#but i do like moros' look more

[vampirecatboy]

there's only room for one ancient greek personification of a very goth concept in my life

[merakiui]

moros's looking glass.

yandere!overblot!riddle x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, death, victorian era, obsession, attempted captivity, arranged marriage, threats of violence, restraints, non-consensual touching and kissing note - after the death of your husband, you are left to sift through his estate. you'll soon find some ghosts refuse to remain in their graves.

To the esteemed Lady of the Rosehearts Estate: It is with a shrouded heart that I write to inform you of Lord Rosehearts’s untimely passing. It is a most unfortunate occasion, and for such reasons I must implore you to return from your seaside retreat with great haste. 

Mrs. Rosehearts’s bare hand comes down so suddenly that you hardly have any chance to brace yourself before it makes contact with your cheek. A harsh smack resounds throughout the hall, echoing within your brain until it’s all you can process. The sting that follows warms your tender skin and, though you wish to soothe it with a gentle caress, you remain stone-faced and stiff before her, a mere statuette who has been frozen in time. 

“Such insolence is unforgivable,” she seethes, swiping her glove from her butler, who holds it out with his head bowed and shoulders hunched. She fits her hand inside the pristine fabric and flexes her fingers momentarily before turning her fiery gaze back on you. “You were well aware of the ailment that consumed my dear Riddle and yet you abandoned him in his time of need! You are the lady of this house. It is your duty to remain here! Must the implication be branded on your very bosom for you to recognize it?!” 

“My deepest apologies, madam.” You lower into a perfect curtsy. “I did not possess enough foresight to know that this might happen. For that, I am truly regretful.” 

He was already at death’s door. A sickly body is meant for the hands of higher powers, or so they’ve said. I suppose this is the inevitability of fate.

“I have always been of the opinion that you were inadequate for my son,” she snaps. “If it weren’t for your family’s status, I’d have had you pulled from his life before you could ruin it further like the vapid weed you are.”

With a huff, she strides past you.

You remain in the hall, comforted by the soft tock of the old grandfather clock.

It’s not my fault your son was sickly, you think, scowling at the floor tiles. But you refuse to allow this to darken your mood. Gathering yourself, you straighten your posture and smooth the sting in your cheek with a few consoling pats.

I am (Name) Rosehearts, lady of this fine estate. I shall not waver in the face of a monstrous mother.

Though your union was one of arrangement, it took some time to convince Mrs. Rosehearts. She only conceded after her son had, quite literally, begged her. Your parents’ social status and fortune were quite persuasive as well. It was your late husband who argued with her, day and night, for the right to wed you.

“Mother, I have fancied no other to the extent I do Lady (Name). Should you come between us, I shall take her and we will be wed elsewhere—with or without your approval.”

Not wanting to lose her pride and joy and faced with the boundless prosperity boasted by the arrangement, she submitted to his demands. Thus, you were wed. You shall never forget the disdain scrawled on her wrinkled countenance as she watched you from her place in the pews. She disapproved of your dress, your disposition, your very existence. There was no part of you that could please her, but she had no choice. For Riddle’s sake, she would have to acquiesce.

Now that he’s no longer of this world, you’re feeling the force of her frosty hatred more directly. She has, by her own standards, every reason to dislike you. You could not conceive an heir to carry on the legacy. You could not be there to assist Riddle while he was on his deathbed. You could not measure up to her lofty expectations of what a proper wife and lady should be. You could not be pretty enough. The list is endless.

“My lady, the photographer is waiting,” the butler pipes up, nodding in the direction of the room.

“I understand. Thank you.”

You inhale all of your negativity, allow it to fester within your lungs, and then you expel it in a long exhale.

You must stand tall and proud in the face of adversity. Do not falter.

This is the busiest you have seen the silent, despair-tinged halls of the Rosehearts Manor. Shadows creep along floral, cream-colored wallpaper, and the curtains do well to keep the sun from poking its rays through the gloom. Your grip tightens on your lace shawl as you’re led through the foyer, and when you view the vaulted ceiling it seems to spiral into never-ending darkness. Photographs are turned over to protect those in the film who are still living. The clocks are all stopped at three in the morning—supposedly the time at which Riddle gave his final breath. Every reflective surface has been enveloped in black cloth, and every funeral attendant you pass offers sympathetic bows and curtsies. Your nose crinkles at them, but you nod your acknowledgement and continue down the hall. 

Riddle is poised on the sofa, his arms folded primly in his lap. His face is colored in a sickly pallor, and he’s dressed in his best suit. If it weren’t for how deathly still he is, you’d think he was full of life. Glassy greys stare listlessly ahead. You peer into them. He does not blink or recognize your presence.

It occurs to you that he truly is dead.

Mrs. Rosehearts is quick to shoo you away. “Distance! You’ll pollute the air near my Riddle!”

You offer her a cordial simper. “Wherever shall I sit?”

She wrinkles her nose at you but gestures to the spot beside him. “You are his wife, so you must sit at his side here.”

“Very well.” You lower onto the cushion. Riddle is arranged to lean against you. He is cold and stiff, almost like a doll. His soft hair brushes your cheek. “And what of you, madam?”

“You are to be photographed first, after which I shall replace you. Then, we’ll both be photographed.”

“If it pleases,” you reply, looking towards the camera. Gently, you close your hand over Riddle’s gloved one.

Forgive me, Riddle. I should have returned from the sea sooner, but I was cowardly and could not bear to face you as you withered away. It is with great shame that I wear this mourning dress.

Your photo is taken. For the rest of the ordeal, you remain in your head. The shuffling of bodies is drowned out, for you focus only on your husband as he’s situated on the sofa beside his mother. 

Riddle wouldn’t have wanted that, you think, but then you pause. What would he want?

You can scarcely say.

Afterwards, Riddle is placed in his coffin, his eyes shut, and carried feet-first from the house. You accompany the procession, everyone following the solemn hearse in its travels. There is a hollow in the ground, where a group of men lower the death box. They work silently and diligently to shovel soil and fill the hole. You stand off to the side, watching from behind your veil. You don’t shed tears, but neither does Mrs. Rosehearts.

It is a chilly, autumn day devoid of birdsong and sunshine.

A laurel wreath is hung on the door following the funeral, and an ornament fashioned out of his hair alongside his photo are kept enclosed in a locket pin. You hold it in your hands at all times, tucking it beneath your pillow when you sleep, cherishing this piece of him. You visit his grave just as frequently as it is guarded. Every now and then, you expect the bell aboveground to ring, signaling life from below. It never does.

Riddle left his entire estate to you. His mother could fume as she pleased, but the validity of his penmanship could not be denied. He explicitly wrote: To my wife, Lady (Name) Rosehearts: You are granted all mortal possessions within my estate as well as ownership to the property. Do with it as you like.

Your relationship with Riddle, while not free of its strains, was mostly amicable. You played your parts well enough. Even so, it bewilders you that he would leave you so much. You always assumed he’d gift it to his mother, as she seemed to have a hand in every aspect of his existence—his death included. She planned the funeral and the burial well in advance, arranged the photographer, even the outfit he was to wear.

Now, dressed in black crepe, you wander aimlessly through a quiet, covered house and wonder what you should do with so much empty space. There are still rules you must follow, of course, each one aligning with mourning customs. But now that you don’t have your husband to enforce them, you feel…lost.

Illuminated by candlelight, your reflection follows you as you walk past an uncovered mirror, trapped in silent reverie.

And then you stop.

An uncovered mirror?

In a horrified panic, you set the candlestick down to gaze at yourself in the glass.

This can’t be! All of the mirrors must be covered! What happened?!

You scramble to shroud it, your heart pounding restlessly like a war drum. For a while you stand there, waiting for something. You anticipate a shout from the shadows: Don’t you know you are expected to cover each and every reflective surface in the wake of death? Do you want to be pulled into the grave next?! Nothing happens, though. The house remains perfectly still. 

You think you hear someone breathing shallowly, but then you realize that’s you. Your chest heaves as you take in big gasps of air.

No one will know, you remind yourself, gradually calming your frazzled nerves. The mirror is covered. That is the end of that.

The grandfather clock’s midnight chime echoes down the hall. Sighing, you lift the candlestick and carry on.

“I shall retire to bed,” you tell the darkness, climbing the stairs. Riddle’s room is kept sealed, a place stuck in permanence. You refuse to disturb his things, lest you dampen his spirit, and so you beeline for your room. It’s directly across from his. When he was alive, he insisted you sleep at his side despite the bed customs between couples. Stubbornly, you refused. You recall the dismal glimmer that darkened his eyes whenever you’d decline. He would always promise the same thing—

“Should you need the warmth of another body, I am here to receive you. Forever and always.”

Pulled from your reminiscing, you turn sharply on your heel and raise the flame to light the end of the hall.

“How strange. I was certain…” You peer over the bannister at the foyer below. “Riddle, have you come home?”

Silence is your only reply.

“Foolish,” you chide, contenting yourself with the facts. “He rests peacefully in his grave.”

Burrowing into your woolen shawl, you depart for your bedroom.

In an empty house, swathed in the quilted duvet, you drift off into dreamless slumber.

It’s not the clock or the cold that jerks you from sleep. Rather, it’s the screeching noise that grates on your ears. You blink through the dark, only to cringe moments later when someone drags their nails over glass. You almost allow yourself to fall back into the sheets when you realize there shouldn’t be any human disturbances here, for you’re the only one in this house.

A mouse, perhaps?

But even you know that’s impossible, no matter how much you want to believe such faulty logic.

Throwing the covers off, you search blindly for the candlestick at your bedside. You fumble with the match, shivering like a frightened fawn, but eventually flame brightens the space. Now equipped with light, you peek outside your room, searching either end of the hall just in case. No one’s there, but the scratching continues. Incessantly, almost maddeningly, as if whoever’s doing it is trying to escape.

Nails on…glass. On glass.

Glass.

It’s coming from Riddle’s room.

The mirror!

You shuffle towards the door, only to stop short just as your foot steps in something sticky.

You lift your leg and shine the light on it. A black substance that appears to be some sort of molten tar or ink drips from your sole. With a gasp, you drag your foot upon the floor in hopes of getting rid of it.

“Ugh! How filthy!”

Resolving to wash it later, you stomp over to the door, yank it open, and poke your head inside. A rush of cold air barrages your face, whistling through the crack and out into the corridor. You stumble away in a daze. The scratching persists, angrily now, in a desperate sort of fashion. 

“Riddle?” you call out, your voice subdued and shot through with fear. “I… I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’d like to warm myself with you, if you’ll allow it.”

Just like that, the house stills. Shakily, you hold the candle out to light a portion of his room.

“I never should have left you. It must have been terribly lonely here. Lonely and cold… I’ve betrayed you in life, but in death I will be here to look after you. Forever and always. So… So please rest peacefully.”

The tip-tapping of a sharpened nail against the glass almost startles you out of your skin. You realize then that the shroud has fallen away from the mirror. 

If I must look upon it… Oh, but I’d rather not… Oh, but I must!

Steeling yourself, you burst into the room and brandish the candlestick. Thankfully, there are no monsters or humans to scare you. No ghosts to be banished. No intruders to chase off. Instead, you see yourself in the mirror.

Or…an approximation of you. Not quite a doppelgänger in appearance. This version of you is wearing soaked rags, tattered and tired, but she has your eyes. They’re unmistakable as they stare back at you.

You set the candlestick on the bedside table and inch closer to the mirror.

“Peculiar,” you whisper, reaching for the glass just as your reflection does. “Surely this isn’t me. I look ghastly!”

Your fingers brush the surface and, in a stroke of shock, just as the grandfather clock below chimes the hour, your hand goes through. Before you can think to pull away, something on the other side tugs at your wrist, frigid fingers coiling tightly. With a shriek, you resist and claw wildly at the air, stretching to grab hold of the bed. You manage to grasp the edge of the blanket, which is pulled free from its neat placement, just as you’re dragged through the mirror.

All that’s left of you is the locket pin, having fallen to the floor in a clatter during the scuffle.

You open your eyes on a room colored black and white. It looks like yours, but something is different. It doesn’t feel like yours. It doesn’t even appear lived in. Almost as if it’s been sealed like a crypt, kept in pristine condition as it awaits an owner who will never return.

Where am I? you wonder, closing your hands around your shawl. It provides you with a modicum of comfort.

A book is lying on the vanity desk, the only thing that looks just slightly out of place in an otherwise tidy room. Curiously, you pick it up and open it to read the cover: Property of Riddle Rosehearts.

“Oh?”

You turn to a random page and skim through the words: I’ve waited ceaselessly for her return, so much so I’m beginning to lose count of the days. I’ve no inkling as to what’s real and what’s false. I see her in the stars, in the mirror, in my dreams… She is lost, I’m certain of this. No one will listen to me. They’ve condemned me to my solitude in this house, but soon I’ll swap places with him and then I’ll have her. It is only a matter of time. She will be mine.

This…cannot be my husband’s diary. Or was it? This is undoubtedly his penmanship.

Surely your husband wasn’t seeing another woman. He has always been honest and sincere. He has never raised his hand to you, nor has he ever threatened you. He is gentle, albeit rough and awkward around the edges, but he means well. Furthermore, you’ve never known him to keep diaries.

If he was embroiled in an adulterous affair, perhaps it was for the best. I could not hope to give him a child. I couldn’t bring him happiness or comfort. I am a failure of a wife, you think, running your thumb over the page.

You must stand tall and proud in the face of adversity. Do not falter.

Drying your eyes, you set the diary down and resolve to keep your strength for the exploration to come. Crying will not help you here. Not right now.

Never falter.

You push the door open and step out into the hall. The photographs are turned upright; mirrors are uncovered. The staircase is on the opposite end of the hall instead of directly around the corner like yours is back home. Even with the differences, the house reminds you of Riddle’s manor.

Strange… Everything is so similar and yet it’s not.

You creep down the stairs, eyeing the crystal chandelier hanging high in the foyer. In fact, now that you’re descending, you’re beginning to notice just how many reflective surfaces surround you. Looking glasses of all shapes and sizes. Crystal decorations that reflect in dozens… It’s overwhelming. At every angle, your face peers back at you.

When you peel the curtain away to glance outside, you find an unsettling white space stretching on endlessly.

Where have I found myself?

You trot down the hall, searching the portraits for any indication of the master of the house. Instead, all you see is yourself. The other faces have been blotted out in dark ink.

This is not my home, you realize with a shiver.

The further you venture, the clearer it becomes that someone lives here. Despite the manic decor, there is not a speck of dust or a hint of disrepair. Someone is here, and they’re looking after this property.

You round the corner, acquainting yourself with a semi-familiar layout, and that’s when you find him. Your husband.

He’s hanging up another portrait with meticulous precision. This is a painting of you. It reminds you of the one your Riddle had commissioned. Only this one depicts you in the same decrepit fashion you saw before you were coaxed through the mirror.

This can’t be… Do my eyes deceive me? Is this truly—

“Riddle?”

