#invitation to Deceit

[autisticfoxgirl333]

Has anyone else got an invitation letter? Because I just got given one......

[mishalitoforyou]

Milk Cream: I am the JESTER ^^, My job is to entertaint~♪ **performing for Pure Flour**

Pure Flour: **smiling**

But it seems like soon enough~♪

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IT TOO WILL BE MY JOB TO REIGN :)

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Over all that you SEE, Over all that you KNOW

Milk Cream: As the King is slowly DYING, at moment he could GO ^^ **with to strange tickets**

YES THE KING IS SLOWLY DYING, AND ANY MOMENT HE WILL GO~♪

[Shadow Milk's update is so close that the strange Milk Cream knows it...I wonder if he has some type of relation with all of this]

[leynaeithnea]

What if the story starts out with a trojan horse situation

[umbrella-show]

⋆.˚🃏 𝑰𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒕 ⋆✮⋆˙

“Y/N, pookie, cutie patootie, I’m baaack!~

The first of multiple drafts about Shadow Milk cookie. (If I can finish the rest 🥲)

You grunted lowly as you forced yourself out of the comfort of your bed at the sound of loud knocking at your door. You silently listened to fin out if the insistent banging on your door was just your imagination. You grumpily groaned when you realized the knocking was, in fact, real. Standing from your bed you wearily stumbled towards the door. 

“Coming…” You yawned, hoping that the knocking would stop now that the cookie on the other side of your door knew you were awake. The knocking, however, became more persistent. You repeated that you were on your way, irritably stomping and quickening your pace. When you got to the door, you firmly gripped the doorknob and threw the door open in frustration. You expected the door to hit whoever was insistantly knocking, but you were only met with the cold breeze of the night and the stars.

Glancing around, you found no one. You huffed, chalked it up to an annoying prank, and were about to go back to bed. However, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted something on your door. A poster, fluttering gently in the breeze with an envelope taped to it. Your mind blanked as you stared at it in confusion. What kind of prank was this?

You stiffened when you recognized the Beast cookie, Shadow Milk cookie, was the one on the poster. ‘Invitation to Deceit’ was written on it, and a deep blue envelope hung beside it. You took a moment to look around again, completely awake now. Everything was normal. Nothing was out of the ordinary. You gently took the poster off your door, ripping the envelope off of it and cautiously went back inside of your house.

The envelope was a dark blue with writing in a black pen on the bottom right corner. Your name was spelt in cursive with small doodles of stars next to it. Shakily opening the envelope revealed a small ticket inside. The ticket had the same design as the poster, Shadow Milk cookie’s close up face grinning directly at you. On the back was some more writing.

‘See you soon, (Y/N) cookie,

Your favorite jester happily awaits your arrival~”

- From, you know who ;)

A terrible feeling of dread pooled in your stomach. You stared down at the note, rereading it over and over again. He’s back, you thought, your dough shaking at the realization. You needed to show this to Pure Vanilla cookie immediately. 

Shoving the ticket back in the envelope you rushed to leave your house. You threw a thick coat over your shoulder and ran out into the night, clutching the envelope in your hand tightly.

It was so funny, watching you run and hide to that pathetic Soul Jam thief. Silly-Vanilly can’t do anything to save you, for he is on his way to become the one and only~ It’s only a matter of time, Y/N cookie. I’ll relish at the sight of you drowning in deceit. I’ll see ya, sooner than you think, silly goose~

[kleptokure]

Deceit's Favorite 🃏

Shadow Milk Cookie x GN!Reader

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

This is bad, you thought to yourself. The outcome of your arrival in Beast-Yeast is far worse than you would have ever thought.

Yes, you expected to encounter the Beast with Deceit engraved into their essence, but within the hour you stepped foot on the foreign terrain? You were not prepared to reunite with your old friend all of a sudden.

Being one of the first cookies to be given a Soul Jam, you assumed going to Beast-Yeast would not be a challenge for you. Yet current circumstances prove you incorrect. Now you wish you stayed in Crispia, where the air is not so bitter.

