#but it is his version of the call of the abyss

[authorafterhours]

When Will is at his lowest darkest place, does a small part of him contemplate the allure of a lobotomy? He is horrified at the idea, of course. To lose himself so completely, to more than likely be reduced to a vegetative state, but at least his mind would go quiet.

He has mixed feelings about Florence and how Hannibal had planned on eating his brain.

It doesn't happen often, but the idea lingers like a bad odor when they do come. He hates that he has these thoughts, intrusive as they are, but the more time he spends with Hannibal, they visit less and less.

[loderlied]

having completely normal thoughts (gortash wotr au)

[k0mmari]

Endless Abyss(kinda)! SY AU

First things first, this is very much inspired by this post by @/rainbowsmagicandshit and @/allpiesforourown, HIGHLY recommend reading that fist just to get a glimpse of where I started off, but do note I have accidentally deviated from the original idea a bit, so uh, oops ig.

This was born out of a mix of different ideas (as usual), so think of this as ‘The AU where SY is a demon, and also the Endless Abyss, and also my excuse to have Binghe possibly make a harem consisting entirely of SY’s’, or, as I like to call it:

As per usual, Shen Yuan has died. It happens to the best of us, and of course, he died while reading the glittering piece of trash that is Proud Immortal Demon Way.But, as he is in the process of getting snatched away by the System, something goes wrong, and the System has to quickly redirect itself and it causes SY to get knocked out of course.

His soul scrambles to find a new host, and it manages to find someone suitable enough. When SY wakes up though, he isn’t greeted by the sight of a roof, or a forest, or anything remotely familiar; instead, the moment he regains consciousness, he’s senses are flooded with as much information as possible. It’s like a computer with too many tabs open, but in this case, you can see all the tabs at the same time and all of them are playing the most obnoxiously loud videos possible, in fact, everything feels so overwhelming even thinking becomes too much.

What SY doesn’t know is that he has transmigrated into the body of a Titan, an almost extinct godly demon race that only existed in the confines of Airplane’s first drafts, and it turns out shoving a human soul into the body of a deity doesn’t bode so well, since what the human mind is able to process doesn’t even come close to what a Titan is able to feel. So because SY can’t get a hold of his own mind, his control of his own body is also not great, and he is completely unaware as his newly acquired body goes on a rampage.

See, SY is currently in a very old version of the Demon Realm, so old in fact, Heavenly Demons still rule over the Realm. It really is quite a shame that SY wasn’t in his right mind at the time, and instead of being able to observe how ancient Heavenly Demons governed demonic society, he instead accidentally set on a path of destruction, with the casualties being anything that had the bad luck of standing in his way. In fact, the destruction got so bad a few of the Heavenly Demons rulers, who notoriously hated each other, settles on a temporary peace agreement and joined forces to stop the mad Titan.

SY, in his frenzied state, didn’t even notice as hundreds of years went by as the Heavenly Demons tried to stop him, and also barely noticed when they finally managed to chain him down and cast him away to be forever banished to the Endless Abyss. His body, once so tall it grazed the clouds, was torn apart, with each of its different parts sealed away in various locations as an attempt to diminish the Titan’s power. It worked, actually, and unbeknownst to the demons, SY slowly began to get his thoughts in order; the event that finally pushed him to coherency was when a few of those Heavenly Demon rulers got greedy, and while sealing away SY’s body parts, attempted to harness his power for themselves, and tried to create legendary weapons out of his flesh and bone.

Most of them failed, a Titan’s power to overwhelming for even a Heavenly Demon to handle, but one of them succeeded, and created a powerful sword made from the Titan’s own heart: Xin Mo. Unfortunately for the creator of Xin Mo, it didn’t take long for them to fall into madness and eventually succumb to Xin Mo’s power, casting themselves away to hold onto the sword forever in the same valley SY’s hands were sealed; but it is as they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and while Xin MO’s creator perished, they managed to take enough power away from SY for him to finally be able to think.

It had been a thousand years at this point, and SY’s first coherent thought was that he desperately needed a break, and that in all these years, he hadn’t managed to get a single glimpse into the world of PIDW, and what a waste! Specially since he was now in the most interesting area Airplane had managed to create, he was itching to explore the world. Of course, in his current state he wasn’t exactly able to move (having his limbs cut off certainly didn’t help, but apparently it had been so long since he was imprisoned that his Main Body had started to fuse with the Abyss? Really, more of a slight inconvenience than anything), but he also had become tired of his Titan body with it’s Titan feelings, and so he decided to split his consciousness and create a small army of human sized avatars who were later dubbed his ‘Watchers’, who’s sole purpose was to explore the Endless Abyss and send their findings back to the Main Body (in bite sized, easy to understand thoughts).

It is the first years of his Watchers wandering about that SY finally understood what had happened to his body, and figured out that Xin Mo was a product of his flesh. He figured that since demons tried to use his body for malicious purposes before, with one even succeeding, he decided that one Xin Mo was enough, and came up with a plan: He was going to piece his Titan body back together as a means to prevent anything of the sort happening again, but he was immediately going to seal the Titan body away again, as to not have to deal with it’s overwhelming power.

As the Watchers were sent to locate his body parts again, one of their first findings were the hands, which also meant the resting place of Xin Mo itself. How lucky, he thought! He could just take the hands away and maybe leave one of the Watchers guarding Xin Mo so when Luo Binghe eventually comes to retrieve his sword, SY at least can catch a glimpse of his favorite protagonist! He wasted no time, and while his avatars tried to unseal his hands, one of them went to move Xin Mo, just so it was out of the way, and in doing so the sword retaliated and ended up disintegrating the poor Watcher. What a rude sword, going against its own body.

Fine! If Xin Mo was going to be difficult so be it, and SY formed a new plan: before reuniting his Titan body back together, SY send his Watchers to keep an eye on as much of the Endless Abyss as possible and the moment Luo Binghe fell in, he would turn to hugging the protagonist’s thigh and help him survive the harsh environment as long as Binghe took Xin Mo. Well, it should be no problem, right? Binghe was fated to get the sword one way or another, and SY is sure his involvement will be small insignificant enough that it won’t be much more of a side quest for the future Demon Emperor!

Now, if he were a half human, half Heavenly Demon teenager who just got pushed into hell by his teacher, where would he land….

*

So, as you can see, this is mostly more like SY’s origin story lol, but I’ll probably write Binghe’s first meetings with the Watchers sometime soon (hopefully).In the meantime though, enjoy some more of the bonus sketches I did while figuring out the AU, and of course, if anyone has any questions or thoughts about this, feel free to send them to me!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

What if MC was sent to an alternate dimension somehow and that dimension contained all 7 overblots who woke up there after they were defeated in main story. How would they react to the magicless prefect who managed to defeat them suddenly showing up out of nowhere?

Overblot Universe | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Imagine a trip through the mirror portal gone wrong

Ending up in this other place where it looks like an ink covered version of Night Raven

Reminding you of your dear friends’ overblots 

You hesitate to call out for help of any kind

Instead your greeted immediately by an army of ink blotted students marching towards you quickly

A single soldier steps to the front bearing a gaudy but familiar collar 

“The Queen of Hearts demands you return to his side at once!” 

Before you can say anything, another voice rings out

“Our Sultan demands the magicless one.”

This one has a smaller group but they are much more heavily armed

It leads to a brawl which you are uncomfortably at the center of

Escaping from the warring factions, you make your way to the school’s mirror room

Barely able to step on the premises you’re stopped by a small patch of sand sucking you into the ground

The only one you can think that’d use this is–

“Thought I smelled a troublesome herbivore.”

It’s Leona in all his overblotted glory

Snickering with a fanged smile he grabs you by the arm

Easily yanking you out of the sand and holding you against his chest

Still standing above the quicksand you hold on tight

You’re surprised when he almost lovingly rubs his cheeks against your own trailing down your neck with his nose

Then without warning he takes a deep bite into the crook of your neck

Holding you still as you try to shove him away

When he pulls back with blood on his smile, you can only look at him with betrayal

“What? You think I’d be gentle after you chased me away? Not this time sweet heart.”

He tosses you over his shoulder as he walks further away from the building you want to go 

Taking you to an inky territory that looks as though Savvannaclaw turned into some rocky mound in the dessert

With too much ease he tosses you into a scratchy pile of sand 

He plops down practically on top of you

“Ow! This is really uncomfy how do you sleep on this?!”

“Don’t whine. Now that you’re here it’ll be a lot softer.”

Too fast and so familiar to your Leona he falls asleep

Anytime you move a centimeter the sand whips angrily around keeping you in his vicinity

But it seems the only time it didn’t react was when a drone with a bucket of water dunked on the sand rising to swat at it

The damp sand could only bubble slowly as the drone came closer to you shooting some small metal thing on your reaching hand

“NO!--” 

The ugly snarl from the overblotted Leona dissipates as a flash of blue and black transports you someplace else

“There they are brother! You’re player 2! I told you they’d be here for the special day!”

You want to voice your confusion as you blink your blurry sight into something sharp

But something's over your mouth

And your hands and your legs

Looking around you are in what looks like a cave lined with wires and technology baring an uncanny resemblance to a friend of yours

“You were right all along brother! Let’s prepare for the final act!” 

It’s an overblotted Idia taking a heavy looking crown from the claws of some nearby machinery

Stopping to admire you, his cold clawed hands run along your face as if checking if your real

Before placing the crown on your head

The minute the device is settled how he likes it tightens on your head

Bringing a numbing pain to the sides of your skull as you desperately try to wiggle free

Nothing you do stops the inky creation that looks like Ortho manipulate your binds to stand you upright

Bringing you to an alter, it’s there you notice the swirling abyss just pass the electronic officiant

“Now say your vows, my fruit.”

“Of course my precious future husband, master of the underworld and overworld. For years–”

It’s your voice but not 

With a tinge of automation your voice chimes happily from the restraint over your mouth

At your not–real—vows Idia seems to giggle causing the abyss to widen and the suction intensify

Eventually ‘your vows’ end and Idia claims he’s going to skip his

Letting his robotic officiant carry through like a typical ceremony

Until it gets to that part

“I’d be wrong not to speak my peace when both parties so clearly have withstanding debts with me.”

Part 2

[parfaitblogs]

never grow up ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you are at the age you never thought you'd live to. 

genre: hurt/comfort + fluff! tags: established relationship. (very brief) mentions of r not eating. depression. non sexual nudity. mention of a past suicide attempt. reader is codependent on spencer #anxiousattachment!! mini argument not really because he loves you a lot!!! please know your triggers ♡  word count: 2.2k a/n: this was a vent write. LOL! i think i switch tenses a lot in this? i tried to fix it. this is why we don't write fanfiction while we're crying!!! i love u i love u i love u and i am so so glad you are the age that you are!! continue to grow please!! life will become beautiful!!!

Depression is a funny thing.

Sometimes you are forgetting there has ever been a version of you out there that fantasised about death and longed for an escape from this world you deemed so cruel, so invasive. Other times, you are sat naked on the cold floor of your bathroom rocking back and forth, clawing at your skin and ripping hair out of your scalp because you are sobbing so ferociously. The world spinning around you and your cries, so violent, are making you lightheaded and you wonder if you pass out here if anyone will ever find you. 

Clearly, tonight, you are the latter.

It started as a small pit in your stomach that morning, that you braved through and ignored to the best of your ability, even as you said gentle 'no thank you's' to food offered by your co-workers and forced your brain to focus on work and not the never-ending abyss of dread in your abdomen. Then, it became a tear or two on your way home, that you vehemently wiped away and pretended was never there because it couldn't be. 

Then you were showering to get your mind off things — a stupid decision, really. For your brain was latching on to every awful emotion it had felt thus far today, and you were stepping out of the shower with an even heavier heart, and your hands were wrapping around your now goosebump riddled body, as you were sinking to the floor in a ball.

And maybe hours passed by you. Maybe days — it certainly felt that way. Maybe it was only a mere five minutes. But your loud sobs felt like they took an achingly long time to slow and quiet down, until they were falling into ugly sniffles of the snot on your face, and a raging headache behind your eyes. 

Loud sobs — scream sobs, really — had a lot of disadvantages. The aftermath feeling of embarrassment of screaming at your brain that refused to simply shut up, the scratch at your throat from every sound you ripped from it. The audio block it gave you from the rest of the world. For you truly were in your own universe when you were howling alone in the comfort of your bathroom walls.

So much so, that the familiar sound of a door opening and closing, and a bag being placed down by the side of it, went entirely unnoticed to you. Footsteps against your apartment's wooden flooring weren't picked up, nor were the first two knocks on your bathroom door. By the third, you were blubbering through saliva and snot, and you had heard it. Followed by a very gentle calling of your name, that had your heart clenching within your chest for a new reason. 

He had said he was coming home tomorrow. Which almost always meant he wouldn't be home for another three days, and so, in your mind, you thought bawling that night could be a secret kept between you and your tiles. 

Apparently not. 

He called your name again when you didn't reply, an added hint of desperation in his voice. Trembling, you stood, your limbs feeling as though they were creaking while you straightened them out. And you didn't bother about the towel sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor, nor the pile of your clean clothes sitting on the countertop. In fact, you didn't bother about anything as a shaking hand twisted the doorknob and pulled it open.

In an instant, his worried frown deepened, and eyes that might usually drink in the sight of your naked body beautifully, now didn't wander further than the scarlet scratch marks along your neck — blood vessels risen to the surface from how fragile that part of you was. He exhaled, and took a hesitating step towards you. One you welcomed by remaining planted in your spot — you didn't know if you could move, though. 

"Can I ask what's wrong, or do you simply want a hug?" 

Both, you wanted to say. Both, but also neither. 

You didn’t say that. Instead, you said, "Hug."

He hardly took a second to register what you'd said before his arms were wrapping around you. If he found the slightly damp state of your skin annoying, he didn't comment on it. He didn't say much at all, as he enveloped you into his body, a hand securing itself on the back of your head, and his chin resting atop your head. 

Water dripped uncomfortably to the floor, splattering on the tiles and his shoes, being the only sound aside from your irregular hiccups and sniffles. His button-up was wet from your tears and your body, and you could almost hear his complaints about it, if this were any other day. 

Minutes passed, and even though you didn't want to, you pulled back, feeling his hands slip around to your waist and hold you benevolently. Your own hands reached up to your face to wipe away tears, an embarrassed laugh escaping your lips. 

"This is pathetic," you said, fingers digging into the corners of your stinging eyes. 

"How?" he asked you.

"I didn't think you'd be home to see me having a mental breakdown."

A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes appeared on his lips. "Well, I am." Fingers squeezed your waist reassuringly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shrugged, wordlessly, your eyes dropping from his face to the damp spot on his chest from where your face had once been, heart stuttering. 

"We don't have to, honey," he said. "But it might help."

"I know it might," you muttered. 

He was silent, as were you. A few more beats passed between you two, before you were turning around to pick up clothes you had left for yourself on the counter. You didn't really feel any different under his watchful gaze as you dressed yourself. Accustomed to the act, or simply too overwhelmed with another emotion, you didn't know. 

He followed you into the living room when you walked out there, and he sat down next to you on the couch you curled up on. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and he lifted his head on each intake of breath you had, as if about to say something. But you never did. 

So, he took over.

"Did something happen today?" You shook your head, and he nodded his own. "Okay. This past week?" You shook your head again, because other than missing him while he had been stuck in Texas for a case, nothing had actually happened. 

You wished it had. Truly, you wished you had experienced a murder on your way to work, or a distant family member had passed away so you could blame this feeling on something other than memories simply resurfacing. 

You sniffled again. "You know," you began, voice thick and wobbly from the lump lodged in your throat. "When I was fourteen, I didn't think I'd ever be this old."

Your gaze lifted from your lap to look at him, and you let a helpless tear fall from one of your eyes when you locked eyes with him. He was confused, unsurprisingly so.

So, you continued. "I tried to kill myself. When I was fourteen."

He readjusted his posture, eyebrows falling into a more concerned state, and he was silent for so long you wondered if this was when he decided you were too much and too complicated for him to deal with. 

He didn't. "I didn't know," he said, instead. 

"I don't exactly advertise it," you replied, and even if it was an attempt at being light hearted, it fell flat. "I just realised I never thought I'd be this age," you continued when he hardly reacted, "and I've been really anxious and down all week, so I think that realisation kind of sent me over the edge."

"Are you happy you're at this age?" 

Hesitantly, but surely, you nodded your head. "I got to meet you."

His lips twitched, but a smile never crossed his face. "You should be happy for reasons more than just me."

"You are my reason for being happy," you argued. 

"And I'm glad to hear I make you happy, but I cannot be your only reason."

"Why not?"

"Because that's dependency." 

You short-circuited, and he sighed upon realising the way you were taking his words — maybe not the smartest thing he could've said to his still tear-stricken-faced girlfriend. 

"What I mean is you should have other areas in your life that make you happy. Not just me."

"I like my job," you mumbled, gaze relocating to your lap. "And my friends."

"Great," he said, and you could feel his weight shifting on the couch as he nudged closer to you. "As long as I'm not your reason for living."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You've been my reason for living since we started dating. Why is it different now?"

"I didn't know I was your reason for living until now."

"So if you are, then what? You leave me?" 

"No," his response was so immediate you were sure you could feel the whiplash, and he ran a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. "I don't want to fight with you when you're like this."

"I don't want to fight with you either," you agreed, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. "I'm sorry I'm co-dependent."

He didn't respond for a while, mulling everything you two had shared and now, your apology, over in his head. You sat, anxiously, as minutes ticked by until he was puffing his cheeks to let out air, and standing up from the couch. 

He turned to you. "I love you, you know that," he began, and even before he had a chance to finish, you were already drowning him out, world crumbling around you as tears welled back up in your eyes. Maybe if you weren't as emotional as you were that night, your vision wouldn't have already gone blurry, and your heart wouldn't be shattering in your chest already. 

"But?" you countered, a sob escaping you at the end of the word.

He froze at the sound of it, his eyebrows turning in to each other, "Sorry?"

"You love me, but?"

"I don't understand."

"I'm sitting here, sobbing really violently and I look hideous, and you've just discovered I'm co-dependent, and you don't like that about me, so now you're telling me that you love me, but this isn't going to work out, and I need to work on myself before I get into another relationship, and you hope I can find happiness, and—"

"—What are you talking about?" he cut your ranting off, blinking a few times, confused. 

"Is that not what's happening?" 

"No?"

"Oh."

You stared at him, and he stared at you, and you felt your heart slowly pick itself back up from the pits of your stomach, each piece mending itself back together. He wasn't breaking up with you.

"I wasn't going to say that at all. Please don't put words in my mouth."

"Sorry," you said, though it wasn't very sincere. He crouched down in front of you, hands finding your fidgeting ones to hold them.

"Can I finish what I'm going to say before you cut me off this time?" Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and so he continued. "I love you, and you know that, and I don't want you to think I'm upset or mad at you for being codependent. You're allowed to not know how to navigate a relationship. But—"

"—There it is—" he glared with no real heat at you, and your lips twitched "—Sorry."

"But I need you to communicate with me. I'm going to inevitably do things that upset you, because you're co-dependent. We need to figure those things out, because a lot of the time you will respond unhealthily, and knowing what I know now, I don't want to be a trigger in any way."

"You won't be a trigger," you mumbled, and he shot you a pointed look, and your shoulders deflated. "I just feel stupid communicating things like that. Like, oh, I'm sad because my boyfriend is out of state for work and he's super busy and not responding to my messages so I think he might hate me."

"That isn't stupid."

"Yes it is!"

He said your name, eyebrows risen, and he shook his head. "You're upset about something. That isn't a stupid thing at all."

"It feels stupid."

"Okay, well, how about the next time I'm away on a case and not replying and you miss me, which is what that crazy, sad, completely reasonable phenomenon is called, by the way, you communicate that with me, and you see how I respond?"

"What if you tell me to go fuck myself?" 

He didn't even need to verbally deny your words for you to know that that response was completely out of character for him. All it took was one simple look, and you were diffidently smiling and averting your gaze, mumbling a quiet, "Okay."