His hands fall away from the frame, and he turns to look at you. Ruby-red eyes widen in recognition and then delight. He swoops in like a falcon, covering the distance in quick strides to gather you in his arms.

“My beloved! Oh, what wonderful fortune!” he cries, embracing you tightly. “You’ve come back to me! At long last, you’re here… You’re really here in flesh and blood! Oh, my love, sweetest rose, welcome back.”

If you were to ever meet your husband again, you were certain he’d have an earful for you, a long lecture of societal and personal expectations husband and wife are meant to adhere to. But this Riddle is…happy. He doesn’t seem angry or disappointed at all.

Rather woodenly, you wrap your arms around him. “You’re…not cross?”

“Whyever would you think that?” He pulls away from you and runs his hands up your arms, as if to assess the authenticity of your appearance.

You stare at his face. He looks like Riddle. But… Well.

He doesn’t feel like Riddle. Your Riddle—the grey-eyed Riddle—was awkward in his affections. He would never hug you so openly. He would never touch you without your approval first. He was considerate and well-mannered. Furthermore, he never called you by any endearing terms. You were always Lady (Name) to him.

Your hands close around his face to hold him still. “Your eyes—”

He blinks and suddenly the red was never there. “My eyes?”

Am I dreaming?

“Are you certain this is real?”

He smiles. “You must still be clinging to the vestiges of sleep. I assure you this is all very real.”

“So you’re truly Riddle? My Riddle?”

“Your Riddle. Always and forever.”

Tears well up in your eyes. You sink to your knees. “Oh, Riddle… Riddle, I’m so sorry. If I had just come back sooner… If I hadn’t been so scared—I couldn’t face you! I didn’t want to. I…didn’t wish to see you suffering so. It hurts…”

“My dear…” He lowers to your height and brushes your tears away with his thumb. His eyes soften with an intense fondness. “How fervently I’ve missed your voice. How desperately I’ve longed to hold you in my arms.”

“I can’t fathom it—how can it be?” you mutter, hesitant to touch him again lest he be turned to dust before your eyes. “You… You’re alive?”

“I’ve always been alive.”

“But you—your condition! You’ve been ill. It…” You inhale a sharp breath. “Your ailment worsened when you married me.”

“Do you blame yourself?” Before you can answer that, he takes hold of your chin and tilts your head. “Don’t. The fault does not lie with you. It never has.”

And then he fits his lips on yours in a kiss so sweet and soulful it momentarily rekindles your hope in romance. Shocked, you stumble back on the floor, but he just surges forward to continue kissing you. It’s passionate and hungry; he nibbles at your lip and licks into your mouth, leaving you panting and scrabbling for purchase. You cling to his suit—the same suit he was buried in.

He breaks away for breath, and you inhale mouthfuls of it. “Wait—”

Another kiss, this one longer than its predecessor. Your fingers curl into his shoulder. He pulls back.

“Riddle—”

He tugs your shawl from your shoulders in lustful impatience. You yelp when you feel his hands on your thighs, slyly sliding beneath your dark nightgown.

“Riddle!” You gasp, scandalized, and push him away. Breathing heavily, you yank the strap of your gown over your shoulder. “Just what’s gotten into you?!”

“I’ve missed you,” he confesses, gathering your hands in his. “I’ve waited for your return for so long—too long! And now you’re finally here… You’ve finally come back to me.”

My Riddle was never this forward.

“You must know I cannot give you what it is you want. I’m dead inside, a tragedy your mother is all too keen to remind me of.”

A frown tugs at his lips. “Unfortunate as that may be, it does not offend me in the slightest and it shouldn’t. I love you, with or without child.” He lifts your hand and places a gentle kiss upon the top of it.

You stare at him, horrified.

“S-Say that again, if you would…”

“I love you?” He raises his brow at you, confused. “With or without child, I love you. Always and forever.”

You drag your hand back, clutching it as if it’s injured. “I think…I might go for a stroll.”

He blinks back at you, one eye at a time. “Oh! Allow me to accompany you. It’s howling a gale out there. You would do well to change into attire fitting for the weather.”

“Of course. I’d love nothing more than to walk through the rose gardens with you. I do hope they haven’t started wilting.”

Riddle helps you up from the ground, drapes your shawl over your shoulders, and sends you on your way. You offer him a smile and turn to walk stiffly down the hall. The minute you’re out of sight, you sprint for the stairs, taking two at a time, and throw open the door to your room.

Your reflection meets you at the mirror. Without wasting another moment, you reach for her. Someone catches your wrist on the other side and tugs you through.

You’re spat out in Riddle’s bedroom in a heap of tangled limbs, your heart in your throat. The mirror shimmers with the real you. When you press your finger to the glass it doesn’t go through, but your finger touches its reflection.

“That was…strange,” you whisper, drawing away. You find the locket pin lying inches from your foot and you scramble for it, hastily prying it open to check its contents. The photo and lock of red hair remain untouched. “It was just a dream. A wild, whimsical terror.”

You rise to your feet and, after fixing the disturbed sheets, bid a final farewell to the room.

“Rest peacefully,” you say, shutting the door behind you. 

That was not my Riddle. My Riddle has never said he loves me before.

Following that night, you busy yourself with the curiosities of Riddle’s estate. In the three years you’ve lived here, you were unaware the house had so many secret spaces. Hidden doors that open into narrow passages and stairs. You’ve never had any servants, so you’re not sure why Riddle would need any of this. The house has been in the Rosehearts family for decades. As the legend goes, it was burned beyond repair and rebuilt with a better layout. A safer layout, Riddle would tell you when you questioned the tale.

“Safer for what?” you mutter, peeling wallpaper back to reveal the door to a thin crawl space. There’s never anything sealed within these rooms, but their existence is proof enough. If not for servants, these passages were meant to house secrets. “Did he know about this? He must have.”

Would Mrs. Rosehearts know? Oh, but I dread the thought of wasting ink on that insufferable woman.

You lower to your knees and peer inside the crawl space. “Hello? Is anyone home?” And then you laugh to yourself. “Are you hiding in there, Riddle?”

You receive no reply.

A Riddle with red eyes… I must have been so feverish that night, to dream a vision so crooked.

You stretch your arm inside and feel around for any hidden treasure. You expect to come away with cobwebs and spiders, not a leather-bound book.

“Huh… Perhaps I’ve been away from the manor much too long,” you mutter, sitting with your back to the wall. You open the book, wondering what its contents could be that would merit this treatment.

Books ought to be treated in the same manner we treat each other—with respect. They are filled with boundless knowledge, and they provide insight into fascinating wonders we may yet comprehend, Riddle used to say.

“‘To destroy them would be to destroy the wisdom they offer,’” you say, finishing the rest of his quote. A smile pulls your lips up. “He loved books. Riddle would never seal any away.”

You peel it open to the first page, where you find four unsettling words.

Property of Riddle Rosehearts.

It’s a diary. Riddle’s diary.

Suddenly, the house is colder and unwelcoming, as if the very foundation disapproves of what you’ve just unearthed from its bowels. You’ve never known Riddle to keep a diary. And yet…

Tentatively, you flip through the pages. It’s a log of his condition, you realize. He details his symptoms daily, every event outlined in neat, waltzing script. You weren’t aware of just how morbid his condition was. At some point, though, he begins to catalogue other happenings.

I’ve coughed up quite a monstrous thing, he writes. I cannot fathom what it is, but it has the consistency of ink, almost. It is thick and foul in my mouth. It stains my sheets and colors my teeth. Next time it happens, I shall gather enough to test whether it truly is ink.

Then another page: I cannot employ servants because I fear he will tip poison into their ears. Thus, I’ve deigned to do everything myself. I’ve mustered enough strength and willpower to stand and cover most of the mirrors. So long as Lady (Name) stays away…

And another page: He is looking at me again, knocking at the mirror. Even as I write this, I must remain vigilant. You must wonder why I don’t shatter the mirror and put an end to this madness. Rather than sever the connection, I fear it would only provide an opening into our world. I hear him every night just as the clock tolls out the Witching Hours. He speaks of a malice most concerning. It is tiring and I think fondly of submitting, but I must protect Lady (Name).

And the final page, penned just days before his death: I fear the worst is happening. I cannot continue to research the face in the mirror. It has rendered me too frail. He has been studying me in the meantime, following me through the glass. He is a perfect reflection now, an expert copy. I’ve no inkling what this implies, but I suspect it cannot be anything pleasant. I’m going to seal my findings away with what little strength I have left so that it never falls into his hands. There must be some way to stop it… this infernal ringing in my ears… the blood filling my eyes…

A dried splatter stains the page, obscuring whatever was left of his words. You leaf through a few pages, searching for a proper explanation.

The face in the mirror? A perfect reflection? What is all of this? Just what was Riddle doing while I was gone?

You find it then, a list of what he believes to be fact, all outlined in an organized fashion.

Evidence of Fact

It is confined within reflective surfaces. It cannot step out into the mortal realm (or so I’ve yet to witness), but it can follow through mirrors so long as you look into it. Though the original must remain intact.

It is most active during the hours of midnight through three o’clock in the morning. To be referred to from here on out as the Witching Hours.

It has my voice and my face, but it is not me. You must remind yourself of this when you feel yourself losing control: He is not me, nor is he the shadow I cast.

It sees with red eyes and reaches with nightmarish claws. (A devil, perhaps?)

The substance I have been vomiting ceaselessly is indeed ink, but the reflection in the mirror refers to it as ‘blot.’ It is black and viscous. It reeks of rot.

It is undoubtedly after Lady (Name).

It calls itself Riddle.

You don’t really know your husband. You’ve never known him, in fact.

He was shouldering such a heavy burden all this time… All for my sake.

You hold the diary close to your chest.

If what he writes is true, then what I experienced that night… It wasn’t a dream but, rather, a supernatural occurrence. The reflection in the mirror calling itself Riddle—that must have been the Riddle I met. The one with red eyes. For a moment, I almost thought it was my Riddle. You run your finger over the cover of the diary. If that thing is the reason my Riddle is dead…

You don’t dare think any further.

Riddle noted that Reflection Riddle is most active during the Witching Hours. If you follow that logic then the mirror should open up between midnight and three every night, allowing you to cross into a world that reflects your own. You wonder if it’s the same for the other side. If it was, wouldn’t that mean Reflection Riddle could step out at any point and enter your world? You certainly hope he can’t.

Moros’s Looking Glass, reads the bookmarked tome in Riddle’s study, a (thankfully) mirrorless space that grants you total privacy, is said to be a powerful mirror that connects the mortal realm with that of the spirit realm. It is said that mortals who look upon Moros’s Glass are bound for death and should tread carefully when they hear three consecutive knocks from within their home. 

Not if but when. A certainty.

You turn to the chapter on Moros. “‘Gave people the ability to foresee their death…’” you read, frowning deeper as the text goes on. “‘Moros is a word meaning doom or fate. It is said that once you take Moros’s hand you can never turn back, for your death is already weaved into fate.’ No escape… Could that Reflection Riddle be Moros? That might give reason to why my reflection looked so twisted.”

You slump in the chair and sigh. “I’m sorry, Riddle… I never should have left you. I should have stayed. Perhaps then we could have worked together to understand this.”

Gritting your teeth, you wipe furiously at your eyes.

All this time, he was suffering and I ran away. All this time, he was thinking of me and my well-being, and I ran away.

Before you can openly bawl in his study, you remember the notes in Riddle’s diary.

It wants me. To what extent, I’m unsure. But if it truly does love me as it claimed… Surely it wouldn’t hurt me.

You don’t want to return to that strange world with its strange Riddle, but you need answers. If it killed your Riddle… You shut the book and place it back on the shelf.

You must stand tall and proud in the face of adversity. Do not falter.

Stringing the locket pin on an empty chain, you fasten it around your neck. That way, Riddle will always be close to your heart—a reminder that you are not alone. You rifle through your closet for appropriate attire, casting corsets and crinolines aside in favor of clothing that grants more freedom.

But I mustn’t look suspicious, you think, debating whether you should wear a chemise or a longer gown. You pull a pair of loose-fitting trousers from a drawer next. Perhaps… Oh, this will seem so indecent! If Riddle were here, he’d advise against it. But these will allow for movement should I need to flee fast. 

Seeing no other option, you choose the bloomers and a simple blouse, both in the classic color for mourning.

Ideally, I would prefer to never go back again, but I suspect I’ll be visiting more than once. Tonight, I’ll attempt to search for a weakness. There must be something I can exploit. A tension or a spot of blindness, perhaps? There’s that white space surrounding the manor. Perhaps I ought to try stepping outside?

You change in your room in front of a covered mirror and read through Riddle’s diary to refresh yourself on the foe you’ll be facing.

When the grandfather clock’s midnight toll reaches upstairs, you hide the diary under your pillow and cross the hall into Riddle’s room.

I refuse to call that thing my husband, you think hatefully. You are not Riddle. You will never be Riddle.

You kneel before the floor-length mirror and press your palm to the surface. A cold hand pulls you through.

I must remember not to overstay my welcome. You lift your trousers to peer at the pocket watch tied around your thigh. It is fifteen minutes past twelve. The window closes at three.

Throwing the closet doors open, which is packed full of well-tailored dresses and skirts, you grab a long woolen coat and fit your arms through the sleeves. You slide your feet into a pair of low-top heels. When you admire yourself in the mirror, you spy your waterlogged reflection looking back. She vanishes in a blink.

Descending the stairs, you call out for Riddle. “I apologize for the delay. I’m ready if you are.”

He pokes his head out from around the corner, a delicate smile gracing his pale features. Meeting you at the very bottom, he offers his arm.

“I’ve waited years for your return.” He laughs. “I can wait a few measly minutes.”

Minutes? Does time work differently here? Every clock aside from the watch fastened to my thigh is stopped at Riddle’s time of death. Perhaps this world’s sense of time is warped because of that. Or maybe Moros truly has no concept of time…

“Patience is a most admirable virtue, or so they say.”

“They speak the truth.” He leads you to the door. “You’ve come at a wondrous time. The roses are still in bloom. Though, regrettably, most of them have already closed up.”

“What little is left, I will be sure to cherish.” You pat his arm and smile. “Thank you for always taking such diligence to care for them.”

If there exists a reflection of Riddle, why haven’t I seen my reflection? Surely she isn’t just confined to the mirror…

The door opens and you brace yourself for the blinding white space. Instead, you’re greeted to the sight of a flourishing front yard. It looks nothing like your own, which leads you to wonder if Moros can only replicate the scenery within the house due to the limited field of sight provided by the mirrors. The rest of this—the gardens, the stone pathway, the hedges—it’s his imagination filling in the blanks.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” You tug him ahead, your hand easily sliding into his. “They’re quite red!”

“Aren’t they just?”

“Positively beaming with color,” you exaggerate even though you can’t see a speck of red. Everything here is black and white. The only red you’ve seen so far is the red in his eyes.

You gaze at the iron gates at the end of the property. “Riddle, dear, have we always had those gates?”

