legs.

he was on the edge, but you had no hand to reach out through.

he was too far away, and you were too close.

you expected it. it didn't hurt any less. what could you do except watch from the sidelines as you had always done? you had no mind to speak and no heart to feel. he would always run, and you would chase, but this? this was different. his laugh couldn't pull you out of the void you were slowly falling into if it was the one thing pushing you into it.

damn it, this hurt so damn much.

"[name]? [nameeeeeee]!"

...

"yeah?"

"you're being so quiet!" he whined. "and you're not listening to me!"

"i was."

"no, you weren't! anyways. back to what i was saying. suguru and i..."

he rambled off, and the thunder shook louder in your ears. it was always suguru. suguru this, suguru that⏤why couldn't it ever be [name]?

...

he didn't want it to be.

geto and satoru were made for each other like the sun and the moon and the night and day. you were just... dawn and dusk⏤all by yourself either longing for the sun or leaving it. geto was never seen with ink-stained fingers, geto was never seen messy and unkempt. he was perfect.

and perfect belonged with perfect.

as much as it hurt.

"[name]? look, is something wrong?"

everything was wrong. life was unfair. your heart was just so cruel.

"no. everything is alright. i'm just trying to get into the mood."

a teasing grin painted lips that you so desperately wished to kiss. "mood for what?"

"a short story i'm writing."

"tell me about it!" he demanded with a glimmer in his eyes as he sprawled over your bed. those eyes drew you in like a moth to a flame. those eyes had you drowning in an ocean you wished to never return to. those eyes... could never look at you the way you looked at them.

you grabbed your quill and dipped it in ink before scribbling away at the paper. "this woman is in love with a man she can't have. she has to learn to forgo her love as a disease slowly kills her. and besides! i can't write anything without understanding it, so i'm trying to act all sad and mopey."

satoru chuckled and grabbed one of your little decorations from off the table and began to tinker around with it. his hair was a fluffy mess as pink dusted his cheeks⏤an effect of the alcohol. earlier, he had hurled to his stomach's content, and you were there for him every second along the way. even in his formal outfit for that ball, he still looked so ethereal, like an angel too great for any other being.

that ball⏤the same one in which he had confessed his love to geto.

the scent of flowers evaded your noses, but you took in a deep breath so that your coughing wouldn't storm in to interrupt the serene moment. maybe you were just delusional. yet, the idea of geto not sharing something like this made your greedy heart twist in satisfaction. he would never see satoru from the eyes of yours. no matter how hard he tried, he would never love him like you could, and that was something you'd let yourself keep for once. 

to be there throughout his entire life, joining him through the ups and downs, comforting and supporting him, knowing him better than anyone else, seeing him for than what he thought he was⏤that was what a soulmate did! not a lover!

"you know... he said he loved me back!"

...

but you were't his soulmate. gosh, the ways in which he talked to you made you wishing you were gone. you'd rather die than witness the man who owned your heart like it was a meager coin toss it away for gold.

a chuckle escaped your lips, and you looked down at him. "really?... really."

satoru rose abruptly, and his smile widened as his pace quickened with each word. "i pulled him to the side because i couldn't stand to see him dancing with a woman! we were on the balcony, and the sky was all pretty cloudy, and it was kind of sprinkling, but i didn't care! i HAD to tell him because i just couldn't hold back how i felt! i was even a little angry that he never noticed the way i cared for him⏤the way i loved him! i told him i was there for him all along, but he never noticed me in that way. geto was all grouchy, yet he quite actually lost his composure with every word i spoke, and then he shouted 'i love you' completely out of the blue! can you believe it?"

"i can't."

"and then we paused, and i grabbed his collar and kissed him. i kissed him! and then... i don't know, i just ran."

he spoke about geto like he loved him. he did. he genuinely smiled at the mere thought of him. satoru really was in love with geto suguru. all of a sudden, the sound of knocking interrupted your discussion. three quick knocks followed by a pause and a fourth knock.

your heart sank and satoru's rose.

he stood up excitedly, pulling you up with him by arm.

never hand.

he rushed for the door like he couldn't bare to spend another second alive if it wasn't with geto, and that distinct scent of flowers felt like vines wrapping tightly around your throat, leaving you speechless.

'no! i want you! i want you so dearly i would die if you left me!'

"suguru! What are you doing here?"

"to steal you away?"