And yes, the next time he was out of the state and you missed him, as he so kindly put it, you told him. And he spent three hours on the phone that night with you, reassuringly expressing how much he loved you, and how little he hated you.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[felassan]

David Gaider on Kieran, under a cut for length:

"CHARACTERS - DAY TWO: Kieran (Technically this is an addendum to yesterday, but I make the rules here so nyah!) Heading into DAI, I had a bite-sized problem on my hands. I knew Morrigan would feature. I also knew we were importing previous choices. So now I had to contend with: the Old God Baby. Here's the thing about honouring previous game choices, from a design perspective: it's a sucker's game. What many fans picture, when you mention it, is divergent *plot* -- the story changes path based on those major choices. How exciting! But you will never be able to deliver divergent plot. You can deliver flavour differences (usually in the form of divergent dialogue), character swaps (character X appears instead of Y), and extra content (such as a side quest) -- but plot branching, particularly the critical path? It's a question of resources, and there's never enough to go around. "Here Lies the Abyss" in DAI was about as good as it gets, and even that was a far cry from how I originally pictured it (hello last-minute insert of Stroud when a DAO Warden import got cut). The Old God Baby was one of the main choices from DAO -- Morrigan has a baby? With the Archdemon's soul?! Most DAO players who flagged that choice surely expected *monumental* consequences. World-shaking consequences! And we talked about it. We did. There were, like, three different designs of the DAI ending where OGB Kieran could cause complete divergence: new path, cutscenes, the whole nine yards. But it wasn't going to happen. It was a decision from *two games ago* that only a small minority (hello telemetry) would even choose. To the rest, they probably neither knew about it nor cared... so how many resources could you invest? To do what? Set up an even bigger divergence for the NEXT game? The other writers acknowledged my anxiety with a grim nod every time it came up, but they had no solutions. Finally, I realized there WAS a solution, and that was changing how I thought about the choice: don't make it about Kieran. The players don't know him, never have. Make it about Morrigan. Thus began a feverish three days where I wrote probably the most complicated scene of my career: Morrigan's reckoning with Flemeth in DAI and the fallout after. Three different versions (OGB Kieran, non-OGB Kieran, and no Kieran), each with branching for other choices (like the Well of Sorrows). I did it all at once. There was no other way to wrap my head around the complexity of it. It was also a tough sell to the team, considering the amount of cinematics work, but they agreed we had to do *something*. And still it felt... underwhelming, insofar as divergence goes. But it was also good. I remember when I first spoke with Claudia, about how this was Morrigan's story. This was about how motherhood had changed her, how she'd grown up. Claudia got a bit teary-eyed. It was a journey she was familiar with, she said. Her first son, Odin, had been born in 2005 not long after DAO came out. And, man, she killed with that performance! Kate, too, but I'll get to her later. Claudia dug down, and that scene where Morrigan tells Flemeth she'll never be the mother Flemeth was to her? That came from someplace very raw. It was devastating to witness in the booth. There were tears all around. Not long after, Claudia called and asked if maybe - just maybe - Odin could play Kieran? He was a bit young (not yet 5, then), but it felt... right? We agreed. Claudia was in the booth, gently coaching him through his lines, and I think that was the first moment I felt I'd done the right thing."

[source thread]

User: "Do you find it an odd choice that Kieran hasn’t been mentioned at all in Veilguard?" David Gaider: "If there’s less reactivity in DATV, I’m unsurprised. Continuing choice from up to 3 games earlier is… unsupportable. Yet DA established the expectation they would so… damned if you do, damned if you don’t?" [source]

User: "EA is one of the biggest game companies ever. I don't think more complex diverging plots are impossible." David Gaider: "Well, if only more writing was all it took. Sadly, it's also cinematics. Art time for all those reappearing characters you probably want to look *just* right. And let's not forget we have to test all those permutations! So I don't disagree with you in spirit, but I don't think it's the answer here." [source]

User: "is there a possibility of future kieran appearances in a book or something similar outside of the games?" David Gaider: "I'd have no way of knowing that." [source]

User: "I’m actually shocked so little people chose the dark ritual. That was basically the main reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with the wardens, no?" David Gaider: "The impression you get of what "most" players do - in almost any game, not just DA - is very different if you're online a lot. Consider here that it's not just the % of DAO players who chose the Dark Ritual, it's the % of DAI players WHO PLAYED DAO and cared to import that choice 5 years later." [source]

User: "Is there anything you wish you had done differently, in hindsight?" David Gaider: "Probably just to not ever do importing choices between games in the first place." [source]

User: "Kieran only existed in my DAI state b/c Morrigan as a mother really appealed to me. I wasn't expecting to be devastated by those scenes 😭 I guess when we complain about lack of consequences from prev choices in DAV we must also ask how MUCH are we willing to pay for those branches to exist?" David Gaider: "That's indeed it. Content directed towards reactivity would have to come from somewhere else. So essentially a shorter game overall for the sake of those hardcore fans who'd import - who would, I imagine, REALLY enjoy that... but it's a tough cost/benefit analysis to make." [source]

User: "mr gaider im gonna keep it real with you if i had to choose between my hof and hawke i would've simply passed away" David Gaider: "Right? That was the ENTIRE idea! I was very excited, and for a while it seemed possible." [source]

User: "This has been a very interesting read but I have to ask why they decided to use Stroud instead of the HoF" David Gaider: "1) Complexity of providing means for a player to build a Warden (which they did in DATV for the Inquisitor). Also spoiled the surprise. 2) We’d have needed to give the Warden a voice. Add these to the cost and it was deemed not worth it." [source]

User: "Genuine question, not a critique - but what made the OGB decision one that couldn't be handwaved as canon no matter what was or wasn't chosen? Leliana and Flemeth being around no matter what come to mind. Was OGB simultaneously too major and too minor of a decision?" David Gaider: "Flemeth and Leliana being alive were easily explainable, and we knew we were doing it even back then. Circumventing the Dark Ritual… that would be too cheap. We did talk about it, but it just felt too dishonest. Too high a price for what we’d get in return." [source]

David Gaider: "If I’d known the Well of Sorrows would only see reactivity in the confrontation with Flemeth, I’d probably have made a much bigger deal of it." [source]

David Gaider: "We could maybe have gotten past the need to "reconstruct" the Warden, much like the Inquisitor was reconstructed in DATV (so I understand), but the need to give the Warden a voice was the final nail. Too potentially disappointing for the very people who'd be excited about it, aside from the cost." [source]

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Self Aware Jinwoo vs Sylus x Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 038 ✦ ┆・

‼️[ TW: stalking, obsession, yandere Jinwoo au, dissing on sylus i dont hate him this is for content. ]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Darkness? No. I Am The Abyss Itself.] ¡! ❞

He knew that fucker was trouble the moment he saw you drool over him. Jinwoo didnt do anything at first, he hasn't completely swallowed the system on your phone.

And yet everytime, you prioritize that grandfather looking asshole over him.

What's so interesting about him anyway? That he runs a damn mafia wannabe faction with a tacky name?

He's rich? Yeah and? So is he. So what the hell?

As Jinwoo tried to fight through the system that trapped him in this damn trance, he watches you turn your attention to a man with silver hair— Your heart beating for him.

It made Jinwoo so infuriated, the way that fucker makes you smile. The way that old man dares to steal something that was his from the very first place.

He's been with you far longer than that bastard ever did so how come you're suddenly abandoning him for a man that calls you 'Kitten'?

He's always there for you, watching over you, he accompanied you through your most stressful days. Jinwoo was the first, the precious box in your heart was always for him to stay in. So why is there another guy threatening to kick him off of his place?

Why?

Why?

WHY?

Isn't he enough? He leveled up so hard already, he went through wars to see that face of yours light up— So why? Is it because the novel version of him had a bride? Is that why?

Fuck.

That's a different Jinwoo.

That Jinwoo is a fool, this Jinwoo is all yours.

It was making him mad, the more he spent time in that tiny cage of codes in him— The more he spirals as you pull away from him.

Those precious eyes that had always been there for him, those orbs that gazed so lovingly at him— Jinwoo feels so him in your eyes.

When you look at him, he was Jinwoo.

Not the shadow monarch.

Not the strongest hunter.

He was just Jinwoo.

So why?

Why must you replace him just like that? Is he that forgettable? Is he that easy to replace?

Was your love for him so shallow all this time?

As he slumps on his prison, black tears would pool in his eyes.

He was silent for a while, almost beating himself into letting you go.

It's okay.

It had always been a crush.

It's fine.

What is he acting like a heartbroken teenager for anyway?

If it makes you happy, then that was alright. All that matters is that you are healthy and happy.

After all, if you love someone, shouldn't you set them free? Shouldn't you choose to let them go and chase after happiness?

As long as your pretty little face isn't weeping, as long as your little heart is protected then it should be alright.

Even though he wanted to be the only person in your eyes, even though he wanted to be the only person in your precious heart.

Jinwoo is no longer your darling.

The memories you built with him are no more.

All of the affections that have grown have come undone.

His little kingdom in your dreams has already come apart.

Jinwoo already lost you, he barely managed to protect what is his outside of this lonely prison.

Everything that is his gone.

He really should be fine with it.

He should be.

He should be.

......

But when he saw Sylus kidnap you into another world, he went mad, his prison instantly went berserk.

The green code suddenly turned into monarch purple, the shadows that he thought he lost suddenly came swirling beneath him.

How dare that fucker try to play the role of the grim reaper by kidnapping you in darkness?

How dare that santa in dark-mode looking asshole frighten you like that?

How dare he make you flinch like that and to top it off that bastard dared to touch your lips.

Those lips that belongs to him were stolen.

That woman he protected from nightmares is being taken.

Jinwoo's blood rushed as a vein popped on Jinwoo's jaw.

He's the shadow monarch for fuck's sake.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Becoming Sylus's trophy girlfriend/wife whatever... Was quite the experience.

Spoiled.

Pampered.

The most delicious food at your fingertips.

And luxury goods you could have only dreamed of in your previous life were at your beck and call.

Sylus's black card?

All your for you to take whenever you wish.

You could buy all of of Linkon at this point.

The man allowed you to travel around Linkon to admire it's pristine beauty. N109 zone is too risky to explore so he lets you enjoy yourself in the city.

But somehow, you swear you're becoming a little too anxious these days. It feels as though a pair of eyes are watching you.

You try to brush it off as it's just Mephisto following you wherever.

But the more the shivers happen, the more paranoid you became.

It was as if the shadows were watching you.

Shadows.

Funny.

Suddenly, the image of Jinwoo would come back to your head.

Your fear of the dark disappeared because you thought Jinwoo would be there for you.

After all, he is the lord of the shadows.

But anyway, all of that is in the past. You have Sylus now.

"So you do remember me."

A voice suddenly rings out, making you drop the glass you were holding and it shattered on the floor.

"Now, now, sarang." The nickname rolls out of the stranger's tongue and a hand gently graps your fingers, intertwining your fingers together. "Careful there, love. You'll get hurt."

You look up at the tall figure and you instantly recognize who it was.

Jinwoo.

"Hm, at least the bastard was generous enough to make you more plump than compared to when you were alone. "Jinwoo hums, swiping his finger on your bottom lip and he pecks it affectionately, "Your prettier you are up close than you are behind that screen in my prison."

"Bold of you to dare touch someone else's prey" Sylus's voice snarled as he aimed a gun at Jinwoo's head from behind. "She was mine first when you decided to come in and screw up shit." Jinwoo replies, the edge of his dagger against the man's neck.

"Boss!" Kieran and Luke's panicked voices come into the room, bursting in as they held their weapons.

"We're sorry, we didn't see him come in" Luke apologizes, preparing to aim at Jinwoo.

"It's fine, this bastard is just a slippery worm" Sylus says, pressing the mouth of the gun further, ready to shoot.

"So you're bringing those two little mice to our little fight? I'd like for you to meet my kids then." Jinwoo snickers, smirking as he presses the blade further and the side of Sylus's neck would bleed. "Arise."

The shadows would hum, snarling even as the darkness whispered and solidified into multiple beastly creatures. Ten? No. Maybe there was more as the ceiling had a bunch of heads peaking out— Starving to get a taste of human flesh.

"Ah, I forgot you're a troublesome necromancer" Sylus snickers.

"W-wait!" You panicked voice comes out, squeezing yourself between the two and pushing them apart.

"Kitten?"

"Sarang?"

"You can't, no!" You protest, panicking. "I-I'll run away if you do!"

It was a ridiculous thing to do, run away? From what? A shadow Monarch and the Leader of Onychinus?

But somehow the two men were silent looking at eachother before clicking their tongues and complied.

"Stand down."

"Beru, don't touch the rascals"

Beru clicks his antlers, as if pouting as he moved away from the twins.

"Y-you can't fight, not like this!" You say, trying to get the both of them to ease up.

"Then how do you expect us to do this?" Jinwoo crosses his arms, hiding his dagger away.

"Kitten, if you dont want us at eachother's throat then at least make something up."

"Well..."

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

"......"

"......"

And that's the story of how you managed to sit down two scary men on a table playing... Kitty cards.

It's not a bad idea really, whoever wins gets to date you. Not so bad.

Minus the fact that the two kept on getting ties because they are both highly intelligent and calculated idiots that they just deflect one another.

What?

They're both cat boys anyway.

One is a grumpy white cat.

One is a grumpy black cat.

"Woooh, let's go boss! Kick his ass!" Luke and Kieran cheers with their pompoms.

"Kieek, my liege you must win this game!!!" Beru says, his little head hovering on his shoulder.

"You all shut up before I tear you apart myself"

Wow...

Even the way they shut people up is the same.

Jinwoo: You goddamn santa claus wannabe that cup was mine. Sylus: I don't see your name in it. Sylus: Did you just remove my cat with that damn assist card? Jinwoo: That's what you get for being born.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: What? You expected another ending huh? How's that? /j. I wanted to make a crack fic at last because the idea of sitting down two crazy ah bastards to play kitty cards and just reduce them to 2 little shits just insulting eachother is funny and I'm here for it xD!!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ — All stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[puffcap-factory]

As night will find its day (Diluc x Reader)

Diluc x fem!reader; angst, established relationship, reader lost her memory ohno!, a little bit of comfort at the end but mostly angst (esp. on Diluc’s end) What if after an argument with Diluc, you fell into the abyss during your expedition not long after, and you went back to the surface after 6 months, but without your memory of him.

This story is based on the drabble I made (here). I used it as an introduction for this story as I prefer to post a completed version in one post, so some of you who had read the previous post can skip the first part if you like!

Words: 4.2k

Notes: Okay I clearly went overboard, I never thought I would write this long but I got carried away. At one point I really felt bad for Diluc and I even asked myself why. I've also set the reader into female because I felt like it somewhat refers a bit (if you squint hard enought tho... ) to the other Diluc fic I made. But of course, each story is separate and you can always enjoy each one separately.

So, is it really connected? is it not? who knows! haHaHA

As always, please enjoy the angst!

•~•~•~•

Where is this place…?

Your steps were heavy, each step sinking into the ground as you trudged along the ground. The rustling grass and the rich scent of soil tugged at something familiar inside you, whispering of a place you once knew. Perhaps, you had found your way back to your own world, after all?

With each step, you moved forward little by little, limping slightly, as you took your time to absorb the surroundings after being thrown out of a rift near the shores of Liyue. Your clothes were ragged after what had seemed like endless battles you had fought to survive in the abyss, and your body felt numb with exhaustion. Yet, in this moment of weariness, there was a bittersweet comfort in the familiar earth beneath your feet.

“I’m back…”

You mumbled, your voice barely audible. Your mind was like a blank canvas as your feet carried you aimlessly, trying to dig deep into the recesses of your memory. But, everything before the darkness in the abyss remained elusive. Everything was hazy, as if someone had locked your memory before your fall into the abyss in a box, with its key just out of reach. 

Hours slipped by as you wandered, until you finally found yourself at the foot of a small hill. The wind brought a gentle breeze, tousling your hair, and you reached up to brush it from your face. Before you lay a field of grapevines, their leaves rustling softly in the wind. At the top of the hill, nestled among the vineyards, stood a mansion, and you were strangely pulled towards into it.

You slowly stepped forward onto the pathway leading to the mansion, when a man suddenly appeared in front of you, his face etched with shock as if he had just seen a ghost. His mouth fell open, and his arms hung limply at his sides as he tried to process the sight before him. There was a pause before he decided to speak.

“…y/n...?”

You looked up into his face, noticing his red hair pulled back into a ponytail. What a pretty sight, you thought, before realizing that he had called your name.

Y/n… Right, that’s my name. At least I remember that.

The man rushed to you, pulling you into a gentle hug, supporting you as you struggled to stand. You could feel his uneven breaths, hear the panic in his attempts to calm himself. His hand trembled against your back, offering support as he whispered fragmented apologies into your ear. Despite your confusion, there was a strange comfort in his embrace, a feeling of safety that allowed the fatigue to finally seize you. 

He then pulled back slightly, his brows furrowed with worry as he noticed your dazed state. Despite the profound care you felt from his gaze, his face was a void in your memory. You tried to rake through your mind, but strangely found nothing. He lifted a trembling hand to your face, gently caressing your cheek, wishing at least you would somehow respond to his silent wail – call his name, anything. 

You opened your mouth, and with the last of your strength, you finally asked.

“Who are you…?”

•~•~•~•

It had been almost half a year since you disappeared. Diluc had been restless, pacing back and forth at the guild, exhausting every resource and contact in his search for you. He had poured all his energy into finding you, but every lead ended in nothing.

Then, on that day you finally reappeared, relief washed over him at seeing you alive, but the first words you said to him had shattered him.

You had not recognized him, nor the place you should be familiar with.

How? Why?  How could this happen? Is this even possible? Where does your memory stretch back to? This should be temporary, right…?

I haven’t lost you… have I?

Thousands of questions rushed through Diluc's mind, each one more painful than the last. He speculated endlessly, his thoughts spinning with countless what-ifs. However, the worst-case scenario, the thought he wouldn’t even dare to admit, scared him to the core. Recalling the moment he had held you in his arms and saw you looking at him as if he were a stranger, his heart sank deeper than it ever had before.

However, Diluc was quick with his action as to gather the servants to explain the situation after you were rested. While he acknowledged the possibility of memory loss, he instructed them to prioritize your care until you healed and not to push you. “Treat her like any guest with respect,” he had said, though uttering the word "guest" pained him deeply.

Diluc entered his bedroom to check on you, as he did every day. He sat next to the bed and gently lifted the cloth from your forehead to change it. His gaze lingered on your face, which seemed to be peacefully sleeping. Everything was still—the evening sun filtered through the window, casting a soft light around you, making you appear almost angelic, in contrast to the fear and anxiety gnawing at Diluc's mind.

He gently caressed your cheek, feeling the warmth of your skin against his, as if trying to salvage any dear moment with you. But then, his mind wandered back to when he had let his anger overtake him, leading to this outcome.

The time, when you two were shouting at each other, and the look on your face, hurt by his words...

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the flashbacks from flooding his mind. A storm of regret built inside him, reminding him of his past actions.

He exhaled deeply and stood up, finding it difficult to tear his gaze from you. As he looked at you one last time, he silently prayed for you to wake up soon, longing for a chance to make things right... if that was even possible in the first place.

•~•~•~•

A few days later, one afternoon, Diluc returned from his own expedition from the guild. As soon as he entered, Adelinde rushed to him.

"Master Diluc, she's awake. She has been since early morning," she said, her voice filled with both relief and worry.

Diluc's heart quickly raced with anticipation hearing what Adelinde had said. But dread crept in when she added, "But… she doesn’t seem to recognize me—or this place."

So, his suspicion was true.

"Where is she now?" he asked.

"At the garden table, in the backyard," Adelinde responded.

Without wasting a moment, he rushed into the backyard. He found you seated at the table, your back facing him as you were seemingly admiring the landscape beyond. Diluc carefully approached you from the side, his footsteps echoing softly on the stone tile. Hearing the sound, you turned your head to see him coming towards you.

"Good afternoon," Diluc greeted, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Oh... good afternoon," you replied as he took a seat opposite you, facing the landscape. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked, searching your face for any hint of recognition.

"I’m feeling… pretty well," you said hesitantly, clearly still confused. "The maid told me you rescued me when I fell unconscious. So... thank you."

“Don’t mention it, I did what I have to do,” he answered. You smiled weakly at him in response as he paused, contemplating his words whether to ask you about your past recollections. But you spoke first. 

"To be honest, I barely remember anything about where I came from, in case you’re wondering. Everything is foggy… All I remember is a constant struggle for survival in the abyss, before I came to this place, I... I—" You paused, trying to gather your thoughts. "I feel afraid... of all this…uncertainty."

His worst fear was confirmed, and his heart shattered upon hearing what you just said. Seeing the confusion and fear in your eyes, imagining what you must have endured in the abyss, suffocated him. Yet, he tried his best to maintain his calm exterior.

"...But," you continued, momentarily bringing him back from his thoughts.

He looked up, meeting your eyes.

"There is something calming about this place... I feel somewhat... safe."