“We have.” His hand slides over yours. “To keep beauty in and filth out.”

“Filth?” You look at him incredulously. “What sort of filth?”

“Those who think it wise to flout the rules. I will not tolerate such flagrant displays of disobedience.” He squeezes your hand. “I’m sure you understand, my rose. There is no greater peace than that which is attained through order.”

“And what of exiting?”

“You’ve only just come back to me and now you speak of leaving?”

“I wouldn’t go alone. Do you not want to go into town? I quite like the circus.”

“You have everything you need here.” He kisses the top of your hand. “With me.”

So the boundary is the gate. Very well.

“I suppose that’s true. There is no greater bliss than seeing you again after so much time apart. Why would I ever want to leave?”

“Indeed. You shall never leave,” he murmurs, smiling.

Riddle takes you on a tour through monochrome gardens, pointing out all manner of delightful flora. You voice your acknowledgement when it’s necessary, but your mind is elsewhere.

I should find his diary again. I don’t believe I saw it on the desk when I came through the mirror.

You peer at Riddle’s face. He is not a fool. My Riddle was so bright. If Moros can replicate his physical form so seamlessly, then surely he knows of his intelligence.

“Riddle.”

“Yes, my rose?”

“I love you, too.”

His eyes widen. The admission must have genuinely shocked him, for his grey irises explode with red. But then he blinks it away and they’re back to grey. In these quiet gardens, he pulls you closer and presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

“And I love you. Most ardently.”

You smile and then you giggle. “Why did I leave you in the first place? It’s patently absurd.”

“A question I asked myself in cycles.” He drags his knuckle along your cheek. “Can the sea truly cure the morbs? Wouldn’t it have been better here? What can the sea offer that I don’t already have?” He clenches his jaw. “Why would you leave? Why?”

“Riddle… R-Riddle, you’re hurting me!”

He comes to his senses then and gazes at his hand closed tightly around yours. “Ah… Forgive me.” He loosens his hold and tries a relaxed smile. “Your arrival is most important. Anything that came before that is wholly insignificant.”

“Of course it is…”

He must know of my trip from Riddle. Perhaps it was mentioned in passing. I’m certain Moros doesn’t have Riddle’s memories. Despite being reflections, they are still separate entities. Or so I hope.

You return inside on account of being famished. Riddle insists on preparing dinner, claiming he’s practiced tirelessly in your absence and has been awaiting a chance to boast his skills. You allow him to do that and, while he works in the kitchen, you slink upstairs to check the time. It’s half-past two.

Just before you exit through the mirror, you poke around the room in search of the diary. It isn’t there.

Perhaps it’s in Riddle’s room?

You refer to the watch once more.

I have time. Just five minutes and then I shall be on my way.

You creep over towards Riddle’s room and, slowly, so slowly, reach for the door. Riddle’s voice permeates the air just then, calling up to you from the bottom of the staircase.

“(Name)? Dinner is almost ready!”

You press yourself against the wall just in case he can somehow see you. “Yes, thank you! Just one moment.”

Stuffing the coat and shoes inside the closet, you spare one final glance at the door before stepping through the warped surface of the mirror.

You emerge just a few minutes before three.

Much too close for my liking. You shut the pocket watch and run your hands through your hair. But that was enlightening. While not clear in its entirety, I understand the world I’m grappling with just a scintilla better.

In the coming weeks, you travel between worlds to gather as much information as possible. Riddle receives you with immense adoration every time, seemingly none the wiser to your periodic disappearances. The last time you went snooping around the second story, you realized the rooms were mostly empty and Riddle’s bedroom was locked.

You write your findings down in the empty pages in your husband’s diary: If the door is locked, he must know that whatever’s inside is of great importance. Therefore, he’s done well to keep it safe. Additionally, he appears to learn from my actions. When he’s startled, his eyes can’t remain grey. Now it’s as if he’s anticipated the shock and has taught himself to keep the façade. It is a most peculiar act. No weaknesses to detail as of yet.

You return to Riddle’s entries once more. Surely I’m missing something. There must be a weakness.

Briefly, you consider shattering the mirror. Riddle didn’t test his hypothesis regarding this method. Perhaps nothing will come of it and you’ll be rid of this menacing reflection. But then you’ll never know why your reflection looks the way it does. You’ll never know what killed your husband. You’ll never know who Reflection Riddle really is—though you certainly have your suspicions.

I must return.

When the clock announces the arrival of midnight, you step through the mirror. Only this time, when you step out of your room, Riddle is there and he doesn’t look pleased.

“Oh! Riddle—”

“What were you doing?”

“I…” You shut your mouth and fish through your brain in an attempt to recall what you said you’d be doing last time you were here. “I was changing.”

He scrutinizes you with narrowed eyes. “Into your night clothes? Did you not wish to take a stroll?”

“Oh, you must forgive me. I have been so weary… If it pleases you, perhaps we can have our stroll tomorrow?” You glance past him at his bedroom door and then reach for his hands. “Shall we sleep together?”

Riddle watches your face a moment longer. The tension in his figure relaxes, and he eventually smiles. “Nothing would make me happier.”

He guides you to your bed, but you stop him. “Your room. I’m most comfortable in your bed.”

“Is that so?”

“Verily.”

For a moment you think he’ll find some way to slither out of this, but then he’s pulling you through the door towards his room. His hand ghosts over the knob and it unlocks just like that. “I must warn you. It’s not in the…cleanest condition. I admit it was a reflection of my mind in the wake of your absence.”

“I’m certain it isn’t so terrible,” you assure, rubbing his arm consolingly. “Although… Riddle, if I may, what happened to me?”

“To you? Why, you left.”

“Yes, that is an irrefutable fact. But… It couldn’t have been the morbs.”

Riddle smiles thinly. His eyes fog over with an unrecognizable emotion. “I thought I lost you,” he explains, his hand on the knob. “I was certain you would never return.”

“But I’m here now. Whyever would you think that?”

“You died,” he says, his voice cracking. “A-At sea. You threw yourself into the sea.”

I…did that? Truly? But then it makes sense. The water dripping from your reflection. Her tattered dress. The strands of seaweed. But why? Why would I do such a thing?

“That’s why I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw you. When you came back to me, perfectly whole and in one piece, warm and alive… I was so relieved. I’ll never let you go again.”

He opens the door and it becomes clear to you when you see a roomful of portraits and letters scattered everywhere. Your letters. Your pictures. Even your belongings. These aren’t mirror reflections. These are genuine artifacts from your world. The breath sticks in your throat. All of the letters you sent Riddle while you were away, never to receive a single reply, they’re all here, tucked away in their respective envelopes. And you know they’re yours because your signature dots each and every one, each stamp pasted on by your careful hands.

Lying on the bedside table is Riddle’s diary, where the passage you first read must be penned. The one in which he notes how long he’s waited. How very soon he’ll swap places with your husband and have you all to himself. How they’ve condemned him to this prison. They. Who is they? 

You understand it now. The sticky substance you stepped on the first night. The reflection of the other you. The Riddle who you thought couldn’t stand you and was having his silent rebellion disregarding all of your letters. It was the thieving reflection who crept into your world!

Your other self died so that you could take her place. And you know this is true because she is you, and in the midst of your melancholy back in your world you considered surrendering yourself to the sea.

“Riddle…”

“Sleep! Do pardon the dreadful state of this room.” He smiles and tugs you down onto the bed to tuck you in. “It’s late. You’ll never function properly if you neglect the moon’s call for bedtime.”

“Riddle!” You seize his wrist when he climbs into bed beside you. He blinks at you, one eye at a time. “Who…are you, exactly? You’re not my Riddle.”

He tilts his head at you. “But of course I am.”

“No… No, you’re not. My Riddle is—” you inhale shakily— “dead.”

His eyes rove over your features, flicking down to watch your hand curled around his wrist. He chuckles. “You must be so tired, my rose. Sleep. Come morning, all of this will have been a daydream lived in a daze.”

He pats the pillow and you lower yourself slowly. He follows your lead, wrapping the both of you in the fluffy blanket.

“I have always been your Riddle. Always and forever.”

“Right… Yes. Yes, of course. How…” You swallow thickly. “How foolish of me to think otherwise.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping he’ll inevitably fall asleep. The pocket watch tied around your thigh continues to count out the minutes. You’ve no idea how much time has passed, but the longer you spend here the slimmer your window of escape gets. And Riddle just won’t fall asleep! His eyes remain open, observing you as you shift in and out of faux sleep. Eventually, you turn your back on him.

I cannot fall asleep here. I’ll be trapped.

“(Name)…”

Why won’t he sleep? Surely he’s tired… Do reflections feel exhaustion? They must!

“(Name)…”

You force yourself to remain calm, contenting yourself with the fact that he has to fall asleep soon.

But then there’s a hand on your arm, climbing up your shoulder like a spider on a web. His fingers drum along your sleeve.

“You’re not truly sleeping, are you?”

His voice is right in your ear, and you can hear the twisted smile in it.

You roll over onto your back. Riddle blinks down at you, still smiling that sticky, self-satisfied smile.

“You were anticipating my slumber, were you not?”

“In the hope that we might rest together, yes. Are you not tired?”

“How could I rest when I know you’re just going to slip away again?” He yanks the covers off and moves to grab the hem of your nightgown. In a panic, not wanting the watch to be revealed, you push him away, falling off the bed in the process. Landing with a thud, you pick yourself up and glimpse the time. Just ten minutes until three. You gasp and stumble towards the door.

“Stop!” he shouts, reaching for you. “Come back here! Don’t leave me!”

You yelp as something slimy coils around your ankle. You fall flat on your stomach, pulled back into the room without mercy. You thrash, kicking out blindly in hopes of untangling whatever’s found itself attached to your leg.

“Unhand me!” You grab at the door frame and pull yourself forward, grunting with the effort. “Don’t touch me!”

“You don’t get to leave! Not when I finally have you!”

You turn to look at him and bite back a terrified scream at the sight of him. He’s monstrous! The odious stench of death hangs heavy in the air. There’s that black substance again, oozing from his pores like an overfilled, soggy rag. He’s dressed differently, too, in clothes that bring forth images of decapitated royalty. The inky crown on his head and the spade-tipped Medici collar only cement this imagery. His hands are splayed with razor-thin claws, and suddenly you’re brought back to the night of that ominous tap-tapping against the glass.

The tendril coiled around your leg, you now realize, is an ebony, thorny stem.

“W-What are you?”

He grits his teeth. “Your husband.”

You reach for the stem and, pulling it taut, bite down roughly. Blot spatters your maw and it tastes rancid, but you chew through in spite of the taste. Riddle hisses at you. You manage to sever it just in time. Another vine shoots out after you and you slam the door shut before it can ensnare you.

“(Name)!” he roars from behind the door, his voice deeper and angrier. “You step through that mirror and I’ll tear you to shreds the next time you return! Do you hear me?! I’ll slaughter you!”

“I wish you luck in that endeavor because I won’t ever be back!”

The door is torn off its hinges then. When Riddle lunges for you, he narrowly misses your nightgown, instead grasping the chain around your neck. It snaps and the locket pin smashes to the floor.

“No!” You swoop down to grab it, but Riddle’s already swiped it for himself. Looking between that and the mirror, you scream a colorful word and dive for the mirror just as the clock below chimes out the hour.

You somersault into Riddle’s bedroom, your heart pounding wildly in your ribs, and feel along your body for the pendant. It isn’t there.

“No… No, no, no! Blast! I can’t… I need that locket!”

You whirl towards the mirror and this time it isn’t your reflection peering back. It’s that monstrous fiend!

He holds the chain up for you to see, grinning all the while. The locket twirls idly on the broken link. It’s an obvious taunt: If you want it, come and get it.

Your fingers curl around an iron candlestick, but you stop yourself just before you can bring it down against the glass.

I can’t break it. I need to get in, and he wants to get out. We both want something we can’t have.

You scowl at the mirror just as Riddle vanishes, and then your reflection—your real reflection, broken and despairing—is staring back. Falling to your knees, you hold your head in your hands and sob.

The next few days trickle by like the seemingly never-ending rainfall outside. You pen countless letters to friends, Mrs. Rosehearts, even Riddle himself, but they’re all ripped to shreds before you can sign them. You visit his grave, dressed in all black, crying behind your veil. 

“What am I to do, Riddle?” you whisper, clutching your parasol to shield yourself from the winter sun. “It’s an impossible foe. There is no weakness to be found…”

Your choke on your sniffle. No weakness but me. He would do anything for me, would he not? And if he can’t have me… At once, you shake your head. No. I’m not going to resort to such drastic, harmful measures. In the face of adversity, I shall stand tall and proud. I will never falter. I will never waver. That monster killed my husband. I refuse to be cowed into submission by such malevolence!

You bend down and place your gloved hand over the soil. “I never did thank you, Riddle.” A small smile pulls at your tired, sleep-deprived face. “Thank you for all that you have done. You may rest in ataraxy, for I shall put an end to the beast who tormented you in such unspeakable, barbarous ways.”

Smoothing down your skirts, you depart for the Rosehearts Manor.

After eating as much as you can stomach, you spend the rest of the day catching up on lost sleep. With your body and mind now refreshed, you approach the problem from a new angle. A physical altercation is impossible, and you’re certain it will be impossible to truly kill him. If you can’t fight, then you shall talk instead. Riddle was a logical man. Though that monster will never be your Riddle, surely he holds some shred of logic.

And in the event that he can’t be reasoned with…

You touch the pointed tip of a knife and frown. Can I bring myself to wound the creature who wears my husband’s face?

Even though you’re doubtful, you stow it in your satchel with the rest of your tools and trinkets.

This ends tonight, once and for all, even if it kills me.

You sit in front of the mirror and await the tell-tale chime of midnight.

When the mirror’s surface warps and twists, you harden your nerves into that of unbreakable steel.

In the face of adversity…

“Blast it! I’ll kill him,” you snarl and step through the mirror.

It is eerily quiet when you exit on the other side. The house is in shambles, as if a nasty storm has come through and torn up everything in its path. The wallpaper is peeling in thin curls, the portraits are hanging crooked, the mirrors are shattered, and blot paints everything in black. It drips from the ceiling like saliva from a mutt’s mouth.

Swallowing your disgust, you tiptoe out into the hall. Riddle isn’t in his room. In fact, there isn’t much of a room to admire. The door has been thrown against the wall, and everything is tattered. It occurs to you that this Riddle’s love is wrong. It is not love. It is an obsession driven by the greedy desire to possess. You gather what letters you can salvage and stuff them in your satchel, even the ones from Riddle you never received.

What iniquitous meddling. To intercept our communication in such a way… You are nothing more than a parasite that must be snipped away.

Your journey takes you down the stairs. You’re careful to avoid the blot sticking to the steps as you descend, gracefully maneuvering around it. The deeper into the house you venture, the thicker the air becomes. You pinch your nose and squint through the dark haze, pushing aside low-hanging branches and vines. Inky roses sprout from the walls, twisting towards you as you approach. You duck to avoid them.