As much as you would love to rescue Pure Vanilla from his absolute contrary personified, there is an obstacle surrounding your shelter.

You are well aware that Gingerbrave and the gang are accompanying Pure Vanilla Cookie, and a battle of them versus one mere cookie seems like an easy fight. But Shadow Milk is a special cookie, which is known to most who are aware of his being. The beast knows the trauma his main opponent withholds and would not hesitate to use it against him.

Speaking of Shadow Milk Cookie, you are currently pondering over how he located you in the first place. Your expectations were for his full focus to be on his "Soul Jam thief," but it appears your dough, and crumbs, is much more important in his reality.

Surprisingly, his encounter with you was far from destructive. In all honesty, you will admit it was leaning closer to bittersweet.

Shadow Milk Cookie had a lot to say, of course. His words were laced with jeers, flirts, yet betrayal at the same time. Though he did say something along the lines of forgiving you for not standing by his side eons ago.

It comes as hard to remember the exact words, as your mind is fuzzy with all this information. You might be concentrated on the romantic parts of his speech more than you should be.

Your train of thought is brought to an abrupt stop, hearing knocks on the front door to your hidden hideout. It must not be so hidden if the one cookie you scurry from has managed to locate you. Shadow Milk seemingly possesses eyes all over the place, though you could have predicted that part.

There is no point dragging out the eventual conversation awaiting you pair. With that said, you pick yourself up and walk towards the door.

Having opened the door with a rigid gaze, you find there to be no cookie to return your stare.

Great, another trick. You should have guessed that. Now what? Is he going to be inside your house when you turn around? Candlelight dinner with an empty seat calling your name?

Before you get the chance to close the opening, a piece of paper finds its way slapped onto the middle of your face.

With dread, you tear the sheet off and hold it before your eyes, reading the text it has engraved into itself.

It's... an invitation? To a show, to be exact. The reading says,

"YOU, yes, YOU are invited to a one of a kind show!

Don't be late, as I’d be very upset if you were.

From your dearest jester. XoXo <3"

You feel a warmth in your dough from the heart included at the bottom of the sheet. You almost tore the paper just to rid of a feeling caused by him of all cookiekind. The weather here has to be the cause of your sickly feelings.

In any other situation, you would refuse without a second thought (that's what you tell yourself). But Pure Vanilla is walking a path of danger, and you will do what you can to change that for your friend.

Even so, the candlelight dinner you expected to occur now comes as more preferable.

Looking further down, you notice the time the show host requests you arrive is a few five minutes away. He was kind enough to give you a step-by-step map to the location.

The short notice matters not, as you have nothing better to do. Spending all this time huddled up in a random shack is not what one would call time well spent.

Gathering yourself up, you take you and your crumbs out into the eerie outside of Beast-Yeast. With the map given, you follow the path, each step closer to meeting the volatile cookie of deceit.

It is nothing less of a short trip, arriving at an isolated place hidden by the trees. The wind brushes by to rustle the decaying leaves. There is no more than 10 seats placed in an organized manner in front of a puppet stage, even though you are sure to be the sole cookie watching his upcoming act. Alongside the marionettes he controls, of course.

Finished with taking in the environment, you walk towards your seat before a familiar voice stops you in your tracks.

"Well, well, well. Lookie who finally decided to show up!"

You turn your head, and your eyes meet. If you had fallen to his side long ago, you would say the sight of him takes your breath away. But that would be silly to even think about at the moment.

"...Shadow Milk Cookie."

"I know, I know, saying it never gets boring, amirite?" He chuckles, floating in his casual manner to give a little twirl.

"The STAR of the show has arrived! Oh, but am I talking about you, orrrr am I talking 'bout me?" Shadow Milk sends a small wink your way. It seems like now that reunions have passed, getting comfortable with you comes natural to him.