Upon hearing your words, there was a mixture of relief and sorrow washing over Diluc. One part was relieved that you felt safe, but he couldn’t deny the ache he felt in his heart, reminding him the painful reality that all the memories he once shared with you might now only reside within him. It took every ounce of strength not to crumble in front of you.

Yet, he reached out, his hand gently resting on yours. "You are safe here," he whispered, his voice weighted with thousands of emotions swirling inside him. 

You looked at him rather curiously at first, taking in his genuine words, then gave a warm smile. “Thank you, I really do owe you.”

“No, you don’t owe me anything. Don’t worry about it,” he responded, shaking his head. “If you want to know about the city, I’d be glad to show you around. There are lots of good people there.”

Your face began to lit up at his offer, a smile widening across your face. “Really…? That would be great!”

Ah, how he had dearly missed that sight…

•~•~•~•

It had been almost three weeks since you began your stay at the Dawn Winery. Diluc had been treating you very well, helping you adjust to daily life, sometimes accompanying you to Mondstadt whenever he had spare time. Of course, the people who had apparently known you from before, already heard the story, as Diluc had already warned them not to scare you by overwhelming you with questions. You eventually learned that you were someone who had originally come from this very city. The people were warm and welcoming despite your inexistence of your past memories, much to your appreciation. 

Today, you found yourself seated in the winery gardens, reading a book that Lisa, the librarian, had lent you. The title read ‘History of Mondstadt’ — Lisa had recommended a lighter book for you to read, but you had insisted on this one, determined to fill in the gaps in your memory. After all, you didn’t want to burden Diluc for too long; he had done more than enough for you, and you planned to live independently as soon as you were ready.

As you flipped through the middle pages, Adelinde called out to you.

“My lady, it’s lunchtime,” she gently called from the main door.

“Ah, coming!” You closed the book and went inside. The manor was quieter than usual, as Diluc had been out for work since the day before, so you found yourself eating alone at the table.

“Please, enjoy, and if you need anything, just call me, alright?” Adelinde said with a slight bow before returning to her duties.

You nodded in thanks, taking a moment to observe your food and your surroundings. There was always a strange tug on your memory about this place that you couldn’t quite explain, but the manor felt serene, as if your body was oddly accustomed to it. After enjoying your meal, you decided to roam around the house, indulging to your curiosities.

As you wandered, you noticed that Diluc’s office door was slightly open. You had never seen what was inside, but you knew you shouldn't pry—you wanted to respect his privacy, especially given how well he had treated you. But the glimpse of the room inside seemed to call to you, and your feet unconsciously brought you closer.

Slowly, you stepped inside, taking your time to observe the room. The room was unlit, but the sunlight casting through the window made it seem almost… ethereal. You saw wooden carved cabinets containing files and books, all sorted neatly, and another cabinet holding some antiques. His desk was not the tidiest, with documents sprawled across the surface. You noticed a paper on the floor near his seat, so you carefully picked it up. As you placed it on the desk, you noticed a slightly open drawer, and one item inside particularly drew your attention. The sunlight reflected on a metallic object, making it hard to miss.

You hesitated, knowing you were already prying more than you should. But your curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to take a peek. You opened the drawer a bit more and saw that the glowing item was a golden pocket watch. Intrigued, you picked it up, examining its intricate carvings closely. Carefully, you opened it, and a bittersweet melody began to play, revealing a tiny music box inside. The melody seemed to stir something deep within you, an emotion you couldn’t quite place, as if you’ve heard it somewhere before… from a place buried deep inside your forgotten memories. Your eyes, however, were drawn to the upper part of the watch, where a small photo was wedged.

The photo was small but clear, showing two people laughing lovingly. One of them was unmistakably Diluc, and the other... you let out a silent gasp. The other person standing next to him looked just like you. Your brows furrowed as you tried to process this revelation. The sight of the familiar face in the photo, sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. 

…Is this really… me? Why do I look so happy and close here? Who was I…?

You took a deep breath to quickly reassess yourself, realizing that up until now, there had been small things you found rather peculiar: the way the maids sometimes stumbled over their words, as if hiding something; the stock of female outfits in the manor that strangely suited your taste; the food, everything seemed to be in place to your liking. You had brushed these off before as mere coincidences, but now, seeing the photo, it all strangely began to make sense.

You stood silent at the room, observing the photo with the melody still playing on your hand. Questions rushed through your mind, and fear—of possibly having forgotten something important—slowly crept in. 

To your surprise, the partially open door swung wider, revealing Adelinde’s rather shocked face, which quickly relaxed upon seeing you. You panickedly closed the pocket watch, abruptly cutting the music.  “Ah, um—I…” you scrambled to explain, but she slowly approached you, gently taking your hand that held the pocket watch, and placed her other hand reassuringly on top.

“You see, I’ve known Master from his young age. He tends to keep his most cherished belongings hidden,” she smiled gently. “To think that you could find it…”

“I- I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to. Please don’t tell him,” you pleaded.

“No, don’t worry about that,” she paused, glancing at the pocket watch. “I’m the one who accidentally left the door open after cleaning the floor. I should be in the wrong.”

You were about to protest, but she continued calmly. “Master Diluc had warned us, the servants, not to tell you about your past status, given your situation, as he did not want to pressure you.”

You went silent, thinking back to how he had always been considerate and careful around you. If you were really someone that important to him—to think of what had been going through his mind all this time… words felt stuck in your throat.

“He isn’t the most expressive person, but he has been prioritizing your well-being above all else. He just wanted you to feel safe,” Adelinde added.

You took your time to process the information. It left you with one burning question. “…Then… who was I to him?”

Adelinde looked into your eyes. Though she kept her warm smile, her eyes masked a depth of emotion. “I believe that is a question Master himself should answer.” She paused before continuing. “I have desserts ready for you. Shall we?”

You nodded, placing the pocket watch back in the drawer, and instinctively followed her to the pantry. But your thoughts were tangled, processing all the information about your possible connection with Diluc. Everything in your mind was jumbled. You couldn’t find any memories to piece it all together, and you had even told him that you considered moving out at one point... but now, you felt like you couldn’t just leave now, not when you felt something tugging at your depths of your heart.

•~•~•~•

Diluc sighed as he headed back from his expedition, walking along the dirt path leading back to the winery.  As much as he had wished to spend more time with you, some urgent tasks couldn’t be left unattended.

During the time of his absence, he desperately hoped that you might magically regain your memory, but he had seen the joy you found in the city, the spark of curiosity and happiness that had returned to your eyes. He couldn't bear the thought of selfishly forcing you to stay with him, tethered by a past you couldn’t remember. It felt unfair to you. To you now, he was just someone else—a kind stranger, perhaps.

The painful truth was, as much as he dreaded it, that sooner or later, he would have to part ways with you, letting you live your own free life. Although the thought of losing you all over again tore him deeply, he would always prioritize your well-being. What it matters now is that you are safe and sound, he thought repeatedly, as if to convince himself more than anything.

As he passed the sign for the winery, Diluc spotted you seated under a big tree, reading a book. You were quite far from him, too engrossed in your book to even notice him, but he recognized that the spot you had chosen instantly. It was your favorite place to spend time outside, a place where you had often had picnics with him in the past. A small, wistful smile curved the edge of his lips as he reminisced. Back then, he would simply walk up to you, and you would welcome him with a warm embrace. But now, the fear of facing the painful reality kept him rooted in place, unable bring himself to you. With a heavy heart, he turned towards the manor, leaving you to your peaceful solitude under the tree.

Even though you had lost your memory, Diluc noticed that some things about you hadn't changed. Somehow, without realizing it, you still found yourself to your favorite places and sometimes performed small, mundane actions that felt like déjà vu to him. These familiar gestures gave him a bittersweet sense of comfort, a reassurance that, despite everything, you were still… you.

That night, Diluc found himself seated in his office, the golden pocket watch in his hand as he stared at the picture inside. The gentle melody played, filling the room with its bittersweet tune. He was lost in thought, the memories of better times flooding his mind. The joy in your eyes, the warmth of your embrace—all now felt like distant memories of a past life.

A knock on the door, already slightly open, pulled him back to reality. “Yes?” he called out, hastily composing himself and halting the melody as he closed the watch.

You hesitantly peeked into the room, the soft tune having drawn you in as you passed by. “I’m sorry, I heard the music, and...”

He looked at you, a mix of surprise and apprehension in his eyes. “It’s alright. Please, come in.”

You stepped inside, glancing around the room before your gaze settled on him. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just... the melody sounded familiar.”

Diluc’s heart tightened at your words. He had hoped for a spark of recognition, a flicker of memory, but he knew better than to expect miracles. “It’s a keepsake,” he explained, his voice soft. “Something very dear to me.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of his words. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “There’s so much I don’t remember, and it’s been hard. But... I’ve felt strangely at home here. As if I belong.”

His eyes softened, and he motioned for you to sit. “I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “This place... it holds many memories.”

You took a seat, your curiosity and confusion evident in your eyes. "Adelinde mentioned that you didn’t want to overwhelm me with my past, and I really appreciate that. But I need to know...," you paused, your knuckles curling on top of your knees. "…Who was I to you?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with emotion. Diluc looked at you, his heart torn between the desire to protect you and the need to share the truth. “You were... you are someone very important to me,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion as he glanced to the side, trying to maintain his composure.

You fell silent, feeling a tightness in your chest and a lump in your throat. “…I—I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say,” you managed, your voice trembling. You couldn’t place where exactly it came from, but sadness washed over you, as the weight of forgotten memories pressing down on you, giving you the feeling as if you really had lost something very, very dear.

Diluc immediately turned back to you, realizing he had made you feel worse. He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly, feeling his own tears forming in his eyes. “Don’t apologize. It was never your fault to begin with.” He rose, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Oh, and I’ve talked to a landlord in Mondstadt. He said tomorrow—”

He tried to shift the topic to lighten the mood, but his words faltered as he noticed you still seated, head hung low, with tears silently dripping onto your clenched fists. His heart ached at the sight of you crying, his emotions threatening to spill over as his breathing grew ragged. He slowly went to your side and knelt beside you, his hand gently placed on your shoulder, as his gaze filled with deep concern.

Diluc’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly as words seemed to fail him, too fragile to contain the depth of his emotions. Instead, he moved closer, enveloping you in a gentle embrace.

You let your emotions spill over, leaning into his arms and crying on his shoulder. The warmth of his embrace was strangely familiar and comforting. Diluc, on the other hand, sensing the futility of words, sought to soothe you as his hand traced slow, calming circles on your back. He looked up, his gaze unfocused and distant, as he felt a single tear stroke down his cheek.

 •~•~•~•

The sun streamed through the curtains, filling the living room with a warm, golden light as you descended the stairs. Diluc stood near the main exit door, waiting for you. Today was the day he had arranged for you to meet the landlord in Mondstadt. You had spent the night wide awake, drowning in your thoughts about the previous night.

As you reached the bottom, your eyes met his in a silent exchange. Diluc, composed as ever — befitting the master of the winery, but you noticed a fleeting softness in his gaze. Your steps slowed as you approached him, uncertainty weighing heavily on your heart.

You stopped at the edge of the stairs, gripping the rail and fidgeting with your hands. “Diluc, I…”

He turned his head towards you, his expression gentle. “What is it?” he asked softly, stepping closer, his voice filled with concern.

“…would you… have wished for me to stay rather than moving out?” you asked reluctantly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Diluc’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your question. He took a deep breath, his composure wavering for a moment. “If I were to be honest,” he began, his voice low and earnest, “I would wish for you to stay. But more than anything, I want you to find happiness and a sense of belonging, whether that’s here or in Mondstadt.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, again — as his words stirred a mix of emotions within you. The thought of leaving this place, leaving him, somewhat felt like abandoning a part of yourself, and you couldn't shake the desire to understand your past and your connection to him anymore.

Diluc reached out, gently taking your hands in his. “Your presence here has brought a light to this place, to my life,” he admitted, his eyes searching yours. “But I won't hold you back. The choice is yours, and I will support whatever you decide.”

Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of his words and the depth of his feelings finally enveloping you. For a moment, the world outside seemed distant, as if the only thing that mattered was the fragile bond that tethered you together, slowly finding its way back.

“Then…,” you began, your voice trembling, “I would like to stay a little longer. To understand more, to remember…”

Diluc’s expression softened, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes. “As long as you need,” he said, pulling you into a warm embrace.

In that moment, you felt a sense of peace, anxiety exiting your heart. You knew well that the journey ahead was uncertain, but for now, you were exactly where you needed to be.

“You’re always welcome here.”

•~•~•~•

Taglist: @coffeeisbehindyou @sandramalikstyles-blog @rebeccawinters @mis-disaster @definitelyatari @vintag3u @synqiri @distinguished-jeseter-things @eroxotckv

[loveaurdeepression]

a/n: long awaited desi!reader<3 tell me if you want more :3

Your house is quiet when he enters. The silence is eerie after the commotion he'd caused back in the n109 zone, and despite the knowledge that there is no threat to you here, he can't help the surge of worry that shoots through him.

A few moments more and ah, he hears the slow jingle of anklets. Like a siren's song, their enchanting chime lures him in, deeper into the home you've made, decorated with pieces of your heritage, from the sandalwood incense stand to the tapestry, your house is sprinkled with the essence of you.

"Darling?" he calls out, testing the waters, seeing if you'll hear him. A breath later, soft music fills the house and he chuckles, you know he's here.

"In here, love," you say and he follows your voice, the tinkling of your anklets only growing louder as you move around your room, He'd asked you to be ready for a fancy dinner and was close to buying you a dress on his own when you'd waved his offer away.

"Buy me a dress when you take me out next time, jaan. I have the perfect thing for this."

He'd expected maybe a different cut or color but one thing he'd learned when he was with you was to always expect the unexpected.

And so, when he finally walks through your doorway, with the sun rays shining through your windows, he can't help but stare.

Because you're possibly the most beautiful you've ever been in the thousands of memories he's ever had of you. Because the sun shines just right on your brown, glowing skin. Because your kohl-lined eyes gaze at him with all the love in the world, albeit a little nervous, and the dress.

The dress.

"It's a lehenga, Sylus. Do you like it?" you ask, henna-decorated fingers fidgeting.

How could you possibly think he just likes it? When every dragonic instinct instilled in him since his rebirth has resurfaced, when every part, every version of him that is in his head is repeating in his mind, like a broken record-

Hoard.

He fights between wanting to take you to the abyss with him, where you can be with him and his gold and jewels, and showing you off for the world to see. For all the people in the restaurant to admire, and to weep.

Because this treasure is his.

He doesn't say a word, he only moves closer, drinking in every drop of you bathed in the sunlight like a parched traveler.

He gulps, "Darling, you look ethereal." He runs his hands through the intricate threadwork of the lehenga, fascinated with the shine of the set jewels. Your necklace makes him want to shove his face between your shoulder and jaw and tear it off of you, but not for the jewels of the necklace, no, of course not.

The dragon only wants you.

You giggle, a sound he savors, "You like it, huh?"

"I love it." he murmurs, taking your hands in his and focusing on the art on your hands, "I love you"

With a mischievous smile, you look at him, "Look for your name."

His heart beats faster, "My..name?"

You nod, "Legend says that if you find it, we'll be lovers forever."

As if that isn't already the case, he reigns in all the focus he has ever learned to muster to look, to seek, to search for his name. He looks at your fingers, and palms and reverently turns them over, and there, On your ring finger, is his name.

He pauses, kissing your fingers, looking up at you like he's a devotee and you're the benevolent goddess he's worshipped all his life.

"Looks like we're together forever, sweetie."

[st4r-th0ughts]

I’m breaking down, I’m sorry.

masterlist

Comments and reblogs are more appreciated than likes!

(platonic) corrupted? Ancient GN! reader cookie x Ancient Heros

Clotted cream Cookie x reader (+implied very very slight one sided Ancients x reader)

BAKENOHANA (NAKISO) ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:31

ׂ╰┈➤

tw/cw: Reader’s a bit of an asshole so be warned, thier also a flirty one. The Beast Cookie is my own OC (personally I don’t want to just refer to them as beast, they and whatnot bc it would be confusing) and some of the cookies in flashbacks are as well. Reader also has anger issues and probably an identity crisis so yay, written before Beast Yeast Ep.8

note(s): not proofread! this takes place in a slightly altered version of the crk timeline. Golden Cheese is present during the Cookie Odessey story, and the request of Reader’s strength is during Cookie Odessey right after Day 4, instead of Golden Cheese’s kingdom being located after the whole Cookie Odessey instead. This doesn’t affect any lore much tbh

special thanks: this entire fic was kickstarted by @brittle-doughie based on thier Virtue of Compassion! Reader. While the story is completely different, your fics are the ones that gave me the motivation to write this.

summary: O Light of Gaiety, tell me so, how do I let go of the sorrows of the future?

ׂ╰┈➤

gaiety, /ˈɡeɪ.ə.t̬i/ happiness and excitement.

sorrow, /sor·​row/ deep distress, sadness, or regret especially for the loss of someone or something loved

——

A gasp escapes you as you stare ahead of you, your soul jam glowing brighter in your scarf accessory, your hand moving close to grip it unconsciously, looking around at the walls, as if they were melting by the second and closing in on your form.

“This again? I’ve been seeing these halls for the last few nights.”

You murmur quietly, your throat feeling dry as you stare at the overwhelming melancholic feeling of the stale air around you, the environment making you feel dulled and sorrowful by the minute.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve come across the place. Ever since you helped Pure Vanilla regain his soul after being corrupted by the Beast of Lies and Deception’s powers, you’ve been having similarly resounding nightmares he’d described in one of your late night talks.

Only this time, there was no one here. And the loneliness of the silence was making you go nuts. You place a hesitant foot forward, and immediately, the abyss shifts to form a hallway. Cracked, paint peeling from its thin, greyed wafer walls, the icing that held the place together slowly melting into puddles, the sounds of soft, despaired whispers echoing through your mind.

You slowly walk through the hallways, and you stop at a turn, and gazing down it, showed you a collection of mirrors, and curiously prompted you to turn and walk down there instead, almost as if you were supposed to.

The reflections were not of you, but of your memories. Cheerful. Happy. Just like your Virtue. Despite the overwhelming feeling of sorrow enveloping you like a cold hug, a smile forms on your face as your hands fondly press against the glass.

The first memory you could set your eyes upon was your ascension as your kingdom’s ruler. You had pledged your oath, swearing that all cookies who inhabited the land of Gaiety and Joy, would be the most joyful, well taken care of cookies in EarthBread. Kneeling down, you had felt the crown settling neatly on your head, fitting perfectly.

Your friends were proud as ever. Pure Vanilla and White Lily were smiling tenderly in joy at your coronation, Dark Cacao, stern as ever, had the slightest hint of whatever he could call a smile on his face. Hollyberry was hosting the widest grin you think a cookie could make, and Golden Cheese was the first to give you a proud speech of you sharing your riches with her, though it was with sheer fondness and no malice.

The next frame housing a mirror was your regaining of your souljam. After the Dark Flour War, your efforts to try and hold your friends together failed, and in a fit of rage at feeling inadequate, and the despair that as the Virtue of Gaiety, you failed to keep your friend’s spirits up and keep them together in dark times, you smashed your souljam into fragments, leaving them to be scattered by the harsh winds of the Sugar Powder Desert as your heart and Virtue chilled to the core.

You ruled your kingdom with the same grace you had before, smiling during public walks and appearances. But within your walls, where only your soldiers and confidants remained, your heart was as cold as stone, mind as scrambled as cookie crumbs on a battle field. Gingerbrave and his friends entered your kingdom to try and speak to you, convince you to return to the Ancient Cookies’ sides to fight Dark Enchantress Cookie, and they’d brought to you your souljam fragments. The sight of it had made you snap, recalling all those terrible memories you had tried so hard to repress, and you’d taken the souljam and smashed it again, sending the group out of the palace with threats of imprisonment and execution.

It was only after Dark Cacao, Golden Cheese’s and Hollyberry forcefully pushed past your guards and Pure Vanilla had pleaded with you to listen to them, to your life old friends. They made you face them head on, even if your weapons did clash in your fury, even as you accused them of turning their backs onto you even as you tried to help them, and on their own citizens. Your soul jam had called out to you, just as gentle and as joyful as it was when you destroyed it.

“Reader Cookie, come. It is time… you open your heart, to your loyal subjects, to your friends. To become the kind, gentle ruler you once were.”

You remember the overwhelming guilt that swallowed you whole at once as the Light of Gaiety spoke to you, hearing your voice in its gentle and tender state that you hadn’t used in centuries made you stumble as you held the cracked gem in your hands, and you recall Pure Vanilla and Golden Cheese’s hands holding you upright as Hollyberry and Dark Cacao stood in front of you to offer support if needed.