Moros is waiting for you at the dinner table. It’s set for two. Flowers twine around his seat. It looks more like a grand throne. Yours is much the same.

A Queen needs a King, even when both are destined to fall.

“Riddle.”

“If you would, have a seat. I believe we have an exchange to make.” Your locket drops down in front of your face, dangling from a stem. You reach for it and it shoots back up towards the ceiling. “No, no. That’s not how reasonable conversations are had, (Name). If you think yourself wise, sit down and listen.”

You scowl at him. “What do you want?”

“You’re an intelligent lady. My counterpart fancied that side of you most ardently. He wrote about you often, spoke of your marvelous brain.” He rests his elbows on the table and props his chin on his folded hands. “So you must already know what it is I seek.”

“You… You murdered my husband.”

He slams his hand on the table. The plates clatter from the force. “I didn’t kill him! He withered away of his own accord!”

“What did you do?”

“Sit down.”

“What did you do?”

“Sit. Down.”

“What in blazes did you do to him?!”

“I said, sit down!” Vines shoot out from the darkness. You’re tugged into your seat and held still, posture perfect. A smile twists itself onto his ink-stained lips. “Was that so difficult?”

He waves his hand and more vines come down from the ceiling to grasp the cutlery. You watch as they cut a portion of whatever shapeless filth is on your plate. Refusing to comply, you keep your mouth shut.

“Not hungry? A shame. It’s strawberry. You enjoy strawberries, do you not? Ah, and I suppose that husband of yours fancied them something fierce.”

“Please…” You look at him helplessly, tears shimmering in your glossy gaze. “What did you do to my Riddle? Why did you hurt him?”

“Two cannot exist within the same space. I was never going to be allowed to stay in your world with him around. He was already bound for the grave.” He chuckles to himself. “Rather, it was quite fortuitous that you left for the sea. If you had stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to work so efficiently.”

“So you—you’re the reason he—”

“My (Name) left me stranded here in this hell, but you… You’re perfect. Your love is pure and soft. You are the one.”

“So what are you, truly? You’re not Riddle.”

A flower unfurls before you, its petals drying your tears. He hums.

“You’re mistaken, my rose. Who else am I if not the Riddle you cherish so dearly?”

“You’re Moros, are you not?”

He tilts his head, and you can hear the audible crack of his neck.

“Moros, an entity of doom—of death. Riddle saw you in the mirror when—”

“Not me,” he corrects. “He saw himself—what was to become of him, at least. He also saw you, here with me. This is the very outcome he was hoping to prevent.” Moros barks out a cruel laugh. “And look where it got him! A wooden bed beneath the soil. Oh, but I do understand, though. You’re worth fighting for. Dying for, even. He loved you sincerely, but I shall love you perfectly.”

��You’re a monster.”

“Nooo.” He waggles a vine at you. “I’m your husband. There’s a difference. One is imperfect, a failure. The other… The other is better, an improvement.”

“Oh, forgive me. A parasite.”

“No,” he says, stressing the word. “Try again.”

“A fiend.”

“(Name), my patience is thin as a hair.”

“I will never call you my husband, Moros.”

The vines tighten their grasp just as his face reddens with frustration. His vermillion eyes flash dangerously. You wheeze as the life is squeezed from your lungs.

“S-Stop—I can’t—can’t breathe! Please! R-Riddle… Riddle, please!”

At once, your flowery restraints retreat. He tries a smile next, but it’s tense. As if he could snap at any moment.

“There you are. (Name), my rose, I must say, it is dreadful manners to call your husband by another man’s name. So dreadful, in fact, that it incites the cold-blooded rage in my very veins. If I wished, I could paint these walls in your red. If I wished, I could tear you apart, limb from precious limb, and string you up among my flowers. But I won’t because I love you, and it would cause me immeasurable grief to lose another (Name).”

“Enough prattling. I want my locket.”

“And I have told you before that is not how you negotiate, my dear. Proper etiquette at the table dictates that you must maintain respectable eye contact, and you must never slouch. Nor should you chew with your mouth open, and if you wish to speak you must not mumble or twiddle your thumbs. You must not whine like a petulant child either. If you wish to have your locket—and I cannot fathom why—you must outline your terms. I do realize you’ve been away from your husband far too long, so perhaps he never taught you any manners. Under my rule, that shall change. Under my rule, you will be perfect just as I am.”

You tamp down a foul-mouthed tirade. “Very well. In exchange for the locket, I will give you myself.”

“In what way?”

“In any way you please, but you must first answer my questions. Truthfully.”

He eyes you dubiously. “What might those be?”

“Can you leave through the mirror?”

“I can, but only when you’re asleep.”

“What’s stopping you from existing in my world now that Riddle is gone?”

Moros smiles and the locket falls onto the table, right in front of you. “Your mourning ornament. So long as a piece of him exists in those walls, I am trapped here. As you can imagine, it’s immensely vexing.”

“And who trapped you here?”

“Why, it’s been so long I’ve no recollection. Perhaps a clever witch or a simple mistake… I do so detest living within this dull looking glass.”

“So even if I’m to keep my locket, you wouldn’t be permitted to cross over.”

“Correct. But why do that when you’re already here? You can keep those measly strands of hair. I don’t want your world if you’re not in it. So long as you’re here with me, I can stomach these colorless, glass confines.”

“Then… You’ll give me the locket and I’ll stay here?”

“Indeed.”

“And you’ll release me? I won’t be imprisoned in this…grotesque garden of yours?”

“Will you flee? Ah, but I surmise you couldn’t manage that. Not after three.”

“One more question.”

He narrows his eyes at you.

“What happens if the mirror breaks?”

“No further questions.”

“Answer me! What happens if the mirror breaks, Moros?”

“That’s not my name!”

“Tell me, or else I’ll—” You stop yourself, lower your voice, and soften the anger in your face. “Riddle, dear, please… I don’t want to argue with you.”

He studies your expression for a moment. “Why do you wish to know?”

“Riddle assumed it would give you the means to free yourself.”

“Well, he’s partially correct. If I’m to truly free myself, there must be part of me in your world, much like the hair in that locket. So that, even when the mirror shatters, I can slip out from the remaining shards and cling to that part of my existence.” His red eyes flick to your stomach. “It is a shame you cannot conceive. Even if you escaped my grasp, I could simply follow you if you were—”

“Even if I could, I would never,” you interrupt, tone clipped. “Never. Not with you.”

“Then it is very clear where we shall live from now on. You must forgive the state of our home. I’ll be sure to tidy it soon enough. If we’re to live in perfect harmony, our home must reflect that, yes? You will learn to keep house so that it never falls into ruin.”

“Yes… Yes, I understand. So… So may I—the locket?”

The vines holding you hostage slither away to the shadows, and your locket drops into your outstretched hands. You breathe a relieved sigh and pry it open to check its contents. Both are still intact.

Oh, thank you. He’s okay. He’s safe!

“Now then…” Moros offers an inky hand. “Shall we?”

Tying the broken chain around your neck, you hesitate. Eventually, you place your hand in his. “We shall.”

He sweeps you into an elegant waltz. Thick, gnarled roots shift to allow the two of you passage. He lifts you into the air just before you nearly trip over one of them. If you allowed starry adoration to shroud your sight, perhaps you would have been content remaining in this world. But this wicked place is far from a comfort. Even if your world is devoid of Riddle, it is still infinitely better than this one.

Moros twirls you effortlessly, a smile widening on his lips. “You’ve made me the happiest man, my rose. I am forever honored to have you here with me. You’ll never know just how long I’ve waited, day after day, night after night… Now we can be together forever.”

You cradle his pale face, swiping the murky ink that leaks from his eyes like tears. “Forever and always.”

The musicless dance comes to an end. His hands rest at your waist, unwilling to truly part.

“Wasn’t that just grand?”

You nod along. “I apologize for my previous behavior. It was most unbecoming. Perhaps we might begin anew? Put this mess behind us, yes?”

“My rose…” Vines slither through the shadowy brush, coiling up your legs to root you in place. His grip tightens, and a manic glint darkens his gaze. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“You are no fool, Moros.” Your hand creeps into your satchel, fingers fishing for the handle of your knife. “But you were foolish to take the face of my Riddle, and for that you have brought misfortune upon yourself. It’s unforgivable!”

You yank him towards you via the belts laced around his torso. He’s caught by surprise when you crash your lips against his, whisked away in a rush of ardor. The vines slacken just so as he melts against you, pinned in place by the blade you thrust into his stomach.

And then you’re stumbling away, pitch-black blood stringing between your lips. You wipe the filth away with the back of your hand and turn from the dining room. With trembling hands, Riddle touches the handle wedged deep in his gut. There’s a flash of innocence on his face, a betrayal that carries a somber sort of pain. He looks pitiful for a second before that fearsome temper contorts his expression into something frightfully abominable. Weeds and roots thicken in retaliation, diving right for you.

“You deceitful, ill-mannered cheat!” he fumes, tearing the knife from his abdomen. Blot spatters the ground in a grisly splat. When he flings the knife across the room, blot-blood follows in an arc. “Do you not understand that this is where you belong? This is your home. I’m your husband and you’re my wife—mine! All mine!”

“I’ll never be yours!”

He grits his teeth. “You’ve scorned me for the last time! Get back here or I shall drag you through these halls—dead or alive, with or without your head attached to your shoulders!”

You shriek when he, accompanied by a following of frightful flora, lunges after you. His claws drag against your arm, almost breaking skin, but you manage to shake yourself free, just barely avoiding the vines that reach for you with thorny fingers. He slams into the wall and the whole house seems to shake from the force of it. You catch him clutching his stomach just as you jump over a rose bush sprouting from the cracked tiles.

“Stop! I implore you!” He reaches desperately, eyes wide and terrified. You almost hesitate, but then you remember this is the monster who killed your Riddle—who is trying to imprison you in this corrupt cage. “You can’t leave! I forbid it!”

Shunning him, you bound up the stairs. A stem curls around the bannister and shoots out to seize your ankle, tripping you. Your chin smacks against the steps. Blood fills your mouth shortly after, and you realize you’ve bitten your tongue. It hurts, but you must push through.

“You’re stark raving mad!” You shake your leg free of the vine, but another captures your wrist. “No! Release me!”

“Once you’re in my arms—where you rightfully belong—you shall learn proper discipline so that you conduct yourself in a manner befitting your station!”

Your eyes dart around the hall, searching for a means to escape. There must be something—anything! You can’t let him drag you down these stairs. The moment your foot touches the floor, you’ll never make it back up.

“You’ve yet to see how perfect we’ll be, but in time it will become clear,” he’s saying, watching you from the bottom of the stairs. “Soon… Soon, you’ll understand. Then we shall be wed and you will be mine for all of eternity. I shall employ any means necessary to ensure you remain here at my side, even if it means I must terrorize you only slightly.”

Scrambling with your free hand, you rifle through your satchel for anything useful. Your fingers brush the edge of a little box and the beginning of an idea sparks in your brain.

“I may not have done everything perfectly. I’ve made countless errors in my life and I will make countless more. I’ll never be what you want me to be—what his mother expected from me. But, if nothing else, I will right this wrong.”

You manage to loosen your other arm just enough to pull the matchbox free. In a wild frenzy, you grab hold of one and strike it against the surface of the box.

Moros lurches up the stairs, but you’re prepared. You kick him back down, your sole colliding with his face, and it brings you overwhelming delight to hear him groan in pain. Quite satisfied with yourself, you watch him tumble down the stairs, caught only by his weeds at the very bottom. 

The flowers, vines, and roots retreat, shying away from the flickering flame in your hand. You shimmy out of the last one wrapped around your waist. Shrugging the satchel off, you offer the letters stuffed within an apologetic frown before dropping the match inside. The satchel and the now smoldering envelopes land right before Moros’s feet, smoke curling out from the flaps.

You hurry to procure another match and, just as he scrambles to put the first one out, flick it down the steps. The leaves and petals shudder in the heat. Soon enough, they’ll all be caught in a fierce blaze.

“No…” he laments, looking between you and the withering plants. “No! No! No!” His gaze hardens, odium burning behind those malicious red eyes. “Not another step! Do you hear me?!” 

You do. You just choose not to listen.

You scurry the rest of the way, stumbling over your clumsy feet, and burst into the bedroom. Your sopping reflection is beckoning you forward with silent urgency. Seaweed hangs from her arms like a cloak. Her skin is bloated. In spite of everything, you trust her wholeheartedly.

A most haunting cry resounds from the hall. It’s filled with indescribable agony, tinged with rage and…fear.

“Don’t leave me! The world out there offers you nothing but misfortune and melancholy. You’ll never survive! You need me!” His shadow is stark against the wallpaper, illuminated by a gradually growing fire. “I can’t—won’t do it again! I refuse to be alone! I refuse! I’m right… Always right… And yet…”

Clutching the locket secured around your throat, you take hold of the hand offered in the mirror. She pulls you through for a final time just as another anguished scream pierces the air.

You fall out of the mirror on your hands and knees, chest heaving with exhilaration.

“I… I’m free. Free from that monster’s grasp!” You check yourself over just in case and, finding all to be well, breathe a relieved sigh. “It’s over…”

A thump against the mirror startles you. You turn back to see a thin, spidery arm reaching for the glass. His clawed fingertips touch the surface, but they don’t pass through. Instead, they tap a steady rhythm.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Within minutes, he’s pounding a fist against the glass. You jerk away and hold tightly to the locket pin. It occurs to you that you’ll never truly be rid of Moros unless you destroy him. He can still slip out of the mirror when you’re slumbering, even if only for a few hours.

You dread to imagine what wretched feats he may be capable of when you submit to the land of dreams every night.

So you lift the heaviest candlestick you can find and, just as the tolling of three o’clock calls up from below, smash the mirror to pieces. The last you see of Moros is his frightful countenance awash in firelight. He looks more like a demon than a replica of your husband, inhuman features elongated like taffy stretched too far.

You’re not sure how long you spend destroying the mirror frame, but in the aftermath you allow the candlestick to fall from your hand. You deflate against the floor, gazing at the ceiling.

“It’s finally over. No longer shall we be tormented by that fiend…”

You gather the shards and stow them in a box. Come tomorrow, it will be filled with rocks, locked and bound in chains, and tossed into the river.

For now, you climb into Riddle’s bed and, soothing yourself with the warm memories you have of him, slowly succumb to sleep.

Moros’s Looking Glass is no more.

“Oh, if you could only hear his death wail!” you recount to Riddle’s grave over tea and biscuits. There’s a cup and plate set for him, placed just near his headstone. “Shrill as a squall. I was so certain it might fill my ears with blood if it went on any longer. I should hope to never encounter another sound more thunderous.”

You hum around the porcelain rim. “If you were with me today, I suspect we’d have a grand celebration. Only the victors delight in the secret spoils of a battle hard-fought.”

The sun is peeking out through feathery cumulus today. Warmed beneath the rays, boasting the locket pin on your breast, you don’t seem so gloomy in your mourning wear. Rather, you’re hopeful. Riddle can finally rest.