"We need to talk—"

"Now, now, take a seat. The crowd is trembling with excitement!" A selected puppet appears next to you, hand pushing you to your spot. A front seat right in the middle. Aren't you just the luckiest?

Even though more crucial topics could arise, Shadow Milk Cookie is determined to get his way. You can do nothing but comply.

You should raise your weapon to save cookies from his future plans. But that all comes to a stutter whenever you see his face; his very pretty face. Your gawking gets cut short when a spotlight is directed on the act before you.

"Once upon a time, there were two cookies. Two cookies who were veeeeery in love, might I add!" He stupidly makes the two puppets kiss, creating a few mwas for extra effect. The brainwashed cookies around all "aww."

If it were a cliche romance story between two unknown cookies, you would not have been bothered. Yet shown by the cutouts he made quite well, the two cookies in specifics were no other than you and Shadow Milk Cookie. Must he make this insufferable to sit through by bringing up feelings from the past?

"They were busy cookies, too. Like, all of the gnats around depended on them!" You dislike the use of the word gnats, your iced eyebrow furrowing.

"But oh dear! One day, a certain cookie got tired of those puny creatures, never appreciative of what was given..." The cutout of Shadow Milk Cookie is seen with angry eyebrows. It's almost laughable.

"Soooo, Shadow Milk Cookie stopped helping out the doughbrains. All of those ungrateful cookies deserved to be crumbled instead!" His voice takes on a more passionate tone. Cheers of agreement erupt from the tiny, feigned crowd.

"Shadow Milk Cookie tried to reveal to his beloved partner the deception in reality, but guess what?" You already anticipate his next words.

Your hands clench into fists; the memories of the exact scene he portrays pouring through your head. Shadow Milk is not the lone cookie whose face comes to mind. The other beasts, whom you were close with, make an appearance too. Their faces of shock at your disloyalty still upset you to this day.

"HEY! Eyes up here, silly! I’m not done yet!" Shadow Milk Cookie snaps you back into attention. Making sure he has your full focus, which he adores, he continues on.

"Ehem. But then... [Name] Cookie BETRAYED ME! Yes, ME, out of all cookies! When I was so loving towards them!" The crowd of puppets gasp, mutters heard along themselves.

"Oh, the terror, the drama, the heartbreak—"

"Shadow Milk Cookie!" You interrupted his sob story, which is when you jumped out of your seat. Listening to his narrative for any longer is not what you would describe optimal.

The jester releases giggles, storing away his puppet show with a poof. His dough in the air, Shadow Milk flies over to you.

"Wooow, big reactions from the crowd! Didja love it? I can tell you loved it." He bats his multicolored eyelashes at you, a twinkle of amusement shining in his eyes.

"Stop with your child's play. There are crucial subjects to speak of!"

"Mmmm, like what—Ooooh! Are you talking about that Soul Jam THIEF? Awwwh, are you offering to help me take em down, maybe? You are just the sweetes—"

"No. You need to stop what you plan for Pure Vanilla Cookie." Shadow Milk Cookie rolls his eyes at your heroic words, showing he dismisses your request.

"Ugh! Honey, are you really siding with HIM?" His tone suggests he believes he is in the right.

"Tsk, I know he'll ultimately turn into me, but why not have the original? HELLOOOO, I’m right here!" His hand waves in front of your face, as if trying to rope you back into reality.

"You'll bring Earthbread to ruins! Your Soul Jam was taken due to your own villainy, Shadow Milk. Leave Pure Vanilla alone," you spoke with a stern tone, like it would ever leave an effect on the cookie floating before you.

"Oh, [Name] Cookie, how they've corrupted your sweet mind..." He looks into the gloomy sky, feigning a face of reminiscence.

"Hmmmmm, maybe, just maybe I'll listen to my dearest star if they apolooogizeeeed!" His words are nothing but lies, but fooling you at least once is his on his bucket list. It wouldn't hurt to give it another shot.