“O Light of Gaiety, forgive me. I have made… so many grave errors in my pain and grief. I am not worthy of being one of the Ancient Heroes.”

You had murmured softly, cradling the gem in your hands as the cracks slowly started to heal, and you witness through the mirror at how the Ancients, the cookies you called your closest friends, had such heartbroken expressions on their faces. It made your heart ache as well, though it had been a few months since that event as a quiet sigh left your lips.

“For years, pain has ebbed away at your joy, wearing and chipping you down into a cold and closed off cookie whose hurt is unable to be shared with anyone.”

“Your pain will not go away even if you accept me into your life again, Reader Cookie. But you should trust in the cookies around you. To help you regain your values and virtues of Gaiety, to be the cookie your subjects, your friends, need again.”

The image fades from the mirror as it cracks, your hand jerking away as you sigh quietly. On your scarf’s ribbon, your souljam starts to shake, your eyes darting as you come face to face with another mirror, its corners cracked and some shards even missing, compared to the other pristine and intact mirror that had housed the last two memories.

The imaging was grim. It was the time of when you felt your friends were slowly becoming distant. Shells of the strong, powerful warriors you once knew. In the mirror, it simply reflected your form, hunched over and weeping softly as your souljam laid dark in front of you.

Voices of your friends filled your mind, words not of care and kindness, but of spite and malice you knew they could never direct towards any cookie, much less to you, and you recoil as the glass breaks, your mirror self’s cries echoing faintly throughout the warped hallways.

The weeps slowly ebb away as you realize it was no longer your sobs, but it was of another cookie. Soft, grief filled sobs that would have filled a normal cookie with so much despair and sorrow they could have burst into tears on the spot, unable to move. But you weren’t ordinary. At least, not anymore.

So your step into the room where you could locate the weeping, and your heart stops for a beat. A hunched figure, exactly how you saw yourself in that mirror, crying into their palms as they face away from your form, their front facing the window that cast a dim light over them.

Your souljam starts to shake uncontrollably, and you hold it down with a firm hand as you stepped cautiously to the cookie, their head turning abruptly to face you as tears streaked their sorrowful face, and you jump back.

“Oh Reader Cookie… my last missing piece of my sorrowful soul…”

The mysterious cookie reached out, standing up as their hands reach out to you, stopping as you stepped back, and they tilt their head, a curious but sad look in their eyes.

“You… you seem… familiar. Like we’ve met before.”

You uttered softly, in both subtle awe and disbelief, and the cookie’s voice is soft and grief filled as they reach for your soul jam, which you held firmly as it trembled violently, trying to break free.

“Of course we’ve met before. You… Reader Cookie, are my Virtue.”

Your eyebrow raises in confusion as your ever so faint awed smile disappearing as the cookie stepped towards you, their hands finding your face, feeling you, as if you were their greatest masterpiece.

“Your… Virtue? I don’t understand…”

Your eyes widened in realization. As your eyes meet the mysterious cookie’s, a gasp erupted from your throat as their pale, cream colored eyes gaze sadly into yours.

After the events of Pure Vanilla’s corruption, you had buried yourself in books dedicated to the Beast Cookies, determined to know as much as you could about them to make sure your friends didn’t suffer further tragedies. Nights spent combing through books, skipping meals and locking yourself in your personal study.

Sleepless nights led you to a book that described a cookie from the ones graced with the power of the souljam. That sixth cookie blessed with divine power was the Virtue of Feeling, and was the only one to not be corrupted like the rest of the Beast Cookies, but instead, disappeared off the face of EarthBread after witnessing their friends be corrupted and sealed away.

Dawn Extract Cookie. The cookie described to possess the sweetest and glossiest cream colored eyes in all of EarthBread. One look into them made the cookie feel the emotions of them, whether negative or positive. It was said Dawn Extract Cookie’s souljam had splintered into many pieces as opposed to their beast cookies’ souljams being split into two.

“Of all my souljam fragments, you are the only one that manifested a physical form without my input, and the only that could astray from that fragment without much repercussions.”

Dawn Extract murmured softly, their hands finding your face as they slowly felt every faint crack from battle, every small wrinkle from your joyous smiles, and their hand pulls away as they step back. You finally caught a glimpse of their soul jam. It was identical to yours, but its cracks were visible, it looked like someone had badly glued them together. And its middle was missing.

“No. No. No, this can’t be-”

You stutter as your hand runs through your hair, staring down at the mirror that had appeared at your feet, watching the ripples of the glass contort as your features distort into swirls.

“I have- I have parents! Siblings, i grew up from a freshly baked doughball into a cookie! How could i- be your souljam?”

Your voice trails off into silence, and since entering this nightmare, you feel the sorrow that has been weighing you down start to chip away at your spirit.

“My souljam has given you false memories to pacify the need for knowing your past, your origin. You are my souljam. You are the last of my Virtue.”

Dawn Extract Cookie’s voice is soft, it would be comforting if it was not for the fact that your life as you knew it, as you thought you knew it, was completely shattered.

“Give in to your heart’s sorrow. Give in and allow your grief to become one with mine. You feel guilt. You feel sadness. Let them consume you.”

The Beast murmured, tears trickling slowly down their face in translucent, thin streaks, making them look almost comforting as their hand reached for you, the aura of despair growing stronger.

You snap out of your sorry state. You wouldn’t. You won’t give in. You didn’t fight for your kingdom, against Dark Enchantress Cookie, cry and scream as your friends walked away from you one by one, allowed them to come back into your life, and took back the Light of Gaiety that you’d shattered into pieces.

“No. I am Reader Cookie. I am the Virtue of Gaiety, and my desire to see cookies smile across EarthBread.”

You can’t tell if your affirming yourself, or if your trying to push back against Dawn Extract’s calm words, stepping back as they stepped closer to you, though their steps were slow and calculated, they were not menacing.

“Resisting is futile, Reader. You may hold the Light of Gaiety in your hands, but you are a part of my own powers. You hold Sorrow in your heart, and it will eventually consume you as it did me.”

Dawn Extract’s voice echoed in your mind, ringing in your ears as you recoiled violently, the Beast’s form towering over your crouched figure as you winced as their cold hands gripped your chin, forcing you to gaze into their grief consumed eyes, chilling you to the core.

“Witness, how your Sorrow will consume. Witness how your friends will all perish and become just as twisted as the Beasts whom I called friends.”

You feel yourself fall backwards as visions flash through your mind, and your heart sinks into your chest, your souljam falling into Dawn Extract’s hand as it slowly retracted into the final piece in the Beast’s own gem, your hands reaching blindly as you screamed for your soul jam to return, to not leave like your friends once did.

Hollyberry was first to fall. You watched as her Passion start to slowly waver and finally break, her strong love for her kingdom, her friends, her family, crumbled entirely, and she became indifferent to them, indifferent to the suffering she started to cause.

Dark Cacao fell next. His Resolution was strong and took longer than Hollyberry’s Passion to fade out, but eventually, his determination to keep his kingdom safe, his unwavering care for his subjects, became half hearted, second guessing and delaying both his advisor’s and his decisions, and his kingdom soon crumbled.

Golden Cheese’s Greed soon became corrupted, her need for gold, riches, land and resources making the loyalty and care for her subjects and friends she had placed above all treasures become nothing, meaningless to the Golden Sovereign as they had no monetary value.

White Lily’s Virtue of Freedom soon became a value akin to her dark counterpart, the wretched Dark Enchantress Cookie, but perhaps even worse. She ended up capturing the Faerie Kingdom who once saw her as a hero, under the guise and illusion she was keeping them ‘safe’, and when they rebelled and eventually perished at her hand, she sought to do the same for the rest of Crispia.

Pure Vanilla stood strongest, though his heart broke completely at watching all his friends save for you turn to the dark side, and in his heroic stricken heart, he immersed himself in a world of lies, where none of the bad things that had befallen upon all of you ever took place. His deceitful world, however, ended with corrupted whatever remained untainted of Crispia, causing the whole world to fall and be destroyed in chaos.

You hit solid ground, but you made no move to get up, slowly getting into a half kneel position, tears streaming gently down your face in thin rivulets as the visions plague your mind. You feel your heart slowly breaking, as you desperately tried to deny it.

“No… no… they.. they would never…”

Dawn Extract slowly stepped in front of you, their footsteps light as they came to a halt, and you could hear the sorrow, the pity and sympathy in thier voice as you feel your tears stream faster, their cold hands wiping them away from you in a masked attempt at comfort.

“But they will. It is inevitable. Your friend, White Lily Cookie, has fallen once, though not to her souljam.”

The Beast bends down in front of you, thier glossy cream eyes gazing into your deeply as you feel your heart slowly be wretched further into the depths of inexplicable sadness, your determination that was oh so strong, crumbling further by the second.

“Who is to say your other friends won’t be next? You saw it with your own eyes.

You tried so hard to deny that reality. But this Beast was one who had witnessed thier own friends be corrupted and turn into amalgamations of monstrous, almost demonic beings. This… this was your fate as well. To see all the cookies you loved with your heart be crumbled and destroyed.

“I… what was the point of fighting at all? If we… if we were all simply going to become just as corrupted as the Beasts we battle against?”

You mutter softly, your knees making contact with the ground as you quietly weep into your hands, the tears blurring your vision as you feel your form be swallowed by the darkness of the abyss of despair.

“Is this… how sorrow feels like?”

You whisper to yourself as the coldness of the dark consumes you into its depths, your vision fading to black as you mindlessly reach your hand out to the light that was fading faster by the second, your tears never ending as the abyss embraces you.

—— (Pure Vanilla POV Centric)

Pure Vanilla quickly strode through the hallways of the winding and curling hallways of an unfamiliar place that his souljam was guiding him and his friends through. He’d woken up from a sweet dream where he could fantasize about a world and life where him and his friends never experienced the tragedies and hardships that befell them.

His friends strode quickly behind in equal speed, the Consul of the Creme Republic having the most worried air surrounding him, despite the plainly calm though slightly stressed out expression on Clotted Cream Cookie’s face.

The Ancients have each other glances as he pulled on his sleeve slightly every so often as he gazed around the twisting hallways. They didn’t blame Clotted Cream. After all, he and you, despite the short amount of time you had known each other, had gathered some sweet affection.

It was a rather heartwarming thing to see, honestly. After seeing you break down in their arms after seething at them, regain back your souljam, helping you recover from years of isolation despite being in a kingdom that was built and thriving on your endless love and grace, despite being surrounded by citizen cookies who adored you with all thier hearts.

Pure Vanilla sighed softly as he tapped his staff on the uneven mirrored floors gently, his closed eyes fixating upon a large, ornate mirror with gold plated markings, his Light Of Truth shining and wavering more rapidly than before, and he felt his friend’s soul jams doing the exact same.

The group gathered in the front of the mirror, watching the milky glass swirl before them as their reflection faded and out came the memory that, save for White Lily Cookie and Clotted Cream Cookie, could recognize almost immediately. The day Gingerbrave had came to the other four Ancients in a despaired state, saying that you had smashed your souljam into pieces and sent it to be thrown into the fireplace.

You were pacing around the throne room, muttering angrily to yourself as you gave the Ancients a harsh glare, silencing any words they had tried to get out, your footsteps quick and rapid, your eyes almost staring through them.

“So, you all- come back to your senses only now? Only after decades, only after I establish a beautiful kingdom, where cookies are prospering, running on the streets, and have the best military and political party at my side, you want me to risk it all for a war you don’t even know you can win?!”

You slam your fist into a wall, your generals flinching back at your fury, your closest advisors slowly making their way to your side to calm you down, though you push their hands away with as much controlled rage to get your point across.

“Reader Cookie, you may not like what I’m going to say…”

HollyBerry’s voice rings out, her voice muffled through the mirror’s reflection, White Lily and Clotted Cream’s faces the only ones visibly surprised as the other four winced slightly as they recalled you, the Virtue of Gaiety, loose their temper so quickly.

“…but we are all just as responsible for Dark Enchantress Cookie’s return to EarthBread! After the Dark Flour War, we had done nothing to prevent her return!”

Your form stops in the mirror, and only then, did they all manage to get a vision of your face. Your once graceful and kind face contorted in pure bitter fury and rage as your voice chuckled bitterly.

“We? WE?! We are responsible? Tell me, my DEAR friends, who was the one who tried to keep our crumbling friendship together, and it was STILL futile?! ME! It was only ME, who tried!”

Your voice was shaking, filled with so much hate, rage and sorrow that your advisors themselves stepped back entirely, as you storm towards the Ancients who were standing at the base of your throne steps, gazing at your enraged form with shock.

“You do not- get to lump me with your- your foolish mistakes, when I did everything, EVERYTHING in my power, to keep us together! As friends!”

Your gaze, so piercing, and so fierce that even through the mirror’s glossy reflection, the cookies surrounding them shudder slightly at how your eyes, blazing with fury, if looks could kill, they would drop crumbling two times over.

“Hollyberry cookie, you- left your kingdom, abandoned your Light of Passion, all for exploration, abandoning your kingdom, leaving them vulnerable to attacks, and allowed a dragon- of all things! To take over your kingdom you were once so proud of.”

“Dark Cacao, you allowed yourself to become a- a useless king! You left tribes to fend for themselves, to rely solely on themselves against the terrifying monsters of the kingdom! All for a wall that crumbled the moment the threat you worked oh so hard to keep at bay rose up!”

“Golden Cheese Cookie, you decided instead of accepting your losses, and trying to find your still living subjects, you let yourself be lost in a world of digital bliss where your citizens were stopped in time, suffering the loss of the outside life, of being able to grow. Is that the Golden Sovereign’s Greed?”

“And Pure Vanilla Cookie. Had you not decided to be a- coward, and simply faced your fears head on, we would not be in this situation. And you are all here, asking me to give up all I have left for a war? You don’t even the decent to bring White Lily with you to change my mind. See yourselves out.”

The words were sneered, jeering, almost, as if the very intent was not to make them see the errors of their ways, but to hurt them as much as possible, and make their heart twist and clench in their dough. Even as the imaging fades from the mirror and the soul jams glow, subtly prompting them to move forward, the silence hung over them like a heavy cloud.

It had been a few months since that whole fiasco occurred. Even though, the four eventually did get you to join their side, the tension was still palpable. You refused HollyBerry’s invitations for drinks, avoided Dark Cacao and Golden Cheese’s attempts at talks and discussion like the plague, and Pure Vanilla’s effort were just as fruitless even as he knocked on your door during your stay in the Vanilla Kingdom. During meetings, you barely gave your input, only making the effort to speak and let your old self shine through most when flirting relentlessly with the Consul, much to your old friends’ chagrin. Meals was without your presence, and from what they could gather, you’d only eaten after everyone had been cleared of the hall.

White Lily was no different, even after you had met and reunited in the Faerie Kingdom, you were distant. Barely spoke a word to White Lily or Pure Vanilla, even words exchanged between Gingerbrave and his friends were short and rather cold. They understood, it was evident that while guilt plagued your heart, anger and the feeling of betrayal ran just as deep. Shadow Milk even poked fun at your obvious resentment and behavior, which only served for your negativity to fester deeper.

It was evident your icy exterior was starting to melt away, as Pure Vanilla recalled quietly to himself about his own corruption into the Truthless Recluse, how you had used your own dough as a shield between Gingerbrave, Strawberry and Wizard Cookie, your body cracking as you tried to reach through the Virtue of Truth’s heart to locate the cookie you knew was the kindest out of all of you.

Pure Vanilla had almost broke down after coming back to his senses, seeing how he’d failed to protect his friend again, apologizing repeatedly as he healed your broken wounds, and you’d simply smiled and patted his back reassuringly. The same smile the ruler of the Vanilla Kingdom remembered all so well when he first met you, during better times.

He wonders whether those times will ever come back. Whether the times when the group would get together around a campfire, laughing and smiling, before the burden of being a leader, before the burden of having the purest powers in the whole of EarthBread was entrusted upon you all. Your smile, he was sure, brought just a bit more joy to the Ancient’s faces.

He is snapped out of his thoughts as they come across another mirror, the surface rippling and wobbling as a low hum emitted from it when they tried to move closer to it, prompting the group to step back. The milky white surface cleared, showing you hunched over in your chamber rooms of your castle, they presumed, soft sobs wracking your form in the mirror.

“I- oh Witches, what have I done?”

Your cracked voice echoed in their ears, broken and defeated, and Pure Vanilla immediately recognized the regal clothes you wore, it was the same day that you had torn them apart, ripped their esteem and hope to shreds and thrown them out without a second thought that day.

“I feel so much… anger. I thought I would feel liberated, I felt all my hate drive me to say such terrible things…”

“But I feel empty.”

The imaging fades as the mirror cracks, perhaps to keep your dignity before it is completely wrecked, or a twisted game by the Beast that resides here to infiltrate the cookies’ hearts with sorrow. The only sound that the hallways echoed around them was the subtle weeping that made their hearts fill with an odd melancholy.

fin.

© st4r-th0ughts 2025, I don’t allow reposts, reuploads, translations, or copies.

[leonsdolly]

Wicked Game

Leon Kennedy x fem! reader

Synopsis: Leon leaves you for her, and you're not sure what to do now.

CW: nsfw 18+, infidelity, angst, suicidal thoughts, comparing yourself to her, masturbation, mentions of p in v

WC: 1.5k

“What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you…” You murmur along to the melancholy words that are floating around your room like butterflies. Actually, more like flies nearing the end of their life span - movement transitioning from an erratic flight to a lazy, almost purposeless dwindle until they’re on their backs with their legs sticking up in the air. That’s exactly how you are now that Leon’s done with you. A dead fly - no one could save me but you. Chris Isaak gets it. He gets it so well that he’s been looping for God knows how long.

Was it only last week that Leon left you for the ghost from his past? The one in red, haunting him in ways that you were oblivious to. Always bleeding red, like Bloody Mary or something. Maybe it was better if you’d feigned ignorance to the evidence. Maybe you’d still be able to call him yours if you played your role of a cross-eyed Mary jumping right into his arms with no protests, always playing it clean.

It was all because of a letter that was carefully tucked away in his desk drawer, folded and sealed with a kiss. No, literally a kiss. The bitch left her lipstick imprint in lieu of her signature. YSL, shade R1. You’d always been a Dior girl anyway. 

You swore up and down that you weren’t purposely snooping through his belongings, that you were just looking for Scotch tape. The offensive document shook in your hand as you fearfully inquired about its contents. He was stuttering and ashamed and apologetic and all the things a good man is when he’s sinned. He let you cry and scream and sink to your knees with your head in your hands like you were never going to come back up, like you could die in this position and be encased in marble. A new weeping angel.

You know in your heart that you could never equate to her in his eyes. The knowledge that he’s probably been comparing you to her throughout your relationship makes you so damn ill. Maybe you should slit your own throat in front of him and let the crimson flow over your body so you can match with her. Bleeding red all over the place, letting him see nothing but that cursed color, the way he did all those years ago in the city where it all started. The way he’d still continued to do so after meeting you and promising all sorts of things you weren’t accustomed to hearing. You suppose you can’t fault him completely, it wasn’t like he intended on hurting you; he’d tried to overcome his adversities and forge a new home for himself, one that was pink and frilly and covered him in glossy kisses after a long day at work. But ultimately, it wasn’t enough. His allegiance lay with first red, then white, then blue. 

You just miss him so damn much. You’re desperate enough for him that if he were to walk through the door right now, you’d take him back in a heartbeat. Sure, maybe you’d have difficulty meeting his eyes for a while, deep pools, murky with guilt and who knows what else. Your vision would be limited to the freckles on his neck, the ones resembling a vampire bite, but that’s alright with you. You’re familiar with the area, having kissed it so many times. You shouldn't be thinking about those little spots or anything else about him for that matter. He made his bed, and now he has to lie in it. With her. Pressed up against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. Oh God, now you're the one seeing red. Is there really such a thing as a red string tying two people together, keeping them bound for eternity? Hopefully not, because you're nauseous at the concept that it's always been her. She was right there beside his former bright eyed and bushy-tailed self, the version that had a vague understanding of how the world worked, before he was your solemn Leon. They trudged through the abyss together, leaning on one another for strength in the midst of a plague. You wish God would just deliver armies of locusts to devour you and him and her and the rest of the world. The end is here anyway now that he isn’t. 

Your last memory of him is that pitiful look in his eyes as he gazes at you one more time. You said I was your baby. He said a lot of things, promised you the world, and look how things turned out. It’s sickening really, how cruel fate can be. Was this fate? You’re going to tie their disgusting red string around your neck and squeeze until your head pops off like a rocket. A blazing glory, capable of stealing his attention.