“Oh! I never did have the opportunity to recount my travels. The seaside is marvelous. Simply exquisite, my dear. Full of enchanting mystery. The sailors at port spin all manner of tales! I fear it may have haunted my head for the rest of my stay, for I was certain I saw shimmering tails out by the rocks. Ah, but these grotesque sirens could never hope to impress a jot of fear in me.”

I’ve endured far worse.

“Riddle…” You rest your hand upon the grass, smoothing out verdant blades beneath your palm. “I adore you.”

A gentle breeze whistles through the churchyard. You smile.

If you strain your ears, you can almost hear his voice on the wind, reciprocating the sentiment.

Five Years Later.

At the bottom of the river, stowed away in a box with rocks, shards of glass have been laid to rest.

A single red eye blinks open in the dark, trapped within the reflective surface.

Hands bring the box up onto shore, where three children crowd around it.

“What you’ve dug up this time?” the little girl asks, kneeling on the shore.

“It’s a treasure chest!” one of the boys exclaims.

“Is it truly?”

“Look, see!” The other points.

Together, they drop a particularly heavy stone onto the rusted, water-worn chains. They break apart seamlessly.

“Blast. No key.”

“Surely we can break it in?”

“Let’s give it a go.”

It takes some effort, but soon enough they’ve dented the mechanism. The box pops open, revealing shards of glittering glass. With a disappointed grumble, one of the boys lifts a chunk towards the sky. The sun catches it, reflecting its rays beautifully.

“Nothin’ but mess. Worthless.”

“Ya think? If we patch it up, it’ll sell for a few shillings. I declare thee: Magic Mirror of Mystery.” He turns towards his friends and grins. “What do ya reckon?”

“This isn’t even worth a week’s bread. Throw it back.”

“It could be worth something small.”

“Hmm. No. I reckon I’ll keep it. Let’s make it a gift.”

“Who for?”

“Lady Rosehearts! She’s always givin’ us our share for survival. We gotta pay it back. Mummy always said you pay kindliness with more kindliness and you’ll never go hungerin’.”

“Oh, that’s marvelous! I shall make a necklace out of the smaller pieces! It’ll be so pleasing.” The little girl giggles in delight, admiring the shards sparkling in the box.

“And I’ll put the pieces together into somethin’ sturdy.” 

They exchange eager glances and then gather the shards, leaving an empty box in their wake.

[2-dsimp]

Any of the guys with a pregnancy kink?

On the father, the spirit, and the son, pregnant people are fine as fuck. I always be looking respectfully.

- 🤰

【The H.S.M Scenarios; Pregnancy kink edition】

—————;———-;———

Cw: MDNI NSFW 🔞 Fem reader, pregnancy kink

————;—-;————

“Atta girl, taking in every single drop like a good mommy~ Just lay back on me wife. I wanna get that cute tummy of yours all plump n full of me again and again—Fuck!”

Nokka the husband, this guys a no brainer. He’s so confident in his seed that he doesn’t even need a pregnancy test to check if he had knocked you up with his baby. But Your husband will let you do so if only to prove that his elite sperm had done its job well. in making his wife’s belly swell up beautifully with his potential son. And hence the moment you started showing a baby bump, your meager time alone at home would diminish. As this man is constantly on you like white on rice. He’s rubbing your belly possessively with his big hand. Watching football while having you warm his cock. Of which he complained got so rock hard that it was borderline uncomfortable for him to even sit wearing his baggy sweats. All because of how his wife was lookin too damn irresistible in that pregnancy glow. (And just in general… this man’s a bonifide caveman simp for his wife)

“Awe my poor player 2~ is our little player 3 acting up too much? Don’t worry! I’ll tell em to take it easy on you mkay mamma? Just spread them legs wide for me so that lil bugger can get the message”

Soma the Zombie, always dreamed of having a team of professional gamers to carry on his legacy of being number one in the world. He often joked around saying that 3 kids wouldn’t be enough. Since he’d never get enough of seeing that radiant glow you’d possess when you’re heavy with his child. And ever since he got infected his obsession with keeping you full got even more demanding. The Zombie had his tentacles that sprouted from him squeezed and kneaded your breasts for any source of milk to suckle on. while his thick gelatinous tendril cock squirmed itself inside your well used cunt. His suckers messaged against your love cannal trying to cease the baby’s incessant kicking by giving them a taste of their own medicine.

“B-but sunshine won’t this u-upset our little starshine? N-no? Then I guess it’ll be f-fine. Just don’t p-push yourself too hard, I only w-want you to f-feel good my love”

Moros the Torturer, would be considering himself blessed to even be able to have such happiness in raising a child with you. He’d always make sure to cater to your every need during your pregnancy. You’ve got a craving for baked goods? He’ll bake enough for a whole football team. Need a deep tissue massage? The Torturer’s on the case, after consulting with Koji the medic what would be the best spots to soothe for his pregnant darling. You’d have to be the one to try and initiate any sort of intimacy to get his gears going. Since he’s a timid gentle giant who’d cry if under the impression that he somehow hurt you. By delving his thick uncircumcised cock so deep inside your wet snatch that its fat tip was kissing languidly against your cervix. With each gentle but jerky buck of his semi inexperienced hips. His scarred hands would always subconsciously find themselves on your stomach. As he’s just so grateful at how now he’s got two stunning guiding lights that’ll brighten up his day.

[myeagleexpert]

If Yuu had adhd

Vil: You must look at the person when talking to them, it is rude not to look them in the eye.

Yuu: Of course Vil, so can you continue what you were saying? Vil: Getting back on topic, I was saying that…. Yuu, looking straight into his eyes: Hunhun, I'm listening. Vil: Then my manager said that… Yuu, quickly looking at Vil's lip gloss: *what is the exact color of his lips? Is the brand new?* Did he have the courage to do that? Vil: How audacious! And do you know what my father said about that? Yuu, looking at Vil's hair: *I've seen this shade of blonde somewhere, where was it again? * Tell me more Vil... Vil: Absolutely ridiculous, for a reputable company they should… Yuu,looking at the curtain behind Vil's head:*The print on Pomefiore's curtain is beautiful, I've seen in a movie the princess who made a dress with the help of animals? Could I do something like that?* Are you going to sue them Vil? Is this the first time you've done this?

Vil: It's the first and last time! But I don't want to think about it now, it will only give me unnecessary wrinkles. Would you like to join me for tea, prefect? Yuu, thinking hard about what the film was so she could sew the dress model: *the film is… the film is… THE MOVIE IS…!* Enchanted!

Vil: it's "Delighted", prefect. You got distracted again, didn't you? Yuu, staring at Vil's hair and remembering: Marlyn Moroe.

[meggannn]

hades 2 conversation dialogue my sister and i found interesting

SPOILERS obviously. my sister has been failing her runs on purpose to get more dialogue out of people. this post discusses dialogue that was not in the developer stream.

on hermes (mel and hecate are speaking about hermes and artemis at the start):

on melinoë, artemis, and the olympians:

on why mel is the only one who can kill chronos:

on hecate & mel's relationship:

on a secret order that mel is apart of:

on mel's job at the crossroads:

tension and secrets in the crossroads!!!!

when you give hypnos nectar:

(i wasn't fast enough to get his reply. hypnos says something like "zzzz... welcome to the.... zzzz"), then mel says:

other things i didnt screengrab:

hypnos: mel can remark to charon that hypnos is still asleep, charon says "arrghhh," and mel says "wait, he's of more use this way...?" possibly implying hypnos's sleep is not what it seems

nemesis: is uhhh kind of really mean!!!! she says something to mel along the lines of "you're upset you lost a family you don't remember? i KNEW my mom, all you did was be born"

moros: you can invite moros to the crossroads and he stands near the fated list far from everyone because nobody wants to talk to doom incarnate (odysseus in particular makes a point to say he'll stay away). iirc he introduces himself as "the bearer of bad news" which i find kind of clever but also a bit sad. if you give him nectar iirc he says nobody has given him a gift/offering before. aphrodite also notes that moros has made mel's acquaintance and calls him good-looking.

hephaestus: he criticizes your weapon's workmanship when you first meet him, then later takes it back and compliments it as very good, and says "just don't go spreading it around" to the olympians.

takeaways:

hermes is "missing" but he's on a mission for the war to find out what chronos is scheming

artemis (and hermes) didn't tell the olympians hecate has been raising a titan-killer (mel) and the olympians don't really believe she can do it but send her boons anyway, presumably figuring why not

only mel can enter the house of hades to challenge chronos, so that's why she needs to make this journey alone

hecate is rather sweet and mentorly with mel, but she gets exhausted and irritated when mel doubts herself. i didn't grab it but there's a bit where mel says if hecate had not held back, she knows she would've lost, and hecate snaps "you know?" asking mel why she puts limits on herself

mel, hecate, selene, and artemis are part of a secret order called the silver sisters that hermes also supports. olympus does not know about it. all these gods (save hermes) also have moon iconography in their designs

pretty sure moros will be romanceable. i think his and mel's interactions are very sweet, and aphrodite notes he's arrived and calls him good-looking, which reminded me of how she commented on thanatos to zag. no idea who might be a female romance option yet (i'm assuming there is one)

hephaestus boons are a lot of fun, per my sister

the big one: HECATE AND NEMESIS KNOW SOMETHING WE DON'T??? hecate maybe knew an attack was coming and didn't do anything?? nyx is also confirmed to basically be not around though we don't know where she is. and hecate is something called a handmaiden??? is she meant to serve nyx? it now seems like the children of nyx are meant to serve hecate, and eris isn't doing that, but nemesis is playing guard duty begrudgingly. so maybe nemesis thinks hecate let the house be captured/destroyed for her own ends, possibly also to get nyx out of the picture, so nyx's children would serve her(?). maye nyx is also a silver sister and hecate is now in command at the crossroads/on earth, second only to selene?

[blood-starved-beast]

NEMESIS!!!!!

Jokes aside people focus a lot on how mean Nem is and yeah!! She's mean and clearly covets Mel's job but also if you look at her life philosophy it all makes sense.

Cause as Retribution Incarnate, Nemesis's whole deal is that you reap what you sow. If you experienced consequences, you did something to invoke them. Hence why she argues with Moros over the Fates and their influence vs. one's autonomy in that one conversation. It's also why she resents Mel having the job to save the House of Hades so much.

Mel never did anything to deserve this job. She's going out there, with the weight of everyone's expectations, worked up af, dying a billion times cause she was told she ought to. She didn't fail like Hecate did, it's not her official reason to exist like Nemesis herself. The only "crime" Mel did to deserve such a "fate" was being born to Persephone and Hades. Which is why Nem says the job isn't "personal" for Mel - Mel has done nothing (for good or bad) that warrants such a punishment - the scrutiny, the bloodshed, the agony etc.

It contextualizes the animosity between her and Hecate so much. We know Hecate failed as handmaiden to warn Nyx (or so Nemesis accuses her of) and we know Hecate couldn't save the House other than take Mel, Hypnos, and the unfinished family portrait (her own admission). From Nem's perspective, Hecate's the one who deserves punishment more, yet she's fostering the responsibility onto Mel.

It also contextualizes why Nem is so self-loathing about the whole arrangement too. If by her admission, one reaps what they sought re: consequences, what does it mean then, that she herself is stuck in the Crossroads on guard duty? What has she done to reap this? It's probably why she accepts the job even though she hates it. Sidenote: after the Nem + Hecate fight, Mel would have a conversation with Nemesis about it. She asks what did she get for her "insubordination" and Nem's like "heh. more guard duty." but not particularly mad about it. She knew what she did, what the consequences would be. Cause of course she knows.

Anyways, this whole thing is a long ramble to say - Nemesis has a lot of hidden depths besides her asshole-ishness. I do think all her insults and jabs at Mel are thinly veiled concern for her situation (I mean, she's constantly pointing out where Mel is lacking - scrawny, not personal, not deserving of it, etc. and being like "does anyone else think this is fucked up??") while also thinking it should be her responsibility instead. I mean, does Nemesis carry guilt about not being there to stop Chronos I wonder?

[elvestoneanzelote1]

Hello! I just read your Makima/Nayuta reader and Really like it and I wanna give you my own ideas for Makima/Nayuta reader

For personality reader will of course,be really cunning,smart,and good at manipulate people as this is the biggest trait in Makima which mean reader know something is clearly off with how the agency is treating him but all of those trait are cover with his childish and outgoing personality. Even tho reader is young and mischievous he is charming own his own making other people let down their guard

And now his ability(i'll just take two Makima ability),since reader controlling ability only work when he think he's better than someone on the same person I like to think he'll be quite egoistic and view some people as his dogs Just like Makima.Then we got makima shooting ability,for this reader just need to hold his hand and position his hand to a finger gun and go "bang" then it will shoot through the person who he aimed

Bonus,For the part 2 I like to think that the agency is absolutely in shambles and try to look for reader everywhere meanwhile reader is with the port mafia.Mori probably try to take reader in as he realize how useful his ability is but reader will immeadiately know something is odd about the man and play along with Mori and maybe mess a bit Mori with his ability

Honestly that all,sorry if there is a spelling mistakes as english is not my mother tongue

𝘈:𝘯- 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘰.. 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.. 𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰? 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰.. 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘉𝘚𝘋 𝘹 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤)

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘔𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳.

Part 1 here

Part 3 here

The first thing of what Chuuya thought was he absolutely find you tolerable and cute (platonically) as you have your own puppy! How can he not be happy to find someone who have the same interest and practically he can handle kids just well.

But.. He was confused on why Mori requested him to take the kid with him to find out about his ability but first company them to shopping trip.

He wonder why but obliged to do so, now he was stuck with you while Moro is busy buying clothes for the children more likely first Elise.

He even told Chuuya to warn if he spot an agency member or sort which confused him yet agreed to do so.

So.. it begins of him babysitting you for the day, While Mori is busy in the mall with Elise as you were with Chuuya who hold your hands every step you take.

"Ne! Ne! Chu-chu-niisan! Can I have the latest edition icecream of Pikachu special?!" You asked with doe eyes as he sweatdropped.

He was about to deny as he doesn't want to leave the boss but your teary eyes make him stop and agreed to quickly buy it for you.

You hugged his leg in joy as he chuckle and take you with him.

The problem was the icecream was selling on the rooftop.

It was just a happy moment until someone try to attack/hostage you as you were just 10-12 year old boy.

The man kept a gun on your head as you snivel in teary eyes.

Chuuya was hesitant as wrong move you can be in danger as he believe you don't truly have an ability or maybe you have but it is useful for agency not Port mafia and perhaps Mori analyse about it is wrong.

"Chuchu-niisan!" You wailed as the man warn Chuuya not to move.

"Don't worry y/n! I will save you" said Chuuya as he try to come up with a plan as the rooftop was empty now.

"Chuchu-ni-" "shut up" as the man beat your head with the gun (bottom) harshly making it bleed.