'don't go, damn it! please, don't go!'

"would you be okay with that, [name]⏤if i took him?"

'no... no.'

"hah, of course. take your future husband, and don't bring him back."

"[name]! if you stay stuff like that, i never will come back!"

"i... hah! that's a dream i wish to become a reality."

he would come back, and that was the part that hurt most. satoru would lay in arms⏤arms of a coveted life, and you would lay in flowers⏤flowers of a discarded coffin.

but for now, satoru would run, and you would have no legs to chase after him.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Ink and Magic - The Rose-Red Tyrant

Author Notes: So this is a sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath. I've been considering, for quite some time now, why the Prefect (reader) gets to see what amounts to the overblot victims memories and hear what seems to be their thoughts regarding said memories. So I guess you could say this is a kind of headcanon for what happens in those moments. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 1: The Rose-Red Tyrant!!

[Heartslabyul: You're Here!] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle] [Scarabia] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia: To be released]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Heartslabul overblot.

Word Count: 2311

The ground was a brutal red. Covered in crushed and bruised rose petals that mixed with dark ink and made everything slippery. 

All I could hear were the screams and shouts from those nearby, but rather than fleeing or continuing to shout directions and warnings until my voice was hoarse, I stood silently. Watching in quiet horror as Riddle stumbled, reeling from the magical attacks he’d just received from his fellow dorm-mates. 

His once soft gray eyes were a violent red and wide open as he stared at me with an expression that spoke of shock. Like his entire world had just come crashing down like a house of cards around him.

He was no longer a form of horror, as the monstrosity behind him collapsed in a flood of ink that spread across the already-soaked ground. 

Instead, Riddle now looked pitiful. Like a lost child. He was trembling all over, but he’d at long last stopped attacking, and I honestly wondered if he’d simply run out of steam.

But as I looked at him, an unexpected sorrow swelled within my heart and caught me off-guard as the young man looked down at his hands, still blackened with ink stains.

Bitter tears began to fill his red eyes, and his previously loud voice wavered as he began to speak, “I…. I was wrong?! But that’s…. Impossible…..” 

His hands came up to cover his eyes and hide the tears that now threatened to roll down his too-pale face.

 He was no longer a creature perfectly fit for nightmares, and my heart seized painfully at his next words. So soft and broken that they were barely audible, “Isn’t it…Mother?”

 With those words, he gave a shudder and stumbled forward, his hands limply falling away from his face, which was now streaked with ink from his stained hands.

This was a Riddle I’d never seen before. One that was completely different from the mature but tyrannical young man I’d met.

 This was a young boy who was lost, broken, and one that I simply couldn’t abandon in this moment.

I didn’t know if it was instinct or something else, but something drove me forwards. Spurring me into running towards the young man, who had begun to collapse forward. 

My feet slid against the inky but tattered rose petals that littered the ground. Evidence of the horror we’d all just witnessed. The other students' voices followed me as they let out alarmed cries. Ace’s voice was perhaps the most prominent as he shouted my name. 

The panic in his voice almost made me want to stop even as my tired legs continued to carry me forward.

In truth, I had only one thought in my mind: that the young man in front of me, Riddle, didn’t need to be alone. 

It was a truth that was whispered to me from within my own mind. Something I knew as a solid fact even though I had no proof.

I barely even knew Riddle. All I knew of him was tyranny.

But I held out my arms, catching the small young man that I now realized was quite frail despite the immense magical power he possessed.

 He clung desperately to my shirt with trembling hands, and a sob tore its way out of him. I could practically feel the cold ink staining my shirt as it seeped through the thin fabric, and we both sank to the ground. 

He was exhausted, with his head drooping towards me like he could no longer stay awake. And as my knees hit the soggy ground, a wave of fatigue washed over me that promised me peace if I would just let it carry me away. 

I faintly heard my name get called yet again, but it sounded far enough away to be in an entirely other world.

Perhaps it was a voice from my world, trying to call me back home.

But even with that thought in mind, I didn’t respond. Instead, I fell into a darkness that consumed me, and I slumped forward. Still holding the small, broken boy close to me. As if that could bring him the peace he seemed to so desperately need.

But I wasn’t meant to slumber peacefully here, and though the deep darkness of what I thought was deep sleep surrounded me, I was not truly resting.

I looked around in confusion, looking for someone else in this deep darkness. After all, it didn’t feel like I was alone. It felt like I was surrounded in a space that was filled with only myself and one other person.