The thoughts of needing to be better so that he’d be with you again swirls around in your brain, filling up your entire being until you can’t bear it any longer. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to put a ring on your finger and give you his babies and hold you close on your deathbed. Your hand twitches, muscle memory activated from all the times you slipped your hand into his, anchoring you to him. I’m so sorry… Ada and I… We’ve been through a lot together. You can’t take this anymore. But I love you more than anything in the whole world… How am I supposed to live without you? He never did give you a proper response to that, silence encompassing the air between you.

You shuffle to the bottom drawer of your dresser and fish out a wrinkled shirt that had been shoved towards the very back, away from prying eyes - navy blue with the letters “RPD” emblazoned in white across the front. You slip it on and inhale the fabric draped over your frame, protecting you, hugging you as you crawl back into your bed. His arms really were the loveliest place to be. Firm and gentle, wrapped around your torso like your very own bullet vest. Shielding you from horrors you would never have to experience, he’d make sure of that. Or at least he had, anyway. His lingering scent fills your senses like whispers in an abandoned chapel. Something familiar, a sense of comfort in your hollowed out state. It takes over your grief for a second, and when you shut your eyes tight, everything is alright again.

You yearn to hold onto this feeling, but it dissipates once your eyes open, and you're isolated yet again. Your bottom lip trembles as you squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, gripping onto the hem of his shirt. His arms are around you again, and the smell of him is welcomed. It elicits a natural response from your body, begging for his touch, forming a silent prayer to any divinity who will listen. Your thighs involuntarily part as you reminisce on the feeling of his face in between them, tongue lapping at everything you have to offer. Whimpers fall from your lips as your other hand travels down to slowly stroke your clit the way he used to do it. There’s my baby. You’re his baby, still so good for him. You rub your clit faster and faster as the hand that was clutching onto his shirt for dear life comes up to squeeze your tits and pinch your nipples. 

You realize that tears have been running down your flushed cheeks as you grind down onto your fingers faster in an effort to chase your high. Just like that… Sweet baby, my sweet baby. 

He's probably fucking her at this exact moment. Cock buried miles deep inside her perfect cunt, perky tits bouncing at every thrust while she moans for him. You’re going to blow your brains out. What kind of sounds does she make when she’s getting the railing of a lifetime? Something more refined than your own little whines. Is she kissing those precious freckles on his neck, giving them all the attention they could ever ask for as he lets out his own delicious noises? You weep as you continue to rub your clit while slick leaks from your neglected pussy, begging for only him to fill it up.

You’re sobbing as you feel the release building up in your core, and you're bawling as you feel your pussy clamp around the ghost of his cock. You let out a cry of both pleasure and agony as you frantically cum all over your fingers. My perfect baby.

Shallow pants escape you as you simply lay motionless, eyes trained fixedly on the ceiling of your melancholy prison. You shakily bring your other hand up to wipe away the tears that have forged new paths for themselves on your cheeks and down to your pillowcase. I love you. You’ll always be my girl.

This world is only gonna break your heart. How are you supposed to live without him? Nobody loves no one. Chris Isaak needs to shut up.

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Bound by love that defies centuries, Elijah Mikaelson will do whatever it takes to resurrect his lost wife. Even if it means forsaking everything he believes in. Once the north star guiding his family, his shattered heart now leads him down a darker path, transforming him into a version beyond redemption. A damned soul, drawing his family into an abyss they may never escape.

♡♡ Hello my lovely followers! This will be a six part series inspired by @njeancastro316 post about red door Elijah (Girl, I've been writing this non-stop since you tagged me! thank you for the inspo). I really put my whole heart into this one, {I even made a playlist to capture the vibes} exploring the depths of Elijah's character and his struggle between love and darkness. Enjoy! && expect pain... ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, grief, heartbreak, intense violence, red door Elijah, emotional turmoil, so much Mikaelson family drama {the whole gang is here && some faves from Mystic Falls will show up later}, No smut in this part, but prepare for plenty of darkness... oh! && croissants...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore

Prologue ~ Europe 13th Century

"This way!" A boy laughed as he darted beneath a low-hanging branch. Behind him, a small girl hurried along, lifting her skirt to keep up, her breath catching in short gasps.

"Slow down! Wait for me!" she called, tripping over roots and brambles in her haste. "I can't run as fast as you!"

The boy glanced back, grinning. "Then hurry, will you."

"We ought to be home by now." She replied, frowning.

"We are almost there," he replied, leaping over a fallen branch before turning to face her, eyes gleaming. "We can get home quicker through the woods."

"I don’t like it," she murmured, clutching her skirt tighter. Shadows crept over the path as the sun sank lower, casting an orange glow through the dense branches. "The hour grows late."

The boy shook his head, catching her hand with a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be fine. It’s only a short way."

Reluctantly, she nodded, holding onto him. "If anything ill should happen, I’ll tell Mother."

He only laughed, tugging her down the narrow path. "If something ill happens, you may not get the chance!"

Their laughter echoed in the stillness as they raced ahead. The trees grew taller, their branches clawing toward the darkening sky, while thick underbrush crowded the trail, rustling with each step. Yet the children, lost in their game, scarcely noticed, laughing and squealing as they chased one another.

Then, a sound, a subtle, almost a whisper, seeped through the quiet. The girl stopped, clutching the boy’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“What is it?”

“Shh,” she hissed, pulling him closer, her wide eyes searching the shadows. "Listen."

They stood in silence, the air heavy and still, broken only by their own quickening breaths.

“It’s nothing. Perhaps a deer-”

“No, it’s more than that,” she whispered. Somewhere ahead, faint and distant, came the flicker of firelight. And with it, laughter. Wild and strange.

“What is that?” the boy asked, his voice barely a breath.

“Quiet,” she said, creeping forward, pulling him toward the light.

They peered out from behind a tree, breath catching at the sight before them. A great fire blazed, roaring into the sky as shadows twisted around it. Two figures danced wildly around the flames, naked, their skin smeared with red and ash. Their laughter, sharp and otherworldly, pierced the night air.

The girl’s scream barely escaped her lips before the boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back. They stumbled, clutching one another, then turned and fled, racing down the trail as fast as their little legs would carry them, branches clawing at their clothes.

By the time they burst into the village, their faces were pale, their breaths ragged. Villagers gathered around as the children stumbled forward, pointing frantically toward the woods.

“Demons!” the girl gasped, clutching at the skirts of the nearest woman. “They’re out there! In the forest!”

There was a hushed sadness over the compound. The lights seemed to have dimmed, and the atmosphere hung heavy, cold and suffocating. It had been that way since the night Elijah found your lifeless body on the cold pavement. The night that changed everything.

Rebekah didn’t like it here anymore. Her home felt more like a tomb than a residence. It was too quiet, too full of memories and emotions too painful to confront. Her big brother was suffering, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

She found Klaus sitting in the courtyard, staring blankly at a chessboard. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, but his focus seemed to drift in and out. Normally, this contemplative silence from him made her nervous, but today she couldn’t muster the energy to care. The weight of everything was too much.

“Any news?” Rebekah asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Klaus didn’t move, didn’t speak at first. He shifted a chess piece absentmindedly and shrugged.

The sound of Marcel’s footsteps echoed through the stillness of the courtyard. She felt one of his warm hands rest gently on the small of her back, and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence.

“I’ve been asking around. Only lead I have is that he’s somewhere in Europe,” Marcel said, his voice sounding hollow.

“Well, where in Europe?” Klaus finally spoke, his gaze never leaving the board.

“Don’t know. Haven’t pinpointed his exact location yet,” Marcel sighed. “But he’s been killing low-level Strix members, leaving bodies in his wake.”

Klaus scoffed softly, moving another piece on the board. “Keep looking,”

“You almost sound like you care,” Rebekah hissed, glaring at him.

“Don’t start with me, little sister,” Klaus warned, his voice low and sharp.

“Elijah has always been there for us,” she snapped, “And when he needs our help, where are you? Sitting here, playing chess with yourself.”

Klaus’s fist slammed down on the chessboard, sending the pieces flying across the table. He stood abruptly, stalking toward her, his eyes blazing. But Rebekah didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. She held his glare with her own, unrelenting.

“What do you want me to do?” Klaus roared, his voice cracking as his anger gave way to the grief simmering beneath. “Tell me, Rebekah. How do I fix this?”

“I want you to find him!” she screamed, tears stinging her eyes. “He’s our brother, Nik!”

Klaus’s shoulders slumped. His rage deflated, leaving him hollow. “I don’t know how to fix this, little sister,” he admitted quietly.

Marcel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Maybe we should give him some time. Let him mourn her.”

“He’s not mourning, Marcel,” Klaus growled, clenching his jaw. “He’s murdering. He hasn’t even accepted that she’s dead.”

Rebekah and Marcel exchanged worried glances.

“We can’t just let him destroy himself,” Rebekah argued, her voice breaking. “Wherever he is, whoever crosses his path... they’re doomed. He’s out of control.”

“He’s changed,” Marcel muttered, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen him like this. So violent, so volatile.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Nik,” Rebekah said, her tone deadly serious. “If he’s not stopped, the Elijah we know will be gone. He will become a monster.”

Klaus looked down at the shattered chess pieces scattered across the table. “We are monsters, Rebekah,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“No, Nik,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

Klaus remained silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Suppose someone took Marcellus from you. What would you do?”

“I would raze this earth and dance on the ashes,” she answered without hesitation, the fire of her love and loyalty burning bright in her eyes.

“That’s what he’s doing,” Klaus said darkly.

“Yes,” Rebekah agreed, “but Elijah would come for me. He would find me, and help me, keep me from losing myself. Now he’s the one who needs help.”

“How do we stop him?” Marcel asked, though his voice was laden with doubt.

Klaus shook his head slowly. “We don’t.”

“Nik…” Rebekah started, her voice pleading.

“We contain the damage,” Klaus cut her off, the steely resolve returning to his voice. “I’ll go to Europe. I’ll bring him back.”

Rebekah exhaled, relief flooding through her, and she pulled Klaus into a tight hug. She didn’t say anything, just held him as though her arms alone could keep the family from falling apart. He hugged her back, and for a moment, the cracks in their family seemed to close.

Marcel stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

When she finally pulled away, Rebekah gave her brother a sad smile. “Be careful.”

Klaus nodded. “I will.”

His eyes flicked to Marcel, and the two men exchanged a knowing look. They both understood how dangerous this was. That if Elijah couldn’t be saved, they might lose him forever.

Or worse... they might have to put him down.

Two members of the Strix walked side by side, their steps echoing off the marble floors. One glanced around nervously, eyeing the high-tech security measures surrounding them, cameras in every corner, reinforced steel doors, layers of magical barriers.

"Is this really necessary? I can't stand being cooped up here. What's the point?" the taller vampire complained, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.

"Protocol," the other replied, his tone bored. "You know how paranoid Tristan can be. But I’m telling you, no one's getting in here. Not even him."

"I don’t get it. We had nothing to do with her death. Why are we hiding?"

"He doesn’t know that." The second vampire shook his head, his eyes flicking toward a monitor displaying multiple feeds from around the compound. “And he doesn’t seem to care about guilt or innocence anymore.”

They stopped at a reinforced door, pressing their palms to the scanners. As the heavy doors slid open, the two shared a final glance, the reality sinking in that even their supposed impenetrable defenses might not be enough.

They stepped into the dim room, illuminated only by the flickering light of the chandelier hanging above a long oak table. Strix members filled the chairs, their faces tense and uneasy. They had gathered in secret, far from prying eyes. Whispers of fear and uncertainty drifted across the room, but no one dared to speak above a murmur. The air was heavy with dread, and no one felt safe.

At the head of the table, Aya stood, her sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. She had always been the picture of composure, a pillar of strength, but now, her patience was thinning, her power waning, cracks in her armor where fear leaked through. Beside her, Tristan de Martel leaned casually in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips, as if this was all a game to him. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of his fellow Strix members, reveling in their discomfort.

“We all know why we’re here,” Aya began, her voice cold and steady, but there was an underlying tension to it, like a string about to snap. “Our ranks are thinning, and the reason is no secret.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Heads turned, glances were exchanged. They knew. Everyone knew.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” Tristan added, his voice smooth and casual, as if he were discussing the weather. His eyes gleamed with a cruel delight. “The noble brother has gone rogue. It seems the death of his beloved has… unraveled him.”

"That's an interesting way of putting it," one Strix member commented, his voice dripping with disdain. "He ripped apart fifty of my men, left a trail of bodies and witnesses, it took me days to cover it all up,"

"And how many vampires has he killed since then? Hundreds? Thousands?" another voice chimed in, sounding bitter.

"You're just scared," another vampire challenged, his tone mocking.

"Of course, we're scared. Do you know what he's capable of?" the first vampire hissed, baring his teeth.

"Silence," Aya ordered, her tone icy. The room fell quiet, the air crackling with tension. "We cannot defeat him, nor can we sit by and wait for him to tear us apart. He has lost his humanity, and it's clear that we must take action."

"We have already taken action and all it does is piss him off," the Strix member grumbled, "I have no interest in fighting a losing battle."

"You're a coward," Aya snarled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"What would you have us do?" another vampire spoke up, their voice strained, "We're no match for him."

"Perhaps we should consider a bargain," Tristan suggested, a sly smirk creeping across his lips. "Find the killer, deliver them to him, and save ourselves the trouble of being murdered."

The members murmured amongst themselves, some seeming open to the idea, while others still appeared wary.

"I cannot fathom why someone would be so foolish. Surely the person who did this knows the repercussions," a member said, a hint of fear in their voice.

Tristan's smile widened. "They were foolish indeed, and now they are the most hunted man, or woman, in the world,"

Aya's face was impassive, her mind racing. She had no doubt that Elijah would tear down the world to find his killer, and if the Strix didn't deliver them, he would do the same to their ranks. Tristan's indifference infuriated her. While he sat there with a smile, the Strix were suffering the consequences of his poor leadership.

A soft little cough pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see a small girl standing at the other end of the table. She looked no older than twelve, with delicate features and wide, doe-like eyes. She looked lost, and this wasn't a place you could just wander into.

Other members noticed her presence and got to their feet, the scraping of chairs echoing off the walls. Aya narrowed her eyes, taking in the girl's appearance.

"Who are you?" Aya asked, her voice sharp.

The girl was clearly terrified, her hands shaking, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Aya found it strange. She didn't sense the power of a witch coming off her, she was just a girl, and a very young one at that.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't know why I'm here. I just woke up here and now, I-I'm scared,"

"How did you get in here?" Aya questioned, her voice low and menacing.

"A nice man told me to come here," the girl mumbled, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the tense, hostile atmosphere. "He wanted me to talk to you."

Aya raised an eyebrow. "And why would he want that?"

The girl shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, please, I just want to go home,"

"What did he look like?" Aya pressed, her voice growing louder.

"He had dark hair, and brown eyes," the girl sniffled, trying to hold back her sobs.

Tristan's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing dangerously. The room was suddenly silent, the tension now unbearable. Aya stared at the girl, her face an unreadable mask, but inside, her mind was racing.

"What did he want you to say?" Aya asked, her voice quiet, dangerous.

The girl’s breath hitched, her words barely audible. "That... he will give all of you a slow death."

The temperature in the room plummeted, and a cold shiver ran down Aya’s spine. She struggled to hide her unease, but the implication was clear: Elijah had infiltrated their sanctuary.

"A-and that... if I can get in..." The girl gulped, her small voice quaking, "He can too."

The room fell into a suffocating silence as the weight of her words settled on the group. Tristan shot up from his chair, his face dark with fury.

“Lockdown procedures. Now.” Tristan barked, his voice commanding and harsh.

"What about the girl?" Aya asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the trembling child. Her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

"Kill her," Tristan spat, his voice cold and merciless. "She’s served her purpose."

The room erupted into chaos. Sirens blared as the compound went into immediate lockdown. The lights flickered, dimming to an eerie glow. The Strix moved quickly, vanishing into the shadows, their bodies blurring as they scattered, heading for safe rooms or exit points.

Aya hesitated for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the girl. She started toward her, but a voice in her head warned her against it. With one last glance, she turned and hurried toward the safe room.

The little girl stood trembling in the darkness, tears streaming down her face. The once-imposing vampires had fled, leaving her all alone in the icy silence.

"It's okay, sweetheart," a voice purred from the shadows, smooth and calming. The girl gasped, her heart racing as she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet oddly comforting.

She turned to see a tall man standing behind her, his dark hair framing his sharp features, his kind eyes watching her closely. "Run along now," he said softly, giving her a gentle push toward the door.

The girl nodded quickly, wiping her tears before scampering away, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Elijah watched her go, his kind smile fading as the room returned to darkness. His eyes glinted coldly, the warmth in them vanishing like smoke. Slowly, the veins beneath his eyes darkened, spreading like cracks in the surface of his calm exterior.

He was already inside.

As the sirens echoed, he vanished into the shadows once more, his presence like a gathering storm. And what followed this storm, was pure, unrelenting destruction.

The soft drone of a news broadcast drifted through an abandoned loft, dust floating through the air. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, the room dark and shadowy, save for the light of a flickering TV. The anchor woman's face was somber, her voice solemn.

“Une tragédie a frappé Paris la nuit dernière... un incendie dévastateur a détruit un immeuble historique, laissant peu de traces de ce qui s’y trouvait. Les autorités locales confirment que l’origine du feu demeure inconnue, mais la rapidité à laquelle il s’est propagé soulève des questions.”

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen in English: "A tragic accident struck Paris last night... a devastating fire destroyed a historic building, leaving few traces of what was inside. Local authorities confirm that the cause of the fire is unknown, but the speed at which it spread raises questions."

The camera cut to images of the smoldering wreckage. Blackened stone, twisted metal, and fire trucks still spraying water over what little remained.

Elijah wasn't paying attention to the TV anymore; he had his head in his hands, hunched over in a chair, his body wracked with sobs. Bodies were strewn about the room, blood spattered on the walls and floors. A macabre painting of violence and rage. The sight of the lifeless forms weighed heavily on him, a chilling reminder of his own actions.

He didn't know how long he had been there, but it felt like an eternity. Each day blended into the next, the hours stretching into a meaningless void. Days would go by where he felt utterly detached, lost in a sea of grief and loss, and then the anger would return, awakening him to a new trail of bodies. There were so many, too many, and yet it wasn't enough.

“Les témoins affirment avoir vu des ombres avant que l’incendie n’éclate, mais aucune preuve tangible n’a été trouvée. Des sources proches de l’enquête évoquent une possible attaque ciblée, bien que les détails restent flous.”

"Witnesses reported seeing shadows before the fire broke out, but no physical evidence has been found. Sources close to the investigation say there may have been a targeted attack, though details remain unclear."

"You used a child? My love, what has become of you?"

Elijah didn't flinch, didn't react as he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, your lips pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your voice was soft, tinged with sadness and disappointment. He hated himself for it.

"She's fine," Elijah said, his voice strained, barely able to meet your gaze.

"You don't know that," you sighed, your hands moving to his chest, trying to soothe him. "And you know this isn't the way,"

"There is no other way," he replied, his voice cracking, desperation lacing his words.

"You used an innocent child, one not much older than Hope," you said, a hint of anger breaking through your sadness.

Elijah stiffened. He knew you were right. It didn't make what he did any better, and he felt his self-loathing increase tenfold.

"They killed you; I did what I had to," Elijah defended, but the words felt hollow, a pitiful excuse.

"This isn't the way," you repeated, your voice pleading, "and you don't know who did it, or why. This is all just a guess, a hunch."

He let out another quiet sob, then grabbed his glass of blood and threw it against the wall, the shards falling like crimson rain. He stared at the stain on the wall, watching the liquid trickle down, and he couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

"You have to stop," you whispered, appearing in front of him, your hand cupping his cheek, trying to pull him away from the dark, destructive spiral he was on.

"I can't," he said, his voice breaking, unable to look at you, this ghost haunting him.

"Please," you begged, your hand moving to his neck, gently stroking his skin, trying to comfort him. "I know this pain. It's agony, it's consuming, but I promise you, it will fade."

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close, trying to breathe in your scent, to feel your warmth. But he couldn't. You were an echo, a phantom he couldn't grasp.

"You can't bring me back. You know that," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, sad reminder.

He didn't respond, just held you, his fingers digging into your skin, his eyes closed tightly, fighting back tears. He had spent so many nights like this, crying himself to sleep, waking up to nothing, just an empty bed, a cold room, and a hollow, broken heart.

He opened his eyes and let out a gasp as he realized he was clinging to one of the dead bodies on the floor, the vampire's skin gray and decaying, the body long since gone cold.