"You! I will kill you!" Exclaimed Chuuya angrily as the person smirk when you were quiet your head was low as blood drip from your forehead to the ground.

'Is he unconscious'

"Y/n.." Muttered Chuuya who almost try to attack the man until, you started to giggle as the man and Chuuya was confused.

Your eyes stare up and smile at the man while, making a gun finger sign.

"Ne uncle let's play a game.. Who can shoot first me or you"

"Hah? /y/n!" Called Out Chuuya who try to rush to you but before he could.

"Bang!"

The blood splattered his vision as the man body fall to the ground with half of his body splattered into the ground and you, while you hold out your finger gun quickly waving to the dead body.

"Uncle! you were too late!"

"...." Chuuya stood there motionless as he stare at the kid who have no remorse of killing a person.

He gulped as you smile at Chuuya.

"Chuchu-niisan! My clothes are dirty! Can we buy new clothes for me please?"

"..." He slowly nod as he felt you tug his hand dragging him.

'I should call someone to erase evidence' thought Chuuya as he firmly hold your hand while you skipped happily with your clothes and face slightly splattered in blood.

......

Chuuya realise one thing that your ability was dangerous and he hope Yumeno and you doesn't meet.

As Chuuya explain to Mori what he have witnessed earlier today as you and Elise fall asleep on the backseat with Mori seating on other side of the driver seat.

"What shall we do boss?"

"What shall we do? I didn't thought the Agency was keeping a boy this dangerous! His ability is terrifying especially when he just killed without a remorse! We should sent him to jail or sort.."

As Chuuya sneak glance at Mori who smirk after the rant.

"Is what good people said, and Port mafia is something that accept those who have tianted hands don't we..?"

"Yes boss" Chuuya said as his hands on the steering tightens while listening to Mori about dressing you up with Elise with the new clothes he brought.

Chuuya admit he wish he didn't hear those words uttered by Mori.

.

..

In the Agency the franticness quiet down.

Kunikida had dark circles as he finally print out a paper as Yosano is sharpening her butcher knife to threaten the person who stole their adorable child.

Atsushi, Jun'chiro and Kyouka eventually come back while shook heads as they couldn't find anything about you.

Kenji was frowning too.

Ranpo didn't have a bite of his sweets as he is busy looking at the papers reading any headline of a murder or sort.

They know your ability can kill.

But they can't blame you as you are just a child and your ability kill when someone harm you in a worse manner like beaten you, stab you or even shoot you or sort. It was eventually reassuring that your ability is strong and protect you from harm but it is concerning if someone use you for wrong deeds!.

As the evidence were laid on the table as they all stare at Ranpo who didn't have a bite of his sweets until he find you.

"Ranpo-san" they all muttered as Ranpo wear his glasses quietly without an ounce of pride or sort simply serious.

His eyes darken as he hold the paper tightly.

"So.. where is he?" Asked Fukuzawa as Ranpo glance up with an darken face.

As the others await his answer and for the first time they look like they can kill anyone who harm you or try to take you away from them after all, You are like their child, their younger brother or sort!

Even Kyouka is ready to kill even if she is in agency she won't hesistate.

Dazai was in deep thought with a dark face in the corner.

For some reason his gut feeling tell something tragic was going to happen.. He hope you will be safe at least.

As Ranpo kept down the paper with a dark expression. As everything went frozen for a moment when Ranpo spoke.

"In port mafia and the boss knows his ability"

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A:n- that's all good day/night to you all! Hope you all rest well!

[onskepa]

It's ok how about them reacting to the romanian movie morometii you can find the whole movie on you tube on cinepub channel with english subtitles it's a movie which shows how the peasants în the interbelic period lived în Romania the rules of thisare the same from my request with the revenant still aplies if you want to of course:)

Okie dokie! So for this one, I imagine only the adults watching it. So enjoy~!!

P.S: I think this is the first time that I couldnt think of a title so im using the movie title instead.

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

Morometii

Mo’at sighed tiredly as she just finished the last patient in getting healed. Her age is getting to her, not as energetic as she was before. She isn't complaining though, any injuries are simply related to getting hurt during a hunt or taking it too far in training. So the tsahik cleans her tent, feeling very excited for her special plans tonight. 

A movie night with her family. 

Simplu, a fellow human from the base, made a high recommendation for mo’at to enjoy. Mo’at does not oppose it and is open to anything. Except for overlight high CGI movies. Those are an absolute eye sore to mo’ats aging eyes. How can anyone stand those? Too flashy for her. 

Either way, mo’at trusts smplu with her opinion. Even if the name is a bit confusing.

“Moro…metee?” mo’at repeated slowly. 

Simply chuckled as she held an old DVD box. “Morometii” she said, slowly so Mo'at could say it clearly. 

“Morometii” this time the tsahik says it right. 

“That's right,” Simplu praised. 

“Will it give me a headache?” mo’at asks. Simplu shakes her head. 

“No no, unlike the other films, this one is simple. It is black and white and gray scales, no dramatic shots or anything realistically fake” 

If mo’at had eyebrows, one would be raised. Her doubts clearly showed. 

“And the plot?” 

Simplu giggled, “what use of me telling you? That would spoil the fun” 

“And the children?” mo’at asks as she noticed neither her grandchildren nor the reef children were present. 

“They all went to watch something else,” Neytiri replied. 

“Simplu did mention that the kids might get bored with this type of movie, so I let them have a go ahead to watch something else,” Jake added. He and tonowari were making sure the ladies were comfortable with pillows plush and soft, ronal gathering the favorite snacks, and neytiri helping her mother get more comfy. 

“Won't simplu be joining us?” mo’at asks. 

The recommended movie is from Simplu's homeland, wouldn't she be interested to see? 

“Here! I'm here! Sorry I'm late, had to help the kids with the other dvd player” simplu shouted as she entered the area. Mo’at smiled in relief. 

Jake smiled, “alright, lets start this” and pressed play. 

The screen was filled with imagery, and like simplu said, it was black and white. Though, unlike the crips and clear vision, it looked grainy and much older. 

“Already into an interesting start” ronal muttered as she gets comfortable beside tonowari. 

The first shot begins with many views of objects, trees, the skies, all slowly to allow the viewers to see. 

“Already getting a sense of gloom jake comments as the slow soundtrack plays. Its lingering long notes, short haunting notes, give a sense that the movie will not be a happy one. 

The next shot was of an elderly man, staring straight at the camera as he smokes a cigarette. Unfamiliar animal sounds in the background. The shot changes to a lady waking up from what looks like a family pile. 

“Do humans sleep like us? Huddling together?” neytiri asks as she notices more people sleeping around the lady. 

“In the ancient times yes” simplu answered. 

The lady stood up and stared at the man who was smoking, speaking an unknown language. 

“Oops! My bad!” Jake stood up quickly to pause it and went to settings. 

“You forgot?” simplu asks, jake chuckles nervously as he nodded. 

“What are you doing?” Neytiri asks, seeing weird words on the screen. 

“Changing to english, so everyone can understand what's going on” Jake replies, after a fix, the movie resumes. And this time everyone can hear the characters. 

“I dreamed of a white piglet….”

The man and the lady began to speak, their words low and simple. Very straightforward. 

“Their clothes are interesting…” mo’at took note of. 

While they do mutter some comments, the rest of the na’vi adults let their eyes wonder if this new style of film. Or old.

As they see how the humans interact, Ronal and Neytiri couldn't help but admire how the overall land, the animals, and the people themselves looked. ‘Farmers’ as jake and Simplu would state. Farmers who take care of their herd and families. 

Not so far from how their own clans farm certain things. 

“Milk the goat! What will you eat?” 

“Crayfish!” 

“It seems through times women have not changed” Tonowari muttered yet earned a slap on his shoulder from his wife. 

“Nagging sure is a dominant trait in women” Jake agreed, only to also earn a harsh slap at the back of his head from neytiri. 

The scene changes to the youngest boy, waking up from what looked like a nap. Getting up he looks at his surroundings, it seems to be a small wooded area, the sheeps not so far from him. The music makes it almost an eerie feeling to the scene. The wind rustles through the trees, ripples forming from the water, the grassing swaying. 

“What are they doing?” neytiri wonders, seeing two young men hiding behind some trees as the sheep run towards the corn field. Making the young boy run after them. 

Before anything more could be talked about, the scene changes to the mother. A worried look on her face. Supper is ready she announces, her family members going to the home to eat. All the while throwing odd insults. 

“I never heard of such scolding like that” mo’at whispers. 

Simplu chuckles a bit, “that is romanian mothers for you” 

The scene goes on, the family having their dinner, all while the mother worries about the youngest son. 

“Telling the other to shut up, why can't they themselves?” Ronal says, not liking how the father and sons command their mother/wife. 

“Times were different, family dynamics back then were more strict” simplu explains. Though the explanation doesn't seem to satisfy the reef tsahik. 

“Hmf, still” 

“On the other hand we need money…The loan must be paid back in the fall” Morometii explains to his son. 

Money is often mentioned in the movie. Neytiri and mo’at only understand very bit how item transactions work in human customs, but never a whole lot. 

“Why is money so important?” neytiri asks jake. He sighs a bit, letting his mind go back in time. 

“For humans, it is everything. It is what made the earth go round as they say” he replies. 

“How?” she perseus. How can money make a giant planet move? Is it essential? 

“Money didnt always make the world go around. The early humans were fine without it. Only now, yeah, humans cant live without it” simplu adds. 

“Look, money is confusing even for adults, so try not to stress so much on it” jake tells. Simplu gives him a look, without him knowing. 

The scene changes to that of the youngest son and his mother. The mother provides some food for her child, wondering of his words. “What about Bisisica? What do you mean?” the mother asks. 

“This is really confusing…” ronal frowns slightly, still trying to understand what really is going on, even the names! There is so many people already! 

“It will all make sense later on ronal” simplu reasures. Though she can understand, while  she loves the movie, it took her a few watches to fully understand the whole movie. Then again, simplu’s first time watching it was when she was a child. 

The son replies as he enjoys his food, repeating what he overheard from his father and brother. 

“Woe betide you if you come up the hill! You won't have any joy left in you” the mother scolds. However her words left everyone, except for simplu, confused. 

“What does that even mean?” Jake asks. He felt so lost at that point. 

Nila and Morometii grab some axes and go towards the acacia tree. As they made their way, farther ahead in the field were echos of a weeping woman. Her cries reached far in the morning. Crying for a man named ‘ion’. 

“Oh that poor woman…” mo’at covers her mouth. Hearing the woman weep so much made her heart tug. Reminding herself. How mo’at would weep for her descended mate. 

Neytiri and ronal feel terrible as well. Never imagining themselves living a life without their husbands. Wondering what could have happened to the woman’s dead husband. 

But as the ladies feel pity, nila and morometii begin to cut the tree. While being watched from afar. The youngest boy seeing them cutting away at the tree. Letting his mind wonder back to a certain winter time. 

From hearts being tugged, nila and morometii managed to bring down the tree. 

“Why such a need? What did that tree ever do to them?” ronal hisses. It seems humanity has not changed even in ancient times. 

“The acacia wood is high value, that is why. When there were plenty, many humans back then would use acacia wood for how good it was” simplu explains. Ronal simply crosses her arms. 

“Bah! Holding a mimicking weapon and already I'm seeing the resemblance” Ronal complains. Barely 30 minutes into the movie and she is hating on Paraschiv. Nila is not too far from her hate list. Dressing up like soldiers and practicing the routines. 

“Has war already existed in that era?” tonowari asks. 

Jake and simplu made a face, “it has been for thousands of years” 

While the movie both in plot and making of it, war has always been there. Pretty difficult to get rid of in humans. 

“Nila! Where are you running off to?” 

“To the pre military service!” 

Morometii and what looks to be his neighbor, Dimitru, discusses the usefulness of serving military areas. Why work for the country when you can stay and work with your family? Seems something more in morometii’s ideals. 

“But nila won't be an officer even if there is no one else around” 

“Damn, seems he doesn't believe in nila” Jake comments. 

In Jake's eyes, nila seems odd. Not odd in being the weirdo of the family, but more odd as if nila is still somewhat like a child. Earlier fighting with paraschiv as if they were toddlers fighting over a toy. Morometii mentioned nila is 24, a full grown man. So why does Nila act as if he is younger? Even the youngest child acts wiser than nila. 

“Ugh, I never understand why men have the need to blow out smoke” mo’at gives a disgusted expression. 45% of the time morometii is smoking. Constantly. In what she knows of human biology, inhaling that much smoke can damage the lungs. 

“Why hurt themselves like that?” she asks. 

“For humans, it is a relaxing method. Eases their nerves and minds. But it does come at a cost” simplu answers. 

Understanding humans will forever be a confusing and difficult task. 

“What is he doing?!” tonowari shouts. 

Little boys were enjoying a game of hopping on top of one another. Enjoying their time together while one of the older sons of morometii along with the youngest interrupts their fun. Integrating each child until patience ran thin. To the point where the older son, who is an adult, is threatening and slapping the boys to get an answer out of them. 

It did not sit well with tonowari. 

How can anyone treat a child like that? Especially not of their own blood! 

The poor child that was being slapped confessed on who the perpetrator was, his voice shaking. 

Niculae, the youngest son, was being told to get them. Though the boy doesnt move. Much to his brother's frustrations. 

“No! No more!” neytiri looks away. Seeing the boy being slapped physically pained her. To what extent can humans be so cruel? 

“Sadly neytiri, it is our reality. Back then children were not treated with much kindness nor respect” simplu informs. She remembers back when she first saw that scene, made her feel the slap too. But the more she watched it, the more she became numb to it. Maybe not a good sign of how normal it is now. 

Jake nudges her to keep watching, not a good scene, but they will get over it. 

The music gets intense, making the situation become scarier. 

One of the boys did come up, telling how niculae broke their skull. Only to be rough handled by achim. The adult telling the boy to throw niculae to the ground. Clearly the boy was very uncomfortable. 

“Fight him now! Come on!” achim tells the other boys. All clearly frightened. The same boy threw niculae to the ground twice. Niculae fighting back. Taking control of the situation until he was over the other boy. Achim finally calling an end to it. 

Not far from what is happening, the group of women were watching, Doing nothing. 

“Do they not interfere?” ronal asks. The women just sit and not take action. 

“Back then it was easier and safer for women to not do anything. Letting the men sort it out” jake tells. 

Great, in ronal’s eyes, humanity hated women and children.

“A play?” 

The na’vi tilt their heads in curiosity. 

A man dressed in a silly costume is playfully scaring the locals that are around to see the entertainment. By hearing a signal, many more men dressed in old military-like outfits and made a circle to dance around in. Music plays and it becomes a silly cheery mood. 

Many laugh and seem to be enjoying the play. 

While in the background one of morometii’s daughters sneakily goes behind his back and meet in the glade with someone. 

“I hate this movie,” neytiri hisses. 

Polina, the girl who went to meet the gentleman, Birica, was no gentleman in her eyes. The girl confesses of whom she chooses to marry and earns a slap. 