 It was a strange sensation, one that left me feeling out of my depth as I glanced around in confusion. Finding that here, I was no longer exhausted or sore from the events that had just unfolded in Heartslabyul. 

Like a glitch on a television screen, the blackness flickered, and a hazy scene appeared. That reminded me of an old black-and-white movie recording. 

Even the voices were crackly.

“Happy 8th Birthday Riddle….” I frowned slightly and shook my head, wondering what I was seeing. 

I had to be dreaming, but…. Something about this didn’t feel like a dream. It felt more like I was trying to sift through my memories and was instead being faced with wholly unfamiliar images. 

A large woman stood, smiling down at an adorable red-haired boy whose face I immediately recognized with an alarmed jolt. 

Riddle. Without a doubt, that was the very same young man who’d just attacked me, my friends, and the other members of the Heartslabyul dorm in the midst of what I could only describe as a psychotic break.

I stared in a strange mixture of fascination and confusion at the scene before me as a voice that, unlike the others, was perfectly clear began to narrate the scene that lay before me. Riddle’s voice.

It sounded like he was right next to me, but when I turned, he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I appeared to be alone. 

Alone, but I was wholly surrounded by the scene of what seemed to be his, Riddle’s, childhood.

 “I’d always wanted to try one of those tarts with the bright red strawberries….”

His voice was as solemn as ever as it calmly explained the thoughts and feelings of the child Riddle, who seemed to star in all of these scenes. But the image before me did not stay peaceful, and I soon came to realize a darker truth about what was unfolding in front of me.

I listened and watched with mounting horror as memories from Riddle’s childhood, barren of playing and fun, played in front of me like a film. Every bit of it was narrated by a numb-sounding Riddle himself.

My eyes went wide as a young, brightly smiling Trey flashed in front of me. He was accompanied by another boy, whom I soon realized was that cat-like fellow I’d met in the Heartslabyul maze. Chenya, I believed his name was.

It was then, right after their appearance, that everything truly began to snowball out of control. 

Tiny Riddle finally got to experience the joys of childhood, only to be caught by his mother, who enforced even more rigorous rules on him. And it was painful to see the small child, who would someday become the young man I’d met not too long ago, weep as he was denied some of the most basic aspects of childhood.

I was beyond enraged on behalf of the small child in front of me. But what made it worse was Riddle’s voice, which was still narrating each scene even though tears were slowly beginning to choke off his voice, “But Mom… Why? Why does my heart hurt so much?”

I covered my mouth, as if that could somehow help me cope, as I listened to the young man whom I could hear crying, but I couldn’t see nor comfort.

The scene in front of me slowly faded to black, leaving me only with Riddle’s voice, begging for an explanation as I turned, searching for him in vain. But he was invisible, in this darkness, as he pleaded for an answer to his questions, “Tell me, Mom, please….. What rule do I need to follow to make this pain go away?”

I closed my eyes, shaking my head as if that could somehow help me figure out what to do, and then, like flipping a switch, it all stopped.

I opened my eyes wearily, only to find I’d been crying silently as I‘d held Riddle close to my chest. My cheeks were even still wet, judging from how cold the breeze was on my face.

Riddle himself was still asleep. His expression slowly relaxed from an upset that matched his tear-choked voice, which I’d just been listening to, to a more peaceful one that suited him far better. 

And it was a relief to see him relax after having seen what I’d just witnessed in whatever that dream was.

 One of his hands was still fisted in my shirt as he clung to me like a small child, causing me to smile slightly even as I shifted to better examine him. I froze mid-motion as I heard a sharp inhale from just next to me. It was then that I realized that both me and Riddle were not, in fact, being supported by one another.

Instead, it was the young man who knelt next to us who held us upright with his arms wrapped securely around the two of us in a sort of embrace.

I looked over and made eye contact with warm, honey-colored eyes that stared at me, relief sweeping through them as I managed to croak out the man’s name, “Trey.”

He let out an exhale, a relieved smile appearing on his face as his grip on my arm tightened ever so slightly, almost like he was trying to reassure himself that I really was present and that all was well.

“Thank goodness. You’re back,” His voice was soft, more of a breath than anything, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘back’. 

But I didn’t get to ask, and he didn’t get to continue since I heard three familiar voices both yell the same name at the same time.