Elijah released the body and staggered to his feet, his head swimming with despair and self-loathing. His pain and sorrow gave way to anger and frustration, fueling the urge to hurt, to destroy anything and anyone.

"Par ailleurs, une jeune fille a disparu après ne pas être rentrée chez elle. La jeune fille, qui aurait douze ans, a été vue pour la dernière fois dans la zone de l'incendie,"

"In other news, a young girl has gone missing after failing to return home. The girl, who is reported to be twelve years old, was last seen in the area of the fire..."

Elijah snapped, grabbing the TV and throwing it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. His rage burned bright, a hot, white flame. His heart raced, his breathing ragged, his body shaking with fury.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to kill, but more than anything, he wanted you. He wanted to hold you, to feel your warmth, to hear your voice. He couldn't take it anymore; he was falling apart.

Klaus was never a big croissant fan; he preferred something heartier for breakfast. But here, in France, the flaky pastry seemed to taste infinitely better. Maybe it was the morning sunlight filtering through the café windows or the distant sounds of bustling streets.

He took a sip of his espresso, his eyes scanning the crowded café, absorbing the lively atmosphere. Freya sat across from him, her brow furrowed as she read a spell book, her expression thoughtful.

"Anything in there about wrangling wayward siblings?" Klaus teased, a wry grin playing on his lips.

Freya glanced up, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "That's more your area of expertise."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter. "Fair enough."

Freya’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through. "It will be okay. We'll find him."

Klaus nodded, biting into his croissant, the flakes melting in his mouth. The clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation surrounded them, along with the distant strains of a busker playing a violin.

"Then what? I’ve never known what to say to him," Klaus said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "He’s always the one with the wise words, not me."

"Honesty is all we have," Freya replied, her tone gentle. "We tell him we miss him, that he’s our brother, and we want him home."

"And that we need to have a funeral, or at least a memorial. Hope is very confused about what happened to her aunt," Klaus added, his gaze drifting to the people walking by the window.

"We'll do it together, as a family," Freya reassured, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her touch was gentle, a lifeline in the turmoil. "He needs to know we’re here for him."

"And if he doesn’t want to come back? What then?" Klaus asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it." Freya pointed at the spell book, her expression brightening. "I’m looking into ways to calm his mind. Perhaps if he can control his rage, he can start to heal."

"I don’t wish to subdue him," Klaus said, frowning. "He deserves the right to his pain, to grieve in his own way."

Freya’s eyes widened, surprised by his response. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had tried to force Elijah or the rest of their family into doing things his way. Yet, despite his brashness, she knew Klaus was a man of deep, powerful emotions, capable of empathy.

"What?" Klaus asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You’ve grown," Freya smiled. "It’s good to see."

"Don’t get used to it," Klaus quipped, taking another bite of his croissant and washing it down with a sip of his espresso. "I wish for us to go back to normal, where I’m the problem."

"You’ll never not be a problem, Nik," Freya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Rude," he scowled.

"But true," she sighed, returning to her book with a smile.

Klaus took another sip of his espresso, his gaze drifting to the TV hanging in the corner. A news broadcast caught his attention, the images of a fire flickering on the screen. He leaned forward, his expression sharpening as he listened intently.

"De nouvelles informations proviennent de l'enquête sur l'incendie du centre-ville de Paris. La police a désormais identifié plus de deux cents corps retrouvés sur les lieux, sans aucune indication pour l'instant du nombre de personnes portées disparues. Il semblerait que les victimes étaient toutes membres de une société privée de conservation d'œuvres d'art, possédant des participations dans plusieurs pays. Alors que les autorités enquêtent toujours sur la cause de l'incendie, il a été suggéré que l'incendie avait été allumé délibérément.”

"There is new information coming in from the investigation into the fire in downtown Paris. Police have now identified more than two hundred bodies recovered from the scene, with no indication yet of how many are still missing. It's believed the victims were all members of a private art curation company, with holdings in several countries. While authorities are still investigating the cause of the blaze, it's being suggested the fire was set deliberately."

Klaus’s stomach dropped, a familiar dread creeping in. The timing was too convenient, and this 'art curation company' sounded like a cover for a secret society. He gestured to the screen, espresso still in hand, splashing a few drops onto the table. "Looks like a place for us to visit, wouldn’t you say?"

Freya looked up, her brow furrowing. "Do you think Elijah has anything to do with it?"

"If this organization is the Strix -sorry, was the Strix- then absolutely," Klaus replied, a grim smile forming on his lips. "Perhaps they gave him the answers he was looking for. Answers we weren’t able to find."

"I can’t imagine it would have been a pleasant reunion," Freya sighed, shaking her head. "I can’t say I blame him."

Klaus’s smile faded. He had tried his best, searching for months through the ashes of Elijah’s rage. He had gone from city to city, country to country, even continent to continent. And now, as he stood on the brink of discovery, he couldn’t help but wonder what condition Elijah would be in when they finally found him.

"Well then, no point in wasting any more time," Klaus said, taking a final sip of his espresso.

Freya nodded, closing her book, quickly downing her coffee before stealing the last bite of Klaus’s croissant, earning a playful glare.

"Oi!" he growled, "I was going to eat that."

"Too slow, brother," she smirked.

Klaus rolled his eyes and stood, tossing a wad of cash on the table without bothering to count. The two of them hurried out, the waiter shaking his head as he picked up the money and Klaus's empty plate.

"Americans," he muttered under his breath.

The site of the fire was a blackened husk, the acrid smell of smoke still heavy in the air. Klaus and Freya walked along the sidewalk, watching the firefighters douse the smoldering remains with water. Distant sirens echoed, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Can't believe it's still burning," Klaus mused, a slight frown on his face.

"Must have been quite the inferno," Freya remarked, her expression thoughtful.

"Magic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I don't sense any," Freya said, shaking her head. "Whoever started it didn't use magic."

Klaus glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. "I thought you didn't think Elijah had anything to do with it?"

Freya shrugged. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

Klaus wrinkled his nose, his keen sense of smell picking up the lingering scent of blood beneath all the ash and smoke. Human, vampire, a mix of the two. The fire had raged through the night, burning hot and fast, devouring everything in its path.

"I do sense death, though," Freya murmured, her brow furrowing, her expression darkening. "Lots of it."

"Well, I can't imagine there'll be much left for us to find, considering how thorough my brother is," Klaus muttered, his gaze roving over the ruined buildings, his stomach sinking.

"Why are you so sure it was him?" Freya asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I can smell his cologne, no1 passant guardant," Klaus replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Kinda weird that you can smell that, Nik," Freya smirked, giving him a sideways glance.

"I'm a hybrid, love; it's one of my many gifts," Klaus replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Freya shook her head, a wry grin on her lips, suppressing a giggle as she watched her brother sniff the air, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

"Could be someone else with the same taste in cologne; you never know," she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

"It’s very difficult to come by; only a handful of stores carry it," Klaus muttered, ignoring her teasing. "And... she bought it for him just before... you know."

"Ah," Freya's expression softened, her amusement replaced by a mix of sadness and understanding.

Klaus opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the destruction once more, the weight of grief settling on his shoulders. He missed you. Your laughter, your wit, the way you could put him in his place. He admired your loyalty, your strength, and how much you loved his brother.

"What are you thinking about?" Freya asked, her voice quiet and cautious.

"Our departed sister-in-law... the cause of all of this," Klaus said, a sad smile on his lips.

"You can't blame her, you know," Freya murmured, her eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. "I miss her too."

"It's hard to be reminded, is all," Klaus replied, a hint of pain in his voice.

Freya gave him a soft, sympathetic smile, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "You know... I never learned how they met," she said, trying to steer the conversation toward something less melancholy.

Klaus laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it's quite a tale, and some parts I'm not privy to. But I can tell you that she was a novice in a convent," he began, a sparkle in his eye.

"A nun?!" Freya exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Indeed, although she hadn't taken her vows," Klaus chuckled, amused by the surprised look on her face.

"So, what happened? How did they end up together?" Freya asked, intrigued.

"For all parties involved, it was quite a dramatic affair," Klaus continued, a wistful smile forming on his lips. "But we have more important things to focus on, don't you think?"

Freya sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter and returned to focusing on the scents around him, trying to find a trail, something that might lead him to his brother. He caught the faintest whiff of blood, the scent leading away from the fire, and deeper into the city.

"This way," he said, striding confidently down a street, away from the site of the fire.

Freya hurried to catch up, her long legs making short work of the distance, her boots clattering on the cobblestone streets.

"How can you be so sure?" Freya asked, falling in step beside him, her voice low and cautious.

"I just am," Klaus said, his tone brooking no argument. "That bloody cologne of his is everywhere. No one else has such atrocious taste in fragrances."

"Nik..." Freya cautioned, her tone warning, her gaze flickering to the passersby, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "We don't know what's waiting for us. We can't just charge in."

"I know; that's why you are going in first, my dear sister," Klaus smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nik," Freya protested, her expression indignant.

"Don't worry, I'll be right behind you," Klaus grinned, giving her a playful nudge as they rounded a corner.

The two of them came to a stop outside an old building, its stone façade crumbling, the windows boarded up. Klaus gestured for Freya to go in, and with a roll of her eyes, she did.

"This place is creepy," she muttered, her boots echoing on the cracked tile floor.

"There's blood, a lot of it," Klaus said, sniffing the air, his eyes closed, his body tensed. "Upstairs."

They made their way up an old spiral staircase, the steps creaking under their feet. They reached a landing; the hallway was dark and narrow.

"Down there," Klaus said, pointing at a closed door at the end of the hall.

Freya nodded and slowly approached the door, her senses alert, her magic tingling under her skin. It was eerily quiet; the silence weighed heavy in the air, pressing down on her.

She stopped at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. She looked back at Klaus, his expression calm and composed, but she could sense his nervousness, his apprehension.

"Ready?" she whispered.

Klaus gave her a curt nod. Freya took a deep breath and turned the handle, the door opening with a creak.

"Elijah?"

The two of them were met with the sight of a massacre: body parts strewn across the room, blood splattered on the walls.

Freya gasped and took a step back, Klaus's hand gripping her shoulder. His eyes roved over the carnage, landing on a lone figure in the middle of the room, standing motionless.

"Elijah," Klaus breathed.

His brother was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, tattered and bloodstained, covered in dirt. His hair was matted and wild, his eyes haunted, the light dimmed within them.

Klaus and Freya stepped inside, careful not to slip on the blood, the floor sticky and wet. They approached Elijah slowly, his gaze fixed on the severed arm in his hand, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Brother?" Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaching out.

"You are not real," Elijah murmured, not taking his eyes off the limb, his expression vacant and distant.

"Elijah, we're here," Freya said gently. "It's time to come home."

"I won't be fooled again," Elijah hissed, his grip tightening on the severed arm.

Klaus took a tentative step forward, one arm stretched behind him to protect Freya, the other held out, placating and non-threatening. "We're not illusions, brother," he said softly, reassuringly.

"Freya," Elijah breathed, his head snapping up, his gaze finding hers.

"Yes, Elijah, it's me," she replied, giving him a gentle smile.

He blinked, his eyes flicking from her face to Klaus's, his brow furrowing. "Have you found a way to bring her back?"

Klaus and Freya exchanged glances, their expressions sad and resigned. It wasn't something Freya wanted to do... to tap into such dark magic. She had been searching for you on the other side but found no trace. She believed you had found peace, and to tear you away from that would be a cursed, evil thing, an affront to the balance between life and death.

"Elijah, there's no way, not without consequence," Klaus said, his tone firm, his eyes filled with regret. "We discussed this."

Elijah dropped the severed arm, his hands clenching into fists. "You're wrong. There is a way."

"Elijah," Freya began, but he cut her off.

"Bring her back," he demanded, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I can't," Freya said, her voice quiet and regretful. "I'm sorry, Elijah. She's gone; she's at rest."

"No, no, no," Elijah growled, his hands coming up to grip his hair, tugging at the roots, his chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Brother, she's in a better place," Klaus tried, his tone firm and reassuring. "I think it's time you come home... You need to let her go."

Elijah shook his head, his breathing ragged, his whole body trembling. "No, no, no," he chanted, his eyes darting around the room, looking for something.

"Elijah," Freya murmured, her brow furrowed, her expression concerned. "Please, come with us. She wouldn't want this for you."

"No, no, no!" he growled, his voice echoing off the blood-spattered walls, his face contorted in a mask of rage.

He grabbed a nearby table and threw it against the wall, the sound of splintering wood reverberating through the air.

"Bloody hell," Klaus growled, grabbing Freya and yanking her backward, shielding her with his body.

Elijah lunged at them, his fangs bared, a murderous look in his eyes. He tackled Klaus, sending them both crashing into the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact.

"Nik!" Freya exclaimed, her magic sparking at her fingertips.

"Elijah, you've gone mad," Klaus grunted, shoving him away, sending him careening across the room. "She's dead."

"Niklaus," Elijah growled, his body vibrating with anger, the haunted, hollow look in his eyes replaced by raw, unhinged rage. "Bring. Her. Back."

"We can't, and you know it," Klaus spat, his eyes flashing yellow, his face shifting into the hybrid’s feral features. "She's at peace, Elijah. We need to let her go."

"I won't, I can't," Elijah raged, his body trembling, his eyes filling with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. His voice broke. "How can you ask me to do that?"

Freya’s heart clenched at the sight of her brother unraveling, his usual restraint shattered. "Come home, please," Freya pleaded, her eyes welling with tears, her voice thick with desperation. "We can help you."

Elijah's chest heaved, his wild eyes shifting from Klaus to Freya, barely recognizing them. "Get out," he growled, the words vibrating through the bloodstained room. His gaze locked on Klaus, his voice turning into a vicious snarl. "GET OUT!"

Klaus stared at him for a moment, his expression conflicted. Freya watched him pull a silver dagger out of his pocket, the familiar glint of the cursed weapon that had subjugated their family time and time again. She hadn't even known he had brought one with him, and her heart clenched at the sight. She didn’t want this for either of them. But given Elijah's state, she knew it was necessary.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice solemn. He rushed forward, his movements a blur, and before Elijah could react, he buried the blade in his brother’s chest. The gasp Elijah let out echoed in the empty, ravaged room. The look on his face was heartbreaking, a mixture of shock and pain. Klaus had to steel himself against the emotion threatening to overtake him, reminding himself it was for the best, for all of them.

"Rest now, brother," Klaus murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace, cradling his body as Elijah slumped, his strength leaving him. His big brother, the north star of the family, now lost to grief.

"I thought you didn't want to subdue him," Freya whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with shock as she pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"It was a last resort," Klaus said, his voice thick with emotion, trying and failing to hide the crack in his composure. "I couldn't bear seeing him like this any longer. I didn't think... he would be so... unhinged."

"He's grieving," Freya said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy as she knelt beside them, brushing a hand through Elijah’s matted hair. "He loves her, Nik. Losing her... it's broken him."

"I know," Klaus muttered, his arms tightening around Elijah, holding him close as if he could protect him from the demons he was fighting inside. His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away, trying to maintain his strength.

"Time to go home," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with sorrow. "For all of us."

Freya reached out, gently taking Elijah's limp hand in hers, squeezing it tight as they prepared to leave the nightmare behind. She hoped and prayed that Elijah could feel her love through the numbness, that somewhere, deep within the wreckage of his mind, he knew they would never give up on him.

That the battle to bring you back hadn’t been in vain. It had only just begun.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[brittle-doughie]

Introducing the Y/N plush! And the cookies and what they do with said plush!

The cookie in the second image are, shining glitter, pomegranate, chess choco twins, golden cheese, caramelon, custard the lll, black pearl, licorice, lychee, komiho, Affogato, lilac, onion, stardust, space doughnut, timekeeper, shadow milk, white lily, snap dragon, pitya, abyss monarch and fire spirit. And if your wondering, the two drawings took 6 hours total-)

The Earthbread Big Seller!

I can tell which of the two took you the longest. I would like to know what it says next to Snapdragon if you can!

“Amazing Y/N Plush! Collect your very own doll to keep. Be the first one on your block to own the amazing new Y/N Plush! Please do not fight over them!”

[A large line had formed at Butterbear’s shop! Cookies of the sea and sky have emerged too to get their very own plush!]

Many fans had considered Shining Glitter’s latest show to be one of her best! She couldn’t take all of the credit though, she had help!

She cuddled close the Y/N plush she had next to her mic stand. She can count on it to allow her to give it her all, as if Y/N themself was watching her!

Having her own plush hold up a mirror for her to help fix her hair up already made itself more useful to Pomegranate than a certain cookie in the CoD.

She took a quick look around before she took it with her to bed, dozing off with the plushie clutched tightly in her arms.

The Chess Choco duo loved that they now have an observer to their chess games in the form of their own Y/N plush! They didn’t expect one or the other to pull anything tricky, but it was nice to have some sort of reassurance that no sneaky tactics came into play!

They split the time in half with how much each of the two got to have the plush. It doesn’t stop disputes from breaking out that had Earl Grey stepping in from time to time!

One of Golden Cheese Cookie’s favorite things to do with her Y/N plush would be to dress it up in whatever amount of riches she can put on it the little doll.

One of her favorite outfits for it is one that makes the plush look like a resident of her own kingdom, complete with wings to match hers. Something she has planned for the real deal when she gets the opportunity!

Carameleon Cookie was so stoked to have a buddy to call his own within the forested areas close to the Silver Kingdom. It sure beats being alone all the time!

He can tell you that he isn’t too attached to the thing as he waits for the actual Y/N Cookie to come by. He just..doesn’t want to lose it, okay?!

It was good to have one of his loyal subjects always around to listen what he had to say! Even if it was just a plush version of them, Custard Cookie III could spend minutes just talking to the plush as if it were a real cookie!

It’s why he considers it as one of his best subjects in the kingdom! Right behind the real Y/N Cookie, of course!

Black Pearl’s Y/N plush is nothing short of the best thing to ever grace her waters. It was down to the very last detail the cookie of her dreams had.

She’d never tire of it, acting protective over the plush, something she’d be more aggressively so if the real Y/N Cookie was with her! The plush will look amazing within her dwelling!

Licorice Cookie didn’t care about Pomegranate’s venom spewing mouth these days, not when he has his bestest friend, the Y/N plush, with him!

He can truly confide his secrets and feelings towards the little plush, like his feelings towards Y/N Cookie, but it better not blab to you! He even uses the plush as a guardian for his diary!

Ha! Why wait in line for a plush when Lychee Dragon could just swipe it from that fumbler, Kumiho Cookie! She didn’t appreciate Y/N Cookie enough, so why not give it to a dragon that certainly will!

Kumiho was not having it though, angrily coming after the dragon for stealing her darling in plush form! She did not let Lychee’s lies get to her, she’s taking back that plush!

Affogato Cookie could just monologue all day to his plush on how he plans to take over the throne one day and Y/N Cookie will join him as part of that dream!

He’d promise nothing but the best life for you with a luxurious life with no worries or limits as he went to caress the plush’s cheek. The best victory would be to have you for himself while that Caramel Arrow Cookie watched! He can’t stop giggling to himself about it!

With how popular these plushies were getting, Lilac was particularly watchful of his. He already called it his own with the lilac scent and he’ll bring down anyone swiping his plush from him.

He always keeps it on his person, both as a precaution and that he has easy access to it to hold and cuddle close when he’s needy. It’s what he would’ve done to the actual Y/N Cookie.

Blackberry Cookie can always count on Y/N Cookie to help settle down Onion during one of her crying bouts, she enjoyed the company from them too. So it was a total win when she received a plush for herself and for Onion.

Onion always liked to go to bed holding both her doll and plushie to ensure a good night’s rest without the fear of a nightmare waking her up, for she trusts the Y/N plush to help her even in her dreams.

Stardust doesn’t mind sharing his Y/N plushie with his friend, Space Doughnut. After all, they share the same trait of seeing Y/N Cookie as a dear friend. Space Doughnut was just as trusting with theirs to Stardust as well!

Space Doughnut does get overly excited when they could play around with BOTH plushies, making Stardust laugh with a smile as Doughnut happily played the two plushies.

Was it really any surprise that Timekeeper Cookie wanted to be greedy and have a number of Y/N plushies? They’re her favorite, why wouldn’t she take them? It wasn’t like the original owners could prove anything against her.

Timekeeper Cookie cuddled herself amidst her plushies without a care in the world, relishing in seeing the face of the cookie she liked all around her. Though it wouldn’t hurt to try and grab a couple more to her collection…and then Y/N Cookie themself!