“In frightens me to know you share blood with those people” mo’at turns to simplu. She shrugs a bit. 

“Things have changed over time mo’at. Its not the same as before” 

“Hopefully the change is better” 

“Oh certainly” 

“Maria, you should stop working and come to church to listen to the holy gospel. Your soul will rot in hell!” 

“I dont mind” 

“I keep forgetting how religious people were in those times…” simplu muttered. Any and all religion on earth was slowly dying as technology became its new god among humans, 

“What is hell? Has anyone returned from there?” 

Maria and Morometii clearly showing their shared blood as siblings. Work being favored over god. 

The words that comes from maria seems that of hopelessness and seeing no light. 

“At least she is keeping it real” jake says. 

In his eyes, Maria reflects how he viewed the world many years ago. What is the point of worshiping something that guarantees nothing? 

Except for when maria insults and  randomly slaps niculae. 

“Fools!” she shouts.

Another play has taken the scene. Morometii and his friends went to see the children displaying a cute play for many to see. A young girl wearing a pretty flower crown tells of what looks like a story. Many applaud her as a man tells of the winners. 

“First prize for boys! Morometii Niculae” the man announces. 

Morometii stands still as he hears the name of his son. 

Niculae walks up to the stage wearing his father’s hat as the instructor gives him a flower crown and a paper. 

“Take off your hat! Poor boy. I bought him that hate, and he doesnt even know how to wear it” morometii chuckles a bit. 

“Lies” simplu snapped. 

Everyone leans forward, just as the audience in the movie, they all stood silent to hear what poem the son wrote. 

“Stage frights?” Jake questions. 

Niculae gotten sick, unable to read his poem and was set aside. 

“Oh all of a sudden he cares,” neytiri comments. Seeing morometii showing concern for niculae. 

“Probably to save face” ronal says with the same tone.

It was time to reap. 

Morometii, his family, along with other farmers woke up early. Many hop on their wagons and horses and all head to the fields. 

Large lands of crops ready to be harvested. 

Using sickle blades, the family begins to cut away and have the weat be collected. 

This part piqued the na’vi’s interest. They were not exposed much in how farming is done in human standards. So this was in a way new to them. 

“Bending down like that, and with still so much to reap. Doesn't that hurt their backs?” tonowari asks. 

Simplu and Jake nod. 

“At that time, no machines existed to make farming easier. All done bare hands. And that is to feed thousands of people” simple explained. 

They more how the farmers worked. Taking what little shade is provided from the hot sun. Resting a bit and continuing with work. It looked like a fruitful harvest. Many work together to get it done. 

Simplu looks at the hard work, feeling an odd sense of nostalgia, “I wonder what it was like to eat real bread….” 

“father….I am going to school” 

“So go”

The family was eating their meal in silence. Only simple comments were shared. Nila muffles his laugh. Niculae looks at his father, “you’ll see”. He gets up and leaves. His other siblings smiling at him, silently laughing at him. 

“Morometii doesnt believe in his son” mo’at says in a matter of fact tone. Seems to hardly believe anything in the youngest son. 

“Simplu, just what else was normal in romania? Mocking a child for wanting to learn? Perfering to slack their way to life?” neytiri turns to look and simplu. The Romanian girl gulps at her sharp gaze. 

“Easy babe, you are making it seem like she has some fault,” jake says. 

“Many countries have different cultures. Just like your clans. Romania had its own….ummm…ways” simple replied. 

They continue to see the movie in silence until something else piqued someones interest.

The mother wakes up, noticing morometii wide awake as her children still lay asleep. Gripping her shirt, right where her heart is, Telling her husband of her worried for the youngest child, who wishes to go to school. Morometii carelessly saying to let the boy go. 

“I cant stand it anymore! I’ll go mad!” the mother weeps. 

“I will go mad with this movie!” neytiri onces again screeches out. 

“And I will go mad myself watching your insanity,” ronal growls. Having enough of Neytiri's loud comments. Yes she understands her frustrations but to shout every 5 minutes? It can get annoying really quick. 

“Alright, alright, lets cool down. We are almost done, baby, hey, lets try to just enjoy it alright?” jake does his best to calm down her wife. She rolls her eyes but silently agrees. For now. 

In the midst of the small dispute, mo’at listens carefully to what the mother is saying. 

“I dreamt of niculae was taken to the hospital. I went there. There was a little light at the morgue ‘oh god! The boy is dead!’ And I woke up”  

It was a very concerning thing to have as a dream. 

Mo’at can only see what else can occur. 

“Tita! Llinca! Hurry up!” 

When the tax collector returned, the daughters and sons of morometii quickly hid their things and horses. Morometii himself just layed on his bed with an empty look in his eyes. Perhaps lost in what to do. 

After hearing the possibility of achim not returning, and no money to pay. It took a toll on him. 

The tax collector and his assistant came with a full force. If morometii won't pay, then they will take their belongings. The wife fought against him to not take the cauldron. 

“Ruthless men, all of them” 

But none could have been more than paraschiv. 

Waking up his family, throwing items against his sister. Causing an uproar in his home. 

“What possessed you Paraschiv?” Morometii asks. 

Even in the morning, parachiv was different. Having an odd cocky attitude. Even slamming his bedroom door near his mother. 

“Break! Bang! What else are you able to do!?” the mother shouts. 

Jake looks at the ongoing scene, “maybe he has had enough?” 

“I break, I bang, are they yours?” the son asks. 

The mother had her daughter call their father again. Parachive laughs. 

“You think I'm scared of him? Those days are long gone” 

“Damn, never mind. He is in a rebellion phase” jake corrects himself. The sudden mood change and overall personality of parachive is certainly questionable. 

Even more when he demands something, only for his sister to bite back with her words. That ticked him. 

“How can he slap her like that!?” 

Parachive went for the trunk when his sister, llinca tried to stop him. Only for parachiv to slap and hit her. Screams and cries were heard. But parachiv got what he wanted. And morometii seemed to be on his side. 

“Really, who is the bad guy here?” jake was starting to question just how much of a poor victim morometii is. Slapping his own wife as she cries in distress. 

“As you like” mormometii says in calm defeat. The sudden voice change when speaking to his wife compared to speaking to his sons. 

“And he lets them get away like that?” ronal says, astonished. There is so many things wrong in her eyes. Mother being disrespected, hitting a sibling like she was an enemy, favoring the sons in a spoilt way. None of that would be tolerated. 

“Oh wait a sec” 

2 minutes later Morometii went to his sons, mostly paraschiv and beat the shit out of him with a stick. 

“That's more like it” neytiri smirks. Enjoying paraschiv screams and cries for his father to stop. 

“You show hound!”

Scolding and yelling, morometii lets his voice rise as he lectures his sons. The mother and daughters try to stop him from hurting parachiv any further. 

“The sons should be grateful for what they have” neytiri liking the words morometii speaks. 

“Parachiv and nila….they ran away. And they took the horses” Catrina tells morometii. She and her daughters had long dreaded expressions. 

There was a long pause 

“Alright, get the little one ready” morometii said before walking away. 

Niculae looked as his father and at his mother with an odd smirk. But it disappeared in a instant. 

All while moromettii goes into the barn, sitting down to gather himself before making a big decision. 

“He is going to sell that land” jake is predicting. And correct he was. 

Slobbery, a farming neighbor, is willing to buy the land he wants from morometii. Both the land that is from morometii’s long gone sister, and the plot behind his home. 

The next scene, niculae and morometii get on the wagon with a recently purchased horse. Catrina cries as she sees her son become farther away as morometii takes off to the road. 

“He is going to school afterall” mo’at says. Feeling sad for catrina. Her world falling apart right before her eyes. 

Morometii and niculae sat in silence in the wagon. The cold foggy air hitting their faces. It was hard to see ahead and know what was in front of them. They were like that for a few minutes before morometii stopped to ask. 

“Niculae, where are we going, son?” 

There was no direct answer, only turning left and kept on going. 

The credits rolled in, thus ending the movie.

“Well that was…. interesting” jake commented. Having mixed feelings about it. 

“It's one of your favorite simplu?” mo’at asks as she gets up. 

“Not exactly a favorite, but one I grew up with” simplu answers. 

Ronal and Tonowari get up as well, all stretching from sitting down so much. 

“Those people, I am still confused and lost. How did the romanians lived?” ronal asks. Simplu smiles, feeling a bit giddy. 

“If you are interested I would be delighted to teach you” 

Ronal and tonowari shared a similar nod. 

“Yes, it would be interesting to learn of your people. Some parts did not sit well with me however” tonowari says. Simplu nodded in understanding. 

“Fair, there will be many things that may not seem fair or right in your eyes. But that was how it was back then. When facing a never ending struggle, people get desperate and dont think right” 

While they wanted to discuss more, they noticed how late it gotten. 

“In a better suited time, you can be our Romanian teacher” mo’at lightly joked. 

“Oh I be honored” simplu smiled.

Finally it is done! I had to re-watch it like three times to fully understand it myself! I did purposely not mention the heavy political stuff since politics itself is confusing.

Ngl some parts made me a bit uncomfortable but hopefully this turned out to everyone's liking! Until next time! See ya!

[ancientpersacom]

I NEED TO RAMBLE ABOUT HADES 2 - SPOILER ALERT

Hypnos my MALEWIFE don’t hurt me like this. The sleep talking??? He’s so used to the greeter role and teasing Zagreus he’s talking about it in his sleep I CANT- MY ZAGNOS HEART. Also GOOODDSSS I need him to wake up I need to hear him talk again and see him smile and see what cool outfit is under that blanket. RAAGGH I LOVE HIM SM

I am foaming at the fucking mouth why is the entire Chthonic family so fucking FINE. THE HAIR THE EYES THE BODY THE VOICE FU- also the horns aren’t attached to him?? Ignoring that, yes they are. I think he and Hypnos probably get along because they’re socially awkward the outcast siblings of the family. I don’t HATE Thanatos but he doesn’t really vibe with me that much, Moros is kind of what I expected Than to be like. Tbh, I like him better.

Look I get some people like Erdrich being chaos, and I do to it’s lit. But I can’t be mad at this design because 1) hot. And 2) gender envy.

Ok but fr, Chaos is literally primordial. That can change and shape their form to whatever, whenever. Some days they’ll look entity™️ some they’ll look more person. It makes perfect sense to me at least, they’d shift and change in all kinds of ways. I don’t doubt that if there was a 3rd game they’d look completely different again. Also dude guys are you not noticing their chest?? That’s not a shirt, that’s a GALAXY. They’re just a Galaxy vaguely person shaped under those clothes with a floating head.

And last but not least: I NEED TO SEE ZAGREUS RIGHT FUCKING NOW SHHDJSJDJDHEHDBDJ MY MAN. PLEASE.

[merakiui]

Hai hai! Meraaaaa, you've done it again. A magnum opus once more! I really loved the new Riddle fic!

Since it was an arranged marriage and more in the victorian age anddddd was also inspired by Coraline (it gives me the creeps but I still love it) from the bottom of my heart it's the past life of your fic love me not!

From my observation, It has a lot of parallels. Firstly, Riddle's mother doesn't like FL because of her attitude, unperfect and too little for her liking and both Riddle fighting for their engagement. Second! Riddle's tapping, Well more on Moro's but Riddle in love me not was tapping as they waited for the oven to bake the lemon tart? and FL noticed that the place was weird.

Third, the place was weird, while Moro's looking glass noticed it pretty much sooner Love me not noticed it at the ending of the fic. Though Love me not got the FL in the ending, I'm quite curious if the mirror is still working? Since it was stated that there should be a part of him so that it'd go through her world and since there was nothing.. a broken mirror is useless at this point but that's just my interpretation of course!

Also! this line in Moro's! It also parallels the questions you've got in love me not

iii. the third petal is plucked from the wilting rose: “he loves me.” to what extent does he love you? “passionately, you see.” - from love me not

"It wants me. To what extent, I’m unsure. But if it truly does love me as it claimed… Surely it wouldn’t hurt me." - from Moro's looking glass

MERA MERA I WANNA DISSECT YOUR BRAIN AND PEER INSIDE OF IT LIKE WHERE DO YOU GET THESE WORDS?! It's so lovely and haunting and like gob smacking like wowww, big brain moment, it's like a song that just flows in! All your fics were aaahhhhhhhhhhh!!! ヽ⁠(⁠｡⁠◕⁠o⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠.

actually.. actually this is my third ask but I didn't know how to introduce myself hehe. I'm Italian Mafia Tako and Mera day anon (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠). I'm quite shy and an introvert that's why I'd rather hide between anonymous asks hehe.. I also didn't know what to call myself haha and and! I'd rather introduce myself before I get caught.. You'll find me in your asks once in a while.. randomly, but I was anxious if you'd notice that my writing patterns are alike hehe. That's why Idia is one of my kinnies, I'd rather do it anonymous hehehe sorry Mera (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

.. I'm rambling a bit too much but I love all your fics! Every fic has a special place in my heart. This is the only time that I'd be jealous of a Tako but I wish that I could have three hearts to store all your fics, all so lovely and filling hehe! Have a great day author! ♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡

MAFIA TAKO/MERA DAY ANON, HELLO!!!! SWEETEST GREETINGS TO YOU~~~ it's lovely to chat again!! I'm happy to see you in my inbox!! :D and omg,,, such a kind message AAAAAAA!!!! T^T <3 please don't apologize for sending anonymously!! Whatever way is easiest and most comfortable for you! 💖 thank you so much for reading Moros's Looking Glass and for enjoying the rest of my fics as well!!! To say you would want three hearts to store all of my fics..... aaaa I'm so happy to hear that!!!! ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ sending you all of my love!!!!!!!!

AAAAA IS IT TRULY A MAGNUM (MOROS HEHE) OPUS?!?!? :O I never realized just how many parallels it has with Love Me Not!!! Those are all great catches! The line parallels between Moros and Love Me Not were completely unintentional, but I'm shocked at how well they align with one another omg!! I think the Love Me Not and Moros MCs should meet to discuss their Riddles. ^^;;;; group therapy with them... I think Moros!MC would be sympathetic towards Love Me Not!MC's situation. A motherly sort of figure almost,,, aaaa they both deserve happiness and freedom from the terrible Riddles!!!

As for your question of whether the mirror is still working, it's somewhat functional (i.e. it's still a prison for Mr. Moros)!! Moros is still trapped within and can't cross over into the real world because there is no part of him that exists there and Reader still has the locket with Riddle's hair. <3 he's essentially just a really useless charm necklace now since the mirror is in pieces. T_T it isn't big enough for him to slip out even when Reader is sleeping, so she is safe. <3

[jawbone-xylophone]

Is this a stellar example of my writing? No. Am I posting it anyway? Yes.

Based on Hades 2 early access. I'm having fun with the idea of ways Melinoë could meet Hypnos.

~🌘🥀🌒~

The escape spell, the cruelly necessary evidence of her failure, tugged Melinoë through the weft of the world like a slipped stitch.