“Y/N!” 

I half turned, finding I was still exhausted and slumping against Trey a bit more as I spotted Ace and Deuce both staring at me in wide-eyed relief before they both took off as Cater, who was right behind them, was still turning to look at me. 

The two boys' feet dug into the still-inky ground as they darted towards where I knelt with Trey and Riddle. 

Deuce reached us first, hitting his knees and grasping my arms as he scanned me for injury, “Are you alright?”

His voice was trembling as he questioned me, looking up at me with wide, panicked eyes. His expression was mirrored by Ace, who was desperately asking me what had happened while Cater appeared behind them. Carefully scanning both me and Riddle.

“Hey, hey. You’re crowding them. They only just came too,” Trey’s grip on me shifted in an almost protective fashion as he spoke, and I realized I was still relying heavily on him for support.

Crowley walked up far more slowly than the others, his eyes on me and a frown on his face as he began to open his mouth to say something. 

But before he could speak, one of Riddle’s hands, which had been gripping my arm this entire time, tightened slightly, and he made a mumbling sound.

All eyes darted to the young man, who slowly opened his eyes, once more a soft grey not unlike that of a dove’s feathers, with a groan. 

He looked up, making eye contact with me before looking at Trey and then back at me. 

Cater was saying something to both of us, but I'd tuned it out almost completely as I scanned the boy for any injuries. 

Riddle continued to look up at me with hazy eyes as I carefully scanned his small form, frowning as I noted exactly how exhausted he still looked. 

After a brief moment, though, he pulled away from both me and Trey. Distancing himself as his eyes slowly cleared and the gravity of the entire situation sank in.

From there, the situation devolved fairly quickly, with numerous questions being asked and reconciliations being made. Trey swept in towards the end of things, with Cater by his side like two concerned parents. Demanding that me and Riddle both go to the infirmary for a checkup.

It wasn’t until we were alone in that cold room filled with cots that Riddle made eye contact with me once more, “My… memories. You saw them, didn’t you?”

I was silent for a moment as I recalled those strange scenes in flickering black-and-white before I at last nodded, “Yes, I don’t know what caused it but…. Yes, I believe I did…. I heard you too.”

He nodded, falling silent as we waited for the nurse to enter and give us a clean bill of health. After a few moments, he met my gaze again, “I think we…. Connected for a moment there. I don’t know how, but you saw my memories and heard my thoughts. And I… I felt you there.”

I watched him quietly, not sure of what to say as he fell silent. But I couldn’t blame him. I too wouldn’t know what to say or think if some had seen my memories.

After a moment, though, he looked over at me with a troubled expression before he spoke  quietly, “If I were you, I would tell the Headmaster about this.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say since something told me neither of us knew what this meant for me or him.

[yuri-is-online]

Another Beautiful Day (First Years x Yuu)

(gif taken from google, originally uploaded to tumblr but user apparently deleted)

You have been having strange dreams lately. Every time you go to sleep you se the same set of flashing images, a carriage ride, a crumbling castle under a ink stained sky, ending in the jaws of a monster. The pain you feel from the flames makes you wonder, on nights when you are alone in Ramshackle with Grim, if those dreams are less fiction and more of a memory.

You are not the only one who has those dreams. There's another, laying awake in his bed, hand clutched tightly over his frantically beating heart trying desperately to hold the fraying edges of his sanity together. How many times has he done this? How many times has he tried to hold onto the last fleeting traces of warmth in you with his cold, unworthy hands.

Again. He loves you, that is the one thing that refuses to change no matter how many times the world is reset. He loves you, he has no choice but to try again.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, hurt almost no comfort, borderline yandere behavior. If this made you feel something you can check out the other parts on my masterlist.

Ace

There was, perhaps still is, a pretty viral theory about Ace being a traitor involved in resetting time. While I can't ever see Ace purposefully causing Yuu's death ever, I can see him deciding that if he has to play the villain to get the outcome that he wants, well then, that's just what he's going to have to do. Ace knows how to annoy people, comes with the youngest child territory, more specifically he knows how to annoy you. He can stand having no one if it means everyone's focus is on keeping you safe, it's easier to admit that he loves you when no one's around to hear it. It occurs to you that he might, it even crosses your mind that the strange dreams your time-loop troubled subconscious is so desperate to hang onto, ones where you are with someone you love dearly, could be about him. How else would he know how to push all your buttons, why else does he always know when and where you'll be in trouble. If Ace doesn't love you, why does he know all the things you like about this world before you do? It's a painful thing to be known, even more so if the person who knows you refuses to let themselves be vulnerable with you. The more things change the more they stay the same... huh?