Shadow Milk’s puppet show was going to be wonderful with the guest of honor being Y/N Cookie themself! Almost! He was able to obtain a plushie from one of his clown faeries and he was absolutely adoring it!

The plushie is always going to be a part of his puppet shows, interacting with a doll of himself that he made. How romantic it would be if the two stuffed dolls danced and smushed together to replicate a kiss! It even made Shadow Milk himself blush at the thought of you and him possibly doing that too~

One of the faeries had gently opened White Lily’s glass case, placing down a Y/N plush they had gotten for her. She immediately grabbed it and clutched it tight close to her, a smile on her face being the indicator that she liked the plush already.

One of the faeries had gotten curious about what made this plushie so dear to her as she reached for it and tried to pull it out of her arms. She had to quickly reel her hand back when White Lily swiped at it, nuzzling the plushie closer to her body, shielding it from any further attempts.

Pitaya Dragon Cookie didn’t expect Snapdragon to enjoy their Y/N plush that much to the point that they whined for Pitaya to hand it over to them. While this was meant to be for Pitaya only, they didn’t mind it as they give it to the young dragon.

Snapdragon immediately swiped it up and flies around with the doll in their arms, babbling happily as they played around with the stuff toy. Pitaya couldn’t help but smile at the sight, it was just like when Y/N Cookie would play with Snapdragon themself…

Abyss Monarch Cookie didn’t find themself going out much, especially for something as small as a stuffed plush. Yet there they were, having went out and gotten a Y/N to call their own.

This sense of adoration they start to feel for this plush was almost on the same level as they had for Y/N Cookie themself. They gently picked it up and spun slowly around with it, was this feeling a sign and not a temporary emotion? This feeling of…longing…

Fire Spirit was so stoked to have receive his own plush that he couldn’t wait to have simmer down first before messing around with it, too enveloped in his own that his hands start to emit smoke touching the plush.

He started to freak out when he open his eyes to see that he had turned the plush into a pile of ash, crying in anguish as he tried to salvage what he can. He went back to Butterbear Cookie with the news and he was generous enough to give him a replacement, warning him to be more careful next time!

[chessboredom]

Can we please get a rant on PV's characterization ? Asking both to hear your thoughts and to see if I need to reevaluate my own idea of it because accidentally mischaracterizing favourite characters is my biggest fear ":)

So I'm having the thing where "opening your favorite character's tag only to see mischaracterizations" That makes me go "Oh I can't wait to look at fanart of my blorbos in tumblr dot com!" only to remember that people play the English version(scum of the earth) and not the Korean version(literal Cookie Run Bible to me) and then feel like I directly get shotgunned at the face and I never open the tags ever again.

This is Not to say that "Your characterization is wrong!!" or me trying to discourage anyone. It's just not for me, das all. Go do whatever you want forever.

ANYWAYYYY

(I'm still continuin this LMAO)(NOT DONE YET UUGGHHHHHHH)(still isn't done but I'll just make a new post lol)

This also extends to Shadow Milk characterization because I cannot characterize one without the other as a compliment. (I have the Chronic Narrative Foil illness from being a dirkjohn shipper. That god forsaken ship rewires your brain. I've made people like them and I clearly see the impact.)

PV is not nice, he is kind. His actions take effort with no exchange. He could impact a group of people one day, they love him, but they disappear. This is the part where he lies. PV is self-sacrificial, and he says anything that would benefit his subjects happiness over himself. It's important for him that they be happy for their whole life because they are all fleeting but he isn't. He is immortal.

(This is because I see people draw him hugging Smilk, which is something Smilk would HATE SO MUCH.)

He also changed from a patriarchic kingdom into a democratic kingdom.

And he isn't above violence, he just chooses to not participate in it until he didn't have a choice when they were fighting against Dark Enchantress. He protected his friends then stepped forward to attack her with everything he's got, and it's DARK MOON MAGIC. NO SOUL JAM. (I should mention that he USED TO be in the Middle position. This is a Smilk parallel.) Then gets SUCKED into a singularity she made which EXPLODED EVERYTHING AROUND THE KINGDOM TURNING IT INTO A BARREN WASTELAND, still manages to trap her in the Moonstone. He even enclosed the Vanilla Kingdom IN A TIME STASIS and IT FLOATS IN THE SKY. <-ALSO MADE WITH DARK MOON MAGIC, which is similar to SMILK'S DIMENSION but Smilk's has the future of the past and the present coexist.

(I correct my past assumptions about Healer Cookie now too.)

This so comes with the price of losing his memories, but his miraculous healing stayed. THIS was another parallel to him becoming "Truthless Recluse" (The Hermit of Truth in Korean) when Dark Enchantress said that he was "falling deeper and deeper into the abyss." PV's self was hidden in the dark side of the moon with the Light of Truth who was always calling out to him, until Gingerbrave came and changed everything, and then it made the voice louder. That's why his eyes were open majority of the time when he was Healer Cookie nearing the end of the Timeless Kingdom adventure, because he wasn't *full* Pure Vanilla yet. (PLURALITY MENTION!!) Healer Cookie is another personality who is taking place for Pure Vanilla's arrival. Until PV finally comes back, then reuniting once more with Healer Cookie, who is also himself.

Then he just sends Gingerbrave and Friends™️ into a quest to send letters to the other Ancients' kingdoms because he had to stay in the Vanilla kingdom, and the possible survivor's guilt he holds in that Dark Flour War and also to avoid the shock of having to meet them in person because you know he's understanding the situations they're possibly in since it's been decades since they met.

One Ancient who deeply cares for him as a friend is Hollyberry Cookie. Friendship gang's first meeting with Hollyberry Cookie was her PRETENDING to be a different cookie because of the CRUSHING GUILT she had of not being able to protect her friend that she abandoned her kingdom and her role as queen(sloth moment). And in one of PV's kingdom interactions with her is HB asking if he ate. 😭(I LOVE THEIR FRIENDSHIP SO MCUH)

(I WILL STILL NEED TO WATCH BEAST YEAST EP 1 - 2 AGAIN TO ADD TO THIS I SWAER. TO GO.D)

Skip to EP 7 - 8....

PV went to the Spire after they just found some totally (not) legit info about "Beast Binding Ritual," he met Fortune Teller Cookie, who was also himself(I cannot read tarot card. Might do that later), and then he was separated from the Friendship Gang because Smilk couldn't care less about them. Smilk wants Pv to focus on HIM. Main Character of the show. Not PV, the half-penny(fool or idiot). He literally puts himself into PV's memories, and then proceeds to tell PV that "I've been with you your WHOLE LIFE." "You need me." Okay projecting bitch. Shut up. That's bullshit.

PV doesn't need Smilk. PV has lived with no Smilk. It's the other way around. Smilk NEEDS PV. He's obsessed with him. Very obsessed that he is PROJECTING. In En he called PV his "other-half," but in Kr he called Pv his "lesser half." He is still in control. He does NOT want to see others authority over him, despite their theme of King and Jester.

Historically is that jesters where actually an incredibly valued part of royal family’s almost treated like a noble and were the closest to the king outside of his family. They where just silly goofy guys that they kept around. Jesters where so respected they would stand next to kings and help them make important decisions. A lot of jesters WERE scholars. They had to be diplomats in place of their kings.

At the time of Tr!PV, he wanted to push him to the BRINK OF BREAK DOWN. (Take a look at this freaky shit here.) But good thing Friendship Gang was there making him remember who he is, or else he would've actually became a Cookie of Lies, and remembers that his role and purpose, just like Healer Cookie, was to ACT like a different person until PV wakes up and becomes one again. This is a parallel to how Smilk has different identities in different times and ages, which are also himself.

Tr!PV's WORDS(in Korean) are so perfect, that he even manage to fool Smilk himself through making him think that HE has the upper hand. He even mentions it later when he was awakened. (I have to look for that part again.)

With his new awakened form making Smilk crash out for lying and being a traitor, and then he literally beats the shit out of Smilk 2-3 consecutive times because he's a stubborn child who doesn't want to. (Seeing fanart of PV hugging Smilk is so ??? to me. Smilk would rather DIE.)

DON'T GET ME STARTED WITH THIS. ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS DO NOT SHOW THIS LEVEL OF UNDERSTANDING IN HIS WORDS.

Smilk wanted to end it all!!! He doesn't need PV. He doesn't need the Soul Jam. HE WANTS TO DESTROY IT ALL. (Goofy ahh tantrum.)

Now the part about Shadow Milk and touching, and being "touch-starved." But people seem to forget he is a CONTROL FREAK. He's gonna have some tantrum if the narrative isn't in his control. Yes, he would love the sense of touching PV, as long as he leads. He NEEDS to be in control. He NEEDS to be in the spot light or else he'll be weak and he doesn't want to be seen weak. Like, he's already accustomed to being starved of touch. And receiving it makes him feel sick. >> I answered an ask here.

And about ShadowVanilla; I keep seeing the joke "friendzone" and then seeing Smilk be disappointed which is... something... Like... The kind "relationship" Smilk made for them wasn't getting married, (but they are Metaphorically as Narrative Foils) it was FORCED through TORTURE because THAT'S ALL HE KNEW HOW TO MAKE A RELATIONSHIP. He wanted to share a soul with PV because it was his fear of being alone that he rather drown himself than face that Truth, and that was the ONLY TIME Smilk made himself vulnerable. Do you think he had a choice when the Witches created him with the other Virtues? They immediately had sentience with no young adult stage to meet naturally like how the Ancients slowly melded into a friend group, and they had no kingdoms to attend to back then. And the Virtues need to work together while being entrusted with a bunch of cookies, which for them is equivalent to taking care of ants.

And that being said, with the consideration Smilk is a literal cookie god who never felt a touch of another cookie in millennium, being invited into a friendship (with another cookie who he was not baked with in the dawn of time) is the most intimate shit he's going to get. He may Know everything(LITERAL NERD OVER HERE), but he never had Any EXPERIENCE. As slutty as he looks and acts, he is one. VIRGIN. LOSER. (TO ME!!)

To end this rant. Control Freak character weakness: Getting dicked down by some guy with a kind heart(who is unexpectedly freakier than Control Freak).

[lila-lou]

✨Obsessed - Pt. 1✨

Summary: After weeks of searching, you finally found Dean. However, he was no longer the man you had been in love with- but more importantly, no longer the man who never returned your love. Because now, in his twisted state, he was somehow obsessed with you.

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Angst, Hurt, Violence, Humiliation, naive reader

Word Count: 6960

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You were trembling, afraid of what awaited you behind that stupid motel door. You had been looking for him for over four weeks now and finally found him. Sam was on another trace, but you would call him as soon as you were sure it really was Dean. With a deep breath, you pushed the door open, hearing the shower running in the bathroom.

The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the outside world. The faint smell of old cigarettes and cheap whiskey lingered in the air, mixing with the steam escaping from the bathroom. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the countless fears and hopes you’d carried during your search.

You took a cautious step inside, the creaky floorboards betraying your presence. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness. You could hear the water hitting the tiles and a familiar, gravelly hum. It was unmistakable.

“Dean?”, you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid to break the fragile reality you were stepping into. The humming stopped abruptly, replaced by a tense silence. Moments later, the water ceased, and you heard the rustle of a towel.

The door swung open, and there he stood. Dean Winchester. But it wasn’t the Dean you knew. The good-hearted, sweet, and brave man was long gone, as you were about to find out firsthand. He was clad only in a towel, and you could see the faint red marks in the bathtub, indicating he had just washed away blood from his body.

"Oh, coming here was a fucking mistake, sweetheart", he growled, flashing you with pitch-black eyes for a second. The beautiful green gone.

You froze, the sight of those eyes confirming your worst fears. This wasn't just Dean in a bad place; this was something darker, something more sinister. Your heart clenched as you took a step back, instinct screaming at you to run, but your legs felt like lead.

"Dean", you whispered, voice trembling. "This isn't you".

He laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Oh, but it is me. Just a new and improved version".

The darkness in his eyes flickered again, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the Dean you knew, the Dean you cared about. It was enough to keep you rooted to the spot, desperate to reach him, to pull him back from whatever abyss he had fallen into.

"You don't have to do this", you pleaded, taking a tentative step closer. "We can help you. Sam and I, we can fix this".

Dean's expression hardened, the flicker of humanity snuffed out as quickly as it had appeared. "There's no fixing this, Y/N. You should have stayed away".

With a sudden, predatory grace, he closed the distance between you, his hand wrapping around your wrist with a bruising grip. The coldness of his touch shocked you, the pain snapping you back to the immediate danger.

"Dean, please", you gasped, struggling against his hold. "Fight it".

For a moment, his grip loosened, and his eyes softened, as if he was waging a war within himself. But then the darkness surged back, and his hold tightened once more.

"Get out", he hissed, shoving you towards the door. "Before I do something you'll regret".

You stumbled, catching yourself against the doorframe. Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. You had to be strong, for him, for Sam, for yourself.

"I won't give up on you", you said, voice firm despite the fear. "I'll find a way to save you, Dean. I promise".

His expression twisted into something unreadable, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flash of regret. But then the cold mask was back, and he turned away from you, retreating into the shadows of the room.

"Go", he muttered, his voice hollow. "Before it's too late".

With a heavy heart, you turned and fled, the sound of the door closing behind you echoing like a final, desperate plea. You knew this was far from over. Whatever had taken hold of Dean, you would find a way to fight it. You had to.

You grappled with all the emotions, feeling the weight of fear, sadness, and determination settling heavily in your chest. For minutes, you sat in your car, thinking about what to do. You knew if you texted Sam, he would rush here, bringing himself into danger. Dean was dangerous. That’s all you knew so far.

You thought a bit longer before you parked your car in an empty side road and checked into the same motel Dean was staying at. Sooner or later, you knew you had to call Sam, but you had to make really sure in which state Dean was. So you planned on keeping your eye on him for a few days before making any further steps.

The room you got was a few doors down from Dean’s. Close enough to keep an eye on him, but hopefully far enough to avoid his immediate suspicion. You unpacked your bag slowly, mind racing with the events that had just transpired. The image of Dean’s black eyes haunted you, a stark reminder of the danger he now posed.

Night fell, and the motel grew quiet, the occasional hum of a passing car the only sound breaking the silence. You sat by the window, the curtains slightly parted, giving you a narrow view of Dean’s door. Every movement, every shadow that passed by made your heart jump.

Around midnight, the door to Dean’s room creaked open. You watched as he stepped out, now fully dressed. He looked around cautiously, then headed toward his car.

You quickly grabbed your jacket and slipped out of your room, following him at a safe distance. Dean drove out of the motel parking lot, and you trailed him, keeping your headlights off and maintaining a good distance.

He drove to a shabby bar outside of town. You waited a few minutes before you followed him inside. With your hood pulled up, you sat down in a quiet corner, watching Dean as he played pool as if nothing had changed. It didn’t even take twenty minutes until he had the attention of a blonde girl clad in tight, short shorts and a shirt that barely covered her boobs. She quickly threw herself at him, flirting shamelessly, tracing his biceps. And Dean returned the flirting.

You watched as Dean flashed her a smile, but there was something off about it—too sharp, too predatory. The girl giggled, oblivious to the danger, as she leaned closer, whispering something in his ear. Dean’s eyes flickered with that same unsettling darkness you had seen before, just for a moment, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Trying to remain inconspicuous, you sipped your drink and kept your eyes on them. Dean’s charm was undeniable, but you could see the strain behind his facade. The girl led him to a corner booth, her laughter ringing out as they settled down. Dean’s hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, but his eyes scanned the room, ever watchful.

You knew you couldn’t let him hurt her, but you also knew you had to be careful. Approaching Dean directly could trigger something unpredictable. As you mulled over your options, a large, burly man approached their booth, glaring at Dean.

“Hey, buddy, that’s my girl”, he growled, his fists clenching at his sides.

Dean looked up slowly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Is that so?”, he replied, his voice calm but menacing.

The girl rolled her eyes, snapping at the man, “Get lost, Travis! We’re not fucking anymore”.

Travis’ face twisted with anger and hurt, but he didn’t back down. “You can’t just toss me aside for this guy”, he spat, taking a step closer.

Dean’s smile widened, but it was devoid of any warmth. “I think the lady made her choice”, he said, his tone dripping with menace.

The man’s anger rose, and so did Dean’s. He stood in front of Travis, who, blinded by rage, swung his fist at Dean. With a swift and practiced motion, Dean caught his wrist and twisted it until a sickening crack echoed through the bar. Travis screamed in pain, his body collapsing as Dean shoved him back, sending him crashing into a few tables.

Chaos erupted as a few men jumped to their feet, and the bartender hurried over, his face pale with fear and anger. “Hey! You need to leave, now!”, he shouted, pointing a trembling finger towards the door.

Dean’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he gave a curt nod. “Fine”, he muttered. Turning to the blonde girl, he grabbed her arm, and she grinned, thinking she had found herself a brave man. She pushed herself against Dean, her smile wide and her eyes gleaming. “I’ll definitely join you in leaving”, she purred, looking up at him with admiration.

A pang of jealousy shot through you, sharp and overwhelming. Even after Dean had hurt this man, showing a side of himself that was terrifying and unrecognizable, your feelings for him were so strong that your jealousy for the girl overshadowed everything else.

As they made their way towards the exit, you followed, your mind racing with conflicting emotions.

You got back into your car and followed Dean to the motel, keeping a safe distance to avoid drawing attention. Your heart ached with every mile, the sight of Dean with the girl igniting a tumult of jealousy and pain within you. When they arrived, you parked a few spaces away, watching as they made their way into his room.

As soon as they disappeared inside, you slipped into your own room, a few doors down. The thin walls of the motel did little to muffle the sounds of laughter and movement next door. You tried to block it out, not wanting to imagine what was happening, but the hurt was impossible to hide. It felt like a dagger twisting in your chest.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall that separated you from Dean. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined not to let your emotions consume you. This was about more than just your feelings for Dean—this was about saving him from whatever darkness had taken hold of him.

Time passed slowly, each minute feeling like an hour. Eventually, the noises quieted down, leaving you in an oppressive silence.

You lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts racing through your mind. How had it come to this? Dean, the man you cared so deeply for, was slipping away, and there was little you could do to stop it. Yet, you couldn’t give up. Not on him.

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of a door slamming. You quickly got up and peered out the window, seeing Dean and the girl leaving the room. She was still clinging to his arm, looking smug and satisfied. You swallowed hard, the jealousy flaring up again, but you forced yourself to focus. This wasn’t about her; it was about Dean.

The next few days followed a grim, predictable pattern. Dean continued to hurt people, drink heavily, and bring different women back to the motel. Each day felt like a knife twisting deeper into your heart, but you stayed vigilant, determined to find a way to save him. What you didn’t know was that every time you fell asleep, Dean snuck into your room, simply watching you. He knew you never left. Of course you wouldn’t. You loved him.

Before becoming a demon, he always asked Sam how to tell you that he would never feel the same way about you, that you were just like a sister to him. But since he saw you a few days ago, something changed. His urge to touch you, to feel you, to bury himself deep inside you had intensified by a thousand times. You were practically all he could think about.

On the fourth night, you lay in bed, exhausted from the emotional turmoil. You drifted into a restless sleep, unaware that Dean was once again standing at the foot of your bed. His eyes, now a disturbing mix of longing and darkness, traced the lines of your face, the rise and fall of your chest. His hands clenched at his sides as he fought the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch you.

In your sleep, you mumbled his name, your voice filled with a mixture of love and sorrow. It sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. He stepped closer, his breath hitching as he imagined what it would be like to be with you, to feel your skin against his. The desire was almost unbearable.

But something else flickered within him—an echo of his former self, a whisper of the man who cared for you deeply but never in this way. It was enough to make him hesitate, to keep him from crossing a line he knew he shouldn’t.

He left your room, the door closing softly behind him. Back in his own room, he sat on the edge of the bed, his mind a chaotic swirl of emotions. The darkness within him was growing stronger, but so was his obsession with you. He didn’t know how much longer he could resist.

It had been nearly two weeks now. Dean’s self-control was wearing thin, the darkness inside him growing more insistent. Tonight, as he stood in your room again, the sight of you almost undid him completely. Your air conditioner had broken, and you wore nothing but a thin, soft bra and matching panties. The fabric was so thin he could see your nipples through it, and your body wasn’t covered by a blanket.

His breath hitched, the urge to touch you, to feel your skin against his, overwhelming. He clenched his fists, trying to keep the darkness at bay, but it was a losing battle. The demon within him fed on his desires, amplifying them until they were nearly unbearable.

You mumbled in your sleep, shifting slightly, and his eyes traced every curve of your body. The sight of you like this, so vulnerable, so inviting, drove him to the edge of his sanity. He took a step closer, his resolve crumbling.