The scythe had hurt. The scythe always hurt, as proper punishment for her carelessness and proof that she was not sharp enough, quick enough, strong enough to complete the only task she'd ever been given- and now the magic primed in case of her failure would reel her back like a naughty kitten, all teeth and claws and no discipline. To darkness. To dreams. To do this again.

"-goodness, your near-deaths are always so violent, it's hard to get a word in edgewise! ...Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?"

In the dark between life and living again, Melinoë blinked.

Sometimes, there were memories here, wrested from the jaws of Time in recompense. Her pound of metaphorical flesh. Sometimes, there was Moros, who was there when all men died.

Here and now, there was a startlingly familiar god with startlingly short curls, grinning at her over a plucked poppy. He twirled it through his fingers and beamed.

"There you are, princess. Welcome to almost dying! You should try not doing that, I hear it's bad for your health."

"Lord... Hypnos?" He was awake? ...did this count as awake? "Is it really you?"

Hypnos shrugged, plucking a petal from his poppy flower. "Really me? That's a funny question. Not a very useful one, but a funny one! I'll think about it and get back to you." He plucked another petal, the little sound too-loud, too fleshy somehow. "You're waking up soon."

She couldn't exactly tell. It was always cold here, skimming the edge of silent oblivion. Melinoë tried to bow with limbs she couldn't feel. "I am honored by your visit, Lord Hypnos, if it is truly you. To what do I owe the pleasure? Perhaps you know of some way to wake your body...? Everyone misses you terribly."

He giggled at her strangely, shaking his head with a queer look like he worried for her head. "Waking me up is the last thing you need to worry about, princess. I'm Sleep! I'm busy. My brother's trapped, somewhere." He smiled, but it showed no teeth, and the gold of his eyes shone with brittle ice. He plucked another petal, calm and controlled, and she heard the flesh of it tear almost wetly, milky sap bleeding over his fingers. Hypnos prodded at it, felt the stickiness between his fingers, and she felt the cold clamp around her spine like gentle fangs.

He would not harm her. Probably. But she'd only watched him sleep her entire life- never actually spoken to him. And he had every reason to be waking in a terrible mood. She swallowed, and clung hard to polite protocol.

"You're waking up," he said again before she could speak, considering the ragged edge of torn petals. "You're trying to kill my uncle- and it seems you're having a bit of trouble! I'm sure you can do it, but maybe try something more effective than stabbing. We've been there, done that."

"A spell, then? Some kind of incantation?" That wouldn't shock her.

Hypnos yawned widely. Perhaps a little too widely, like he hadn't remembered how many teeth a person should have. "Nnno, no. I mean maybe. You never know!" He stretched, blinking heavily, and dragged golden eyes over her ragged body. "What're you the goddess of, anyway? If you're fighting a god, shouldn't you fight like a god? Just an idea."

The goddess of? That. Well. Hm. She'd been raised for a purpose. "Killing Time, I suppose."

Hypnos coughed in the middle of nibbling on a flower, snorted, and erupted in tinkling giggles that filled oblivion with little stars for a moment. "Oh- oh, that's good, wow. I like you. We have to do this again sometime." A final flower petal split off under his fingers, weeping white blood, and he waggled it at her in a little wave. "Or maybe we won't! You're smart, maybe you'll kill poor old uncle Chronos this time. Don't forget my advice and you'll do great, I know it."

She wanted to tell him to wait. She wanted to ask questions, do something. He'd been both helpful and not, if she just asked the right question then perhaps- but the cold prickle of moonlight raced like hellfire through her limbs, shocked awake from mostly-dead to debatably-alive, and the dewy grass of the Crossroads clung to her cheek like poppy sap.

She groaned, long and low, in the smallest moment of wallowing she could afford. Back to killing Time again.

The wind in the withered trees sounded almost like tinkling laughter.

[nofckingcluebro]

So I never really see posts about it, but I actually hate drawings that show Thanatos with long hair.

Don't get me wrong. The drawings are beautiful. Even Jen Zee posted a drawing with him having long hair. And Moros looks dope with it. For me it's not a style problem.

But he talks about never missing his long hair, and how he "chopped it all off and never looked back", and as somebody who did that, I can more than relate.

I understand that people like men with long hair, or long hair in general, and when they say that someone would look good with a certean type of hair don't mean bad, but often times that person actively chooses not to have that hairstyle. For me, having long hair always felt bad and suffacating, and even now when it gets just a bit too long I sometimes want to rip it out, and short hair is way more convinient and comfortable, and Thanatos actively says that he prefers it.

Anyways, point is, don't force people to have or do something they don't want. Feel free to make your art and everything, again, they look good, and are nice. But just remember what that character/person thinks of it. Also I honestly hope Super giant will never make a game that plays after the first Hades in time with long haired Thanatos in it. It's their character and all, but somehow it'd feel.. disrespectful and out of character to me.

[ep2nd]

I really hope Macaria gets her own Hades game, and if not here's some of my ideas

It's like the opposite of Hades 1

Mac has long brown hair that kinda looks like Persephones hairdo pre-underworld, yellow and white based clothes, two green eyes, and oh yeah white wings, all weapons kinda float on her back. Very nice, kind, and sweet. More of Hallyday, joyous, flowers and rainbow vibe game

Mac is trapped on the mortal world, raised by Persephone, because that curse is like the opposite for her, she can't live in the underworld, lives in Persephones old farm

Trained by Chiron, taking Skelemesus(how do you spell??) Role. Also Triptolemus is here, mortal turned God by Demeter during Persephones disappearance, and Cyrene, amazing Hunter and Shepherd princess/queen turned Naiad, lover of Apollo and Ares too

Plot: The Primordal gods and Titans are awaking, aka they were all, mostly, asleep before this and will wake up and choose violence

Mainly Gaia, who's upset about the Titan things. The Olympians can't help cause they gotta deal with Typhon, so Mac gets help from minor gods and some Titans- Hebe, fun cus, Asclepius, bless his soul, Triton, nervous cus, Iris, gossip girl/hermes job, Nike, probably challenges you like Nem in Hades 2, Tyche, the IDK, Eros, seductive but is married(put shoulerd guards because of THE INCIDENT), Psyche, distant, loss vibe, but a sweetheart, Aeolus, laying down on a couch looking cloud, baby girl, Prometheus, holds tourch thats all I ask for, Themis, blindfold looking straight at you with hands on sword in the ground, stoic.... probably others, comment below

For Nyx kids this time around, basically everyone's who left, but primarily Phil(Philotes) Friendship Incarnate, the bestie who's like Hypnos, never met him though, she doesn't hang out with her other family, except Hemera! Also here, like the opposite Nyx, kinda duh Day Incarnate, also you wake Aither, Light Incarnate, same vibe as giddy Hypnos kinda. But then gets the worst Nyx kids, Oizys, Distress Incarnate, pessimism pro, Momus, Satire Incarnate, ridicules you for everything, the worse, more annoying Hypnos greeter, Dolos and Apate, Fraud and Deceit Incarnate, makes your job harder and kills you half the time, Geras, grumpy old man, anddddd Achlys, Misery Incarnate, who I make Nyx AND Erebus kid because the Chaos and Nyx kid might be too weird... also Asleep Primordal... but awakes, very much like Charon, they are best friends, enemies, and closest siblings, both taught by Erebus and hisses/growls to speak, also will kill you UNLESSS you offer her stuff, dumb enough to fight Charon... but he's also dumb enough to fight her so...

Also Erebus is here, who I like to say is all their dad because I love him, defiantly loving father who's been denied fatherhood too many times

Wake during the fight with Tartarus, who also wakes. They have beef. Fought each other and put eachother to sleep, on the day Eris was born, when the Twins were barely a year old(the order is different for reasons). Basically Erebus is gonna visist his entire family, also favors Charon because he's the first kid who he could ACTUALLY RAISE- looks at Hemera, Aither, and the Fates- let's not talk about Moros, Nemesis, Geras, Phil, Hypnos, Than, Eris, and Momus

Also others you awake- Oceanus, Pontus, Ananke, Astreaus, Uranus(maybe), Gaia, and other primordals/Titans prob, comment below for ideas

Other characters: Hippolytus, hates his dad(Theseus) loves Artemis(as in a Motherly figure/best friend, depending on how you see em) also loves his actually mom, Jason and Perseus hanging out together(congrats if ya got that reference), Atalanta, challenge you in everything and likes to berate Jason, Hippolyta, hates her Ex loves her son, Otrera, person you fight because why not?, Keto(Ceto) goddess of Sea Monsters, person you fight because I want that design, Midas, like takes Charons job for most of the game, also Pasithea, with children, help her get to Hypnos, others I don't know GIVE IDEAS

Weapons: main Scythe, because yes, at one point gets dual Swords, one is Aspect of Erebus, because yes, throwing knives, Aspect of Oizys, idk feels right, some type of spear thing, Aspect of Iris and Nike for those, whip? Aspect of Megeara because I'm funny, shields, either Aspect of Heracles or Achlys, and one for Perseus and Athena, mirror shield plus Medusa head one, Hammer/Mace, a Hypnos Ascpet it's funny guys, probably Momus too, and I don't know... that's all I got

For Romance options, I feel like Phil because she's very like Mac, Oizys for that Nemesis/Melinoe type, maybe an Iris one? She shows up in person eventually after you get her fountain, and if you wanna be REALLY funny, Meg or Than depending what ya chose for the first game

Finally, you get a big quest known as Phil's Tea Party, basically everytime you god a minor god or Nyx kid to join her Tea Party, at the end get the whole family, please, Phil loves her family despite them not loving her

AND THATS IT???

I don't know, love to hear ideas

[meggannn]

mel invited moros on their first date and they literally just talked about their anxieties. valid

more serious tangential ramblings: i think this could be another hint that some gods or incarnates might learn to change their nature or become different than what they are. after moros arrived in the crossroads and immediately told mel “fates aren’t looking let’s break some family curses,” i tend to be on the lookout in moros’s conversations for any hints of “are they setting up something else now.” after all, he is our only insight for how the fates work, and turns out the fates' executor and bodyguard chafes under them and wishes he were something different.

it could be the grass is always greener, but moros is almost universally reviled or feared (partly his own fault but mostly not) to the point he envies the guy getting his liver picked out on the daily because at least he has fans. so it’s unsurprising he daydreams about a different life with different responsibilities, and i suspect mel has too. i suspect he would welcome a world where he was not forced to be the bad guy just because of a job assigned at birth. after all, moros’s line in the very first 2020 trailer was “this is an opportunity for you to create a better future for us all.” i even feel strongly now he means both gods and mortals.

eris routinely calls mel out for subscribing to one way of thinking, that the gods' rule is stifling. she can’t help being who she is, and she blames nyx for that (though mel presses her and she casually admits hasn’t really tried). i don’t know if strife will ever change her nature/personality, but maybe they can change her, like… job?

moros naming “fear you’ll never be as capable at other things” is maybe why some gods who are a bit more self-aware they aren't perfect might resist change; they know they're imperfect but they're so settled in their ways they don't know what else they could do. hades is a prime example of this (“we're gods, boy. killing each other is our lot”), but persephone and zagreus manage to convince him otherwise. melinoë herself is proof hades can change. meanwhile, prometheus calls mel an agent of change. this feels significant.

especially after this latest update with prometheus, i think as the story progresses and mel learns more sides to the conflict, she’ll shake up the status quo even beyond the war. if she succeeds in restoring the “old order” (if it will even look like the old order by the end), one way i see a solution to the problem of gods mistreating mortals is by the gods themselves evolving or changing. i don't know how far supergiant is willing to shake up the greek pantheon, but with multiple gods calling out how the current “assigned x at birth” system is failing them, i think it is setting up for something different.

[3-dsimp]

First of all, i love your work and you dont know how strong is the grip that your torturer has in my mind (i love it, and you are amazing 💕). Second, if is ok (if not, thats ok) may i pleas have a request for the torturer, i love that he is so protective and loving, but how would he be if reader is also very loving and protective of him? Someone say something or is looking at him in a funny way, boom, reader is infront of him ready to tear a bitch apart, he has cuts in his hands? Bam, reader is putting bandaids and kissing it better, this man is relaxed in the comfort of his couch? Badaboom, reader gets comfy in his lap and shower his face in kisses. I love the idea of this man getting flusstered.

(Flustered? More like getting him sent to the hospital due to a constant relapse on his special condition of simpitis ٩(˃̶͈̀௰˂̶͈́)و And thank you so much!! 🖤)

Somebody get this man an inhaler because he can’t BREATHE. It’s bad enough the poor hitman gets mini heart palpitations at every little affectionate touch from his sunshine. But seeing you in action acting like a protective feral Chihuahua, when he could clearly take on any altercation given his intimidating physique made him absolutely fold like a piece of paper.

Once you had pecked him on the cheek, hugging him goodbye as you said you were headed out to the store to get him more baking supplies.

The Torturer, Moros, stood stiff like a stone statue until you left, waiting in a moment of silence before he let out a poorly contained feverish squeal. Practically crumbling onto his knees from how utterly weak you made him feel. He had the indescribable urge to spoil you absolutely rotten.

Wanting nothing more than to bake you all of your favorites sweets. And fatten up those cute cheeks of yours till you’re looking like a chipmunk on Thanksgiving. (As if he doesn’t already do that enough) His mind was programmed with the mandatory urge to to worship his sunshine like the precious gift that you are.

Through hugs, kisses, and cuddles this simping shy giant was yearning to return every bit of affection you oh so graciously bestowed upon him. But with him being anxious and immensely shy he’d have to pray to whatever god there is. To give him the willpower needed not to implode in on himself from the constant case of shy jitters he’d get just from being near your sweet presence.

Returning to the present he put a huge scarred hand to grip at the fabric close to his erratic heart. Moros was Sweating profusely as he tried not to nearly pass out from the numerous memory recalls of how goddamn endearing he found his darling to be. However, he was failing the skill check on not being an utter simp for you and resorted to gingerly taking out the bunny plushie. You had won for him from a random carnival stand, From out his hoodie pouch.

Treating the cute plushie as if it was you, The Torturer cradled the bunny gently within his muscular arms. Pressing it close to his chest, as his reddish brown eyes looked up at the ceiling. A small bashful smile finding its way onto his full lips while he daydreamed of you, waiting for when you returned so that he could treat you to a full coursed meal of sweet treats galore.

[galexibrain]

Moro arc is over! Absolutely loved it, one of the best villains the series has ever seen and some amazing character moments. Obviously I'm all about Vegeta's development but seeing Gohan and Piccolo fight together like that made me so happy 🥹

Except, of course, as usual I do wish some things had been explored more u.u

And the final chapter!

Fav parts:

Look at him, getting an award for saving the galaxy! Who would've thought! He looks flustered about it. <3

Bulma should make him wear that medal during sex

My boy is alive! Really liked this one 🥰

Even Geets is happy to see him!

I love group pics! Vegeta seems to be grumpy-posing just for the lulz here lol

This felt so much like all DB was always about <3