Deuce

Ever watched Tokyo Revenges? I know some of you have, I can see you. Anyway Deuce might not be a crybaby but he is loyal, determined, and stuck on desperately trying to save you. Well not just you, Deuce realizes that Overblot Grim spells doom for a lot more people that just those inside NRC. Sage's island might be remote, but people still live there, if the monster got out who knows what sort of damage it will do? He tries his best to be normal around you, to befriend you and protect you in just the same way he did before, but he's a much more serious and moody person than he was the first loop around. How is he supposed to explain to you he couldn't save you, that he's watched you die countless times and only had ashes to hold and cry over? Not just you either, he's seen Ace and Epel and Jack, hell even Sebek, Die over and over again because he wasn't smart enough to stop it. Ace manages to pick up on something being wrong, and Deuce being Deuce he fails to lie properly, "dragging him into his mess." But he can tell Ace doesn't mind. He takes his impending doom as a challenge, encouraging Deuce to do so as well. He's stupid, he should just give up and let someone smarter save you. But he's your stupid, kind of crybaby hero. He'll save you, just you see.

Jack

Trying to save you is as much an instinct to Jack as it is raw emotion. You are his soulmate, there is nothing casual about his investment in your relationship, nothing short of divine intervention that will keep him from trying to save you. But he will admit he feels rather unprepared for this... development. It's all well and good to say you will break reality before he lets it take you from him, but actually being strong enough to do that? Jack's a good boy, but no matter how smart he is he's a bit of a muscle head. He throws himself into problems fist first, without any back up unless someone yanks him by the scruff and forces him to look at it. Usually that's you, sometimes it's Ruggie or Leona, but in the past it was you. He knows he can't keep himself from you, even if that could make you safer. Unlike the first timeline, he makes sure to introduce himself as early as possible, makes sure to be with you for every overblot. You might find it annoying but he'll push you to train just enough so that you'll have the speed to run when the final monster comes. Maybe this time, he'll be strong enough to kill it before it catches up to you.

Epel

Sleep Kiss cannot put you to sleep forever. Yet. Yes yet, Malleus isn't the only one who thinks letting you nap forever is a good idea. Great minds think alike, and unlike Malleus's, Epel has an added bonus. He can encase you in a glass cage that is literally meant to protect you from anything that wants to hurt you. Not that you would ever expect this plan from Epel. He's cute, kind, non-threatening when you're paying attention, the most you see of his temper as the loops continue is the slightly bratty glare he focuses on pre-overblot housewardens. And the headmage, but hey any anger at him always gets a pass from him. Not that you need to worry about that, once Epel masters his spell you won't have to worry about anything. He does wonder if you'll be able to dream, the first time he cast his spell on you it was like you didn't realize anything had happened at all. Maybe he won't tell you anything, maybe he'll wake you up every once and a while to convince you that you were never asleep at all. But that's not a concern for now, all you need to do is close your eyes and sleep. Sleep and wait for your Prince to return from the war.

Sebek

Following the current timeline, events aside, Sebek is on the outside of your friend group. No one likes him, he can't sit with you. The only real reason Sebek has to pay attention to you is because Malleus does. And he has to admit he doesn't exactly hate what he sees, he just- doesn't want to give credit to a human. When time is re-set though, he goes out of his way to befriend you, convinced he needs to keep an eye on you to save his lord. After all, how could he not find it suspicious that Malleus befriends some random human from not-Twisted Wonderland and then suddenly overblots? He is ready to strike at the first sign of betrayal, but he does not find it. He finds a human, weak and flawed, but paitent and kind with him, unwilling to let him talk down to them but still willing to talk. You die, but you never stop trying. You refuse to let the flaws he picks at stop you from trying to live. You refuse, no matter how many times he yells about the amount of times he has lost his lord, lost you, to let him do all the work alone. There is beauty in your struggle, in your life. He can't betray this for his lord, even if it was the cause of his plight. It's Silver he turns to for help, begging him for guidance through tears as he desperately clings to you. He finds it of course, he never had to do any of this alone, but he should know by now that doesn't guarantee success, no matter how much he wants it to.