“Y/N”, he whispered, his voice a mix of longing and torment. He reached out, his hand hovering inches above your skin, the warmth radiating from you like a siren’s call. His fingers trembled, aching to close the gap.

In your sleep, you murmured his name again, a sound filled with so much love and sadness that it pierced through the fog of his desire. For a brief moment, the real Dean fought through the darkness, horrified by what he was about to do.

He pulled his hand back, clenching his jaw. “Get a grip”, he muttered to himself, backing away from the bed.

Dean knew he needed to get away from you as quickly as possible. And so he did. An hour later, he packed his bag, grabbed his keys, and left the motel, driving off into the night without a clear destination. He just needed to escape, to put as much distance between himself and you as he could.

But you had anticipated this. Knowing how erratic Dean had become, you had placed a GPS tracker on his car. The next morning, when you woke up and found his room empty, your heart sank. You checked your phone and saw the signal from the tracker, confirming that he had indeed left for good.

Determined not to let him disappear completely, you quickly packed your things and hit the road, following the signal. It led you through desolate highways, each mile stretching out in front of you like an endless test of your resolve.

Hours later, you found yourself in a small, rundown town far from the main roads. Dean’s car was parked outside a dingy motel that looked even worse than the one you had just left. You parked a few spaces away, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves.

As you stood in front of his room, hearing the shower running inside, you took a deep breath and gathered your courage. Quietly, you turned the doorknob and slipped into the room. The sound of the shower masked your entrance, but as soon as you closed the door behind you and turned back around, you froze.

Dean stood there, arms crossed, eyes black as night. The growl in his voice was unmistakable. “I told you to leave me the fuck alone, Y/N”.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Dean, I couldn’t. I won’t let you destroy yourself like this”.

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with”, he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “I can’t control this”.

“I know you’re fighting”, you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I can see it. But you don’t have to do it alone”.

Dean’s expression twisted with anger and something else—desperation. “You need to leave”, he said again, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“I won’t”, you replied firmly, stepping closer despite the fear gnawing at you. “I care about you too much to just walk away”.

He clenched his fists, trying to maintain control. “You’re making a fucking mistake”, he said through gritted teeth. “I can’t protect you from this”.

“You don’t have to protect me”, you said, reaching out to touch his arm.

He stared at your hand on his arm, his breath coming in ragged gasps. That’s when he lost it.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. With a feral growl, he grabbed your hips with a force that left you breathless, pulling you up as if you weighed nothing. Before you could react, he threw you onto his bed, and within seconds, he was hovering over you, his eyes a dark, stormy mix of desire and anger.

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. You could feel the intensity radiating from him, his struggle between the darkness and the man you loved.

His hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your neck. “I told you to stay away”, he hissed, but there was a note of longing in his voice that betrayed his words.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. “I won’t”, you said softly, your eyes locking with his. “I’m not afraid of you”.

For a moment, he seemed to falter, the darkness in his eyes flickering. Then, with a shuddering breath, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss filled with a desperate intensity. His grip on your wrists tightened, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into the kiss.

Dean broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled for control. “You should be afraid of me”, he groaned, his voice raw and filled with torment.

His mouth wandered over your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. The sensation was a heady mix of pleasure and pain as he bit your skin a bit too hard, leaving marks that would undoubtedly bruise. You gasped, your body arching involuntarily against him.

His eyes flickered, switching from black to green and back again, a visual testament to the battle raging within him. “Dean”, you whispered, your voice a desperate plea. You wanted to reach him, to pull him back from the brink.

“I can’t stop”, he growled, his grip on your wrists tightening and then loosening as he fought for control. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t… I can’t fight it”.

His hands wandered to your waist, squeezing it bruisingly as he kissed down between your breasts. You knew you should push him away, that this was dangerous, but his mouth on your skin was what you had dreamed about for over three years. He was all you wanted. Even when he ripped your flannel open, exposing your black bra, you didn’t stop him.

By that moment, Dean was gone. His eyes blackened out completely as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m gonna fuck that nice little pussy of yours so good”, he groaned, his voice dripping with dark desire.

A shiver of fear and anticipation ran through you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to resist. The raw intensity of his need matched your own, and despite the danger, you wanted him just as badly. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch with a feral hunger.

“How many?”, he growled against your skin before biting your nipple again, the sharp sting sending a shiver down your spine.

You gasped, not understanding his question at first. “Dean… what?”, you managed to breathe out, your mind clouded with desire and confusion.

“How many fucked you before?”, he demanded, his voice low and possessive.

You hesitated, the answer caught in your throat. His grip on your waist tightened, and you knew he was waiting for an answer. “No one”, you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “No one, Dean”.

For a moment, there was a silence that felt like it stretched on forever. “Good”, he muttered, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction. “Because you’re mine”.

He kissed you with a fierce intensity, his hands roaming over your body with renewed urgency. You could feel the possessiveness in his touch, a need to claim you completely. His fingers dug into your hips as he moved lower, his mouth trailing kisses down your stomach, leaving a path of heat in its wake.

As he reached your jeans, he roughly pulled them down, your breath hitching as you lay in front of him with nothing but your underwear. The way he looked at you made your heart beat faster. You couldn’t believe that this was finally happening. You had wished for this so often, and even if Dean was a demon now, you wanted nothing more.

His eyes roamed over your body, dark with desire. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation. But beneath the desire, a small voice in your mind reminded you of the reality of the situation. Dean wasn’t himself. If he ever came back to being the old Dean, he would probably hate himself for taking your virginity, for fucking you at all. You weren’t even 21.

Dean’s hands trailed down your body, fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties. He tore them away with a growl, leaving you completely exposed to him. His eyes darkened further, and he let out a low, appreciative noise. “So fucking perfect”, he murmured, his voice rough with need.

He positioned himself between your legs, and you felt the heat of his body against yours. His fingers brushed over your most sensitive areas, making you gasp. “Dean”, you whispered, a mix of plea and longing.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss. “You’re mine”, he growled against your mouth, his hands roaming possessively over your body. “No one else will ever touch you like this”.

Despite the fear and the knowledge that this wasn’t the real Dean, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You wanted him so badly, had wanted this for so long. As his mouth traveled down your body, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, you arched into him, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Dean, please”, you begged, your voice trembling.

He looked up at you, his eyes black as night. “You want this”, he said, his voice a dark promise. “Say it”.

“Yes”, you whispered, your heart pounding. “I want this. I want you”.

With that, Dean pulled down his jeans and boxers just enough to free himself, not bothering to remove the rest of his clothes.

As you saw how he stroked himself, looking at your exposed body with black eyes, finally some sense came to you. Your breath hitched, and you backed away, closing your legs. It wasn't what you had imagined; you always dreamed about it being more intimate, with more love, with cuddling, with him kissing you more, and more softly.

"I don’t want this. Not like this", you whispered, fear creeping into your voice. But Dean wasn’t having it.

His eyes darkened further, a growl escaping his lips as he grabbed your ankles, pulling you back toward him with a force that left you breathless. "You wanted this", he hissed, his grip bruising. "You said it".

You tried to wiggle free from his grasp, but it was impossible. “Dean, don’t, please”, you whispered, your voice trembling with fear.

He snapped again, his grip unyielding. “You said you wanted this, so now you’re gonna fucking take it”, he growled, his voice filled with anger and desire.

Tears gathered in your eyes as he pushed your legs roughly open. But as he saw the tears and fear in your eyes, he hesitated, if only for a second. In his twisted, dark mind, there was still a fragment of care for you left. Dean let go of your ankles, and you instantly backed away, pulling the blanket over your naked body.

“How do you want it?”, he grumbled after a few moments, standing up and pushing his boxers back up, not caring about his open jeans as he headed for the whiskey bottle on the desk.

Dean brushed through his hair, clearly annoyed, and took a big sip of his whiskey. He glared at you, his eyes still dark with desire and frustration. “Not like this”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want it to be so… cold. I want it to be nice. I need you to be gentle with me”.

He rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply. “Gentle?”, he muttered, almost to himself, the word seeming foreign and unwelcome in his current state. But the flicker of hesitation was still there, the part of him that cared for you trying to break through.

He stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to process your words, then turned back to the desk, taking another long swig of whiskey. “Gentle”, he repeated, the word tasting strange on his tongue.

He still looked annoyed, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—a struggle against the darkness. With a rough motion, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. Your cheeks heated as you watched him.

As he looked at you, he felt a strange clench in his heart, something that felt almost like pain. “Alright”, he muttered, his voice still rough. “I’ll try. But don’t expect me to be all soft and shit”.

He stepped out of his jeans and boxershorts, leaving him naked and without any shame or hesitation. The sight of him, all hard lines and raw masculinity, sent a shiver down your spine. He pointed to your bra, his voice rough as he muttered, “Pull that shit off”.

You hesitated for a moment, the reality of the situation making your heart race. Slowly, you reached up and unhooked your bra, letting it fall away.

Dean’s eyes darkened with an intense, raw desire as he watched your bra fall away. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed your ankles and pulled, making you fall on your back, your breasts bouncing with the sudden movement. He climbed onto the bed, his movements rough and impatient, nudging your legs apart with his knee until your inner thighs hurt.

He hovered above you, his gaze locked on yours, filled with a mix of hunger and something more vulnerable buried deep within. One of his hands slipped between your legs, exploring your most intimate areas with a rough possessiveness. “Fucking wet for a fucking virgin”, he grumbled, his voice low and filled with dark satisfaction. Without warning, he pushed a finger inside you, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and discomfort that left you breathless. You tried to relax, to trust that Dean would find the part of him that could be gentle, but it was hard with the intensity of his touch.

Dean’s eyes gleamed with a dark satisfaction as he felt your reaction. “So fucking tight”, he teased, his voice dripping with a twisted mix of desire and amusement. His grip on your hips tightened, preventing you from backing away as he pushed his finger deeper inside you, curling it slightly to elicit another gasp from your lips.

You whimpered, your body instinctively trying to retreat from the overwhelming sensation, but his hold was unyielding. “Dean, please”, you pleaded, your voice a mix of desperation and confusion.

Dean grumbled, his voice rough with desire, “Wait until you feel my cock”. He started to move his finger inside you, watching your every reaction closely. His attempt to not be too rough was evident, but he couldn’t quite find a gentle rhythm. His touch was still intense, making you moan strained, trying to ignore the pressure.

Seeing your discomfort, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips hard and desperate. He seemed to be trying to calm you down with the kiss, though his roughness was still present. You could feel his struggle, the battle between the darkness and the part of him that cared for you.

“Dean”, you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling. “Please… just slow down”.

Dean took a deep breath, urging himself to slow down a bit. He looked into your eyes, his forehead resting against yours, the tension in his body palpable. With a careful push, he added a second finger inside you, making you gasp at the increased pressure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight”, he muttered, his voice a mix of awe and frustration. “This is definitely gonna hurt”.

You whimpered softly, the sensation intense and overwhelming.

Dean kept pushing slowly inside you, his fingers moving with a deliberate, measured pace. He was trying his best to get you ready for him, despite the roughness that lingered at the edges of his touch. You whimpered softly, the sensation intense and overwhelming, but you could feel the effort he was making to be careful.

“Just a bit more”, he murmured, his voice low and strained. He continued to move his fingers inside you, curling them slightly to stretch you. The discomfort began to ebb away, replaced by a growing warmth and pleasure.

As he was convinced you were wet enough, he slowly pulled his fingers out, his eyes never leaving yours. He grabbed his dick, positioning himself at your entrance, the tip brushing against you.

You shivered underneath him, biting your lip and gripping his biceps. Dean looked down at your pussy, his brow furrowed with concentration as he tried to thrust inside you as gently as possible. Despite his efforts, he failed, bottoming out with one deep thrust. The sudden, intense sensation made you scream, your body arching against him.

He immediately pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your cry, his kiss rough but desperate. “I’m trying, I swear”, his voice filled with frustration.

Tears welled in your eyes from the pain, but you forced yourself to breathe deeply, trying to adjust to the fullness. “Just… give me a moment”, you whispered, your voice trembling.

Dean breathed heavily, the intensity of the moment making it nearly impossible for him to hold back. You were clenching around him so hard that he had to grit his teeth to keep from losing control.

“You´re so fucking tight”, he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. His muscles were tense, his body trembling with the effort to stay still.

You took several deep breaths, willing your body to relax and adjust to the sensation. The pain slowly began to subside, replaced by a growing warmth and pleasure.

Before you could tell him you were ready, Dean began to slowly pull out, a deep groan escaping his lips. The sensation was intense, and you gasped, trying to adjust to the feeling of him moving inside you. He pushed back in with measured restraint.

After a few thrusts that left you breathless, you urged him to go slower, the sensation still overwhelming. “Dean, please, slower”, you managed to gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“I’m already going slow!”, he snapped, frustration evident in his voice. The veins on his neck stood out as he fought to hold back, to keep from losing control. His eyes flickered between black and green, the struggle within him palpable.

You could see the effort it took for him to maintain his composure, his muscles tense with the strain. “I know”, you whispered, trying to soothe him. “Just… keep trying”.

His face fell against your shoulder as he continued to push inside you with a strained slowness, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Like this?”, he muttered breathlessly, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and desperation.

You nodded, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. “Yes, like that”, you whispered, trying to encourage him.

He groaned, his movements steady but tense, each thrust controlled but heavy with effort.

“You feel so good”, he murmured against your shoulder, his voice trembling. “So fucking good”.

“Dean”, you moaned, your body responding to the rhythm he had found. The pain had faded, replaced by a deep, growing pleasure that made your toes curl. “Keep going, just like that”.

He groaned again, the sound deep and guttural. “I should have fucked you sooner”, he mumbled, his breath hot against your ear. “Never felt a pussy like yours”.

His words sent a shiver through you, a mix of shock and arousal. You could feel his desperation, his need to claim you completely.

“Dean”, you whispered, your hands tightening in his hair. “I love you”.

His movements faltered for a moment, the words seeming to reach a part of him buried beneath the darkness. “I know”, he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. He pushed deeper inside you, hitting your sweet spot with a precision that made you gasp.

“Oh shit", you moaned, your body arching against him, the pleasure intensifying. Your hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as you tried to anchor yourself in the overwhelming sensations.

His thrusts became more deliberate, more controlled, as if he was trying to savor every moment.

He felt you clenching around him, knowing you were close. “You’re mine now”, he murmured, his voice rough and possessive. “I hope you know that”.

Your heart ached at his words. Deep down, you knew that the real Dean didn’t love you the way you loved him. But this Dean, twisted by darkness, seemed to be obsessed with you in a way that was both unsettling and intoxicating. In your desperate mind, it was better than nothing.

You clung to him, your body arching against his as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity.

His thrusts becoming more purposeful as he felt you nearing your climax. “Say it”, he demanded, his breath hot against your ear. “Say you’re mine”.

“I’m yours, Dean”, you gasped, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. “I’m yours”.

With a final, deep thrust, he pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed with pleasure, your climax shattering through you with an intensity that left you breathless. Dean followed moments later, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he buried himself deep inside you, his release shuddering through him.

You were overwhelmed by your first real orgasm, your body trembling with the intensity of it. Your nails dug into Dean’s back as he spilled inside of you, his own release shuddering through him. You both lay there, breathing heavily, your minds spinning from the sheer force of the moment.

Dean’s face was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He remained inside you, his body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. The room was filled with the sound of your combined heavy breathing, a testament to the intensity of what had just happened.

After a while, Dean pulled out of you, letting himself fall back on the bed, one hand resting on his sweaty stomach. You hesitated for a moment, the silence hanging heavily in the air. The intimacy of the moment had faded, replaced by an unsettling awkwardness.

“What do I do now?”, you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean rolled his eyes, his frustration evident. “Go and fucking clean yourself before you soak my sheets”, he grumbled, his tone rough. Blood and his cum were already gathering between your thighs, making you feel extremely vulnerable.

You felt a pang of shame at his words, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The reality of the situation hit you hard, and you struggled to keep your emotions in check. Slowly, you got up from the bed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable wetness between your legs.

You made your way to the bathroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. Once inside, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep breath.

You cleaned yourself up as best as you could, the water from the sink cold against your skin. As you wiped away the remnants of blood and cum, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—relief that it was over, shame for what had happened, and a lingering sadness for the way things had turned out.

When you finally returned to the bedroom, Dean was still lying on the bed, his eyes closed and his breathing steady. With shaking legs, you began to gather your clothes, trying to hide your naked body as best as you could. The vulnerability and shame still weighed heavily on you, and you moved quietly, hoping not to draw his attention.

But Dean’s eyes opened, and he watched you intently. “What are you doing?”, he grumbled, his voice rough.

You froze for a moment, clutching your clothes to your chest. “I… I was just getting dressed”, you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just come back to bed”, he muttered, sounding more tired than angry. “We can deal with this tomorrow”.

You looked at him, puzzled. “You want me to stay?”, you asked quietly, afraid to hear a no.

Dean rolled his eyes, his frustration clear. “Do I fucking stutter?”, he grumbled. “What part of ‘you’re mine’ didn’t you understand?”.

His words, though rough, brought a strange sense of relief. You slowly let your clothes drop back onto the chair and returned to the bed, slipping under the covers beside him. The vulnerability and shame still lingered, but his possessiveness was oddly reassuring.

Dean wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest. Despite his gruff demeanor, his touch was surprisingly gentle. You nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder, feeling a mixture of comfort and confusion.

“Just get some sleep”, Dean murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. He was tired and didn’t want to be disturbed. You bit your lip, inhaling his scent. You were sore, feeling it already, but you didn’t mind. Dean, your Dean, albeit a twisted version of him, lay beside you, naked. After he just gave you the best orgasm ever with ease.

He had taken your virginity. You had lost your virginity to your best friend, whom you had been in love with from the day you met him. The reality of it all settled over you, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest.

You nestled closer to him, savoring the warmth and comfort of his presence despite the complexities of the situation. As you breathed in his familiar scent, a sense of bittersweet contentment washed over you. It wasn’t the perfect, romantic first time you had always imagined, but it was with Dean, and that meant something.

“Dean”, you whispered tentatively, unsure if he was still awake. “I… I’m glad it was you”.

He didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, you thought he had fallen asleep. Then he shifted slightly, his arm tightening around you.

“I said you should sleep”, he grumbled, his voice low and rough with fatigue.

“Okay”, you whispered, nestling closer to him and resting your head on his chest.

His heartbeat was steady and strong, a comforting rhythm that began to lull you into a sense of calm. The soreness in your body was a reminder of what had happened, but as you lay in Dean’s arms, it became easier to push away the doubts and fears. For now, you focused on the simple fact that you were together.

The night was quiet, and eventually, you drifted off to sleep, the events of the day fading into the background.

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A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 Actually, I have already finished the story. I will upload the other parts one by one and I have to say, this is one of my favorites.

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Part 2

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Taglist: @spnfamily-j2 @kr804573 @kylersgirlfriend34 @spncupcake @woooonau @winchesterwild78 @anacarolinadasf

[n109-kitten]

⛓️ Tomorrow's Catch 22: Girls version ⛓️

The assassin and his little bird

Code name: Asphodel

Extremely sarcastic + feisty + aloof

Had an extremely rough childhood

Join LCBI only to find her mentor, Sylus

Still upset that Sylus "abandoned" her

Loves going to movies

To her, Sylus is her home

Has a pet bird she saved

The warden and his informant

Code name: Belladonna

Minx + Manipulative + Bratty

Wolf in sheep's clothing

Use charm and wits to get what she wants

Former bounty hunter - target high profile

Owns a pet turtle that she loves to death

If someone mistreated her turtle, she would go off the rails

Double jointed

Sweet tooth

The pet and his supervisor

Code name: Abyss

Extremely Manipulative + Sly

Shrouded in mystery

Does things her way and doesn't care if it seems heartless

That is what happens when she was trying to save Rafayel. She knew he would survive the explosion, so she made him think she didn't care about him when he called out to her

Always seems to watch from the shadows

No body truly know her and automatically assume the worst of her so she goes along with it

Has intense love for sharks

Dreams about a peaceful life by the sea

People and predators are a bit terrified of her and call her the Heartless Enforcer

The subordinate and his captain

Code name: Minerva

Manipulative (at times) + observant

Has extremely trust issues

Craves obedience + loyalty

Believe that she is not important enough for people to care

Loves watching fireworks

Has an injury on the left leg that acts up/ aches on gloomy weathers

The councilman and his enforcer

Code name: Themis

Mischievous

Grew up together in the Southern District as orphans

Tends to play dirty

Use her charm for things to go her way

Very protective of her friends and would do anything for them