"...Apologize? For what?" Seems like your interest is peaked!

"For what?! There are many, many, maaaany things for you to grovel about, ya goof!" His face is just close enough to catch a whiff of his sweetly scented dough.

"But, I suppose for, y'know, not being there when I got out of that stupid tree!" He decided with a tilt of his head.

"What? I am not the one who sealed you in there, even though it was well deserved," you replied. Shadow Milk Cookie decided to ignore that last part.

"No, no, not that! Don'tcha know how sad I was when I got out of there?! I looked for your face between all those pathetic faeries, but you went GHOST!" He places his hand over his chest like the drama queen he is.

"How could my favorite cookie miss my long awaited return!" He cannot be serious, but deep down, you know he speaks with his crumbs included.

A simple sorry is all you have to say, and it isn't like losing a bit more of your dignity would hurt. For your fellow cookies, you tell yourself.

"Fine. I... apologize for missing out on your reappearance." Shadow Milk Cookie's façade of misery is gone in a snap. Instead, a large, toothy grin covers his face.

"Now, you will leave Pure Vanilla Cookie with his Soul Jam intact, yes?"

"Ah, you don't know how long I've awaited to hear that come from your lips!" Ignoring your question entirely, Shadow Milk nuzzles his cheek against yours, similar to a cat. You yourself are unaware of why you failed to pull away.

"Shadow Milk Cookie," you repeated, as he decided to leave you unanswered. He huffs before giving you a proper response.

"Right, right. I'll leave Silly Vanilly alone, all because you're such a good cookie!" Most of you refuses to believe him, but for now, gratitude will be expressed on your side.

"Thank yo—"

"UNDER ONE CONDITION!" Witches. There never fails to be a "condition" with this cookie. You remained silent, waiting for his next words.

"I. Want. A. Kiss!" With each word, he positions himself even closer than he previously was, the blueberry aroma he carries wafting your way.

He is far from surprised when your mouth remains closed. You can get a little shy at times, he would say. In truth, you really are just that incredulous.

"Earthbread to [Name] Cookie! Do I gotta repeat myself?" He laughs, finding your current expression to be hilarious.

Regaining your state of mind, you find yourself unsure of what to say. Of course you should decline without a second thought. THE Shadow Milk of all cookies is asking you for a kiss! Who in their right mind would say yes?

Oh, but as the case may be, you were never in your right mind.

"I..."

"I, I, I." Shadow Milk Cookie mocks you, yet it is endearing in his own way.

"C’mon, you know you love me! After all, I can recall certain events that would deem us a bit more than the rivals you act like we are," he chirped, making your mental state even worse as the warmth of his hand lands atop your shoulder.

You want to rid of those memories, you've attempted! However, it is much simpler to say than to do when trying to erase experiences with the one cookie you have ever cherished.

This is why you keep your identity hidden, why no one is aware of the power you hold underneath. It would only lead to more questions of the beasts back then, and that leads to prying about Shadow Milk Cookie.

You will admit that your relationship with Shadow Milk was very different compared to now. He and you shared many tender memories. A couple instances were slightly too tender to label you pair as mere friends. However, the both of you were put under too many responsibilities to ever have a chance to change close friends into something more.

Although, that never eliminated the love floating in the air, and it surely did not rid of the rushed kisses taking place in empty classrooms.

While memories from the past appear, feelings from back then aren't too far from showing up as well. You are very knowing of what said feelings were in specifics. Arising emotions can go for both you and Shadow Milk Cookie, but facing that is mortifying.

The sudden movement of your hood being pulled away struck you back to life.

"Pssh, what good will this hood do? I want to see your entire lovely face when our lips meet!" Shadow Milk Cookie brought his levitating to a stop while you were distracted, standing right before you.

"Who do ya really think you’re hiding from in this old hood? Me? Hahaha, that's hilarious! Perhaps I ought to dress you in attire matching my own?" Your stomach feels heavy, and you hate the fact that you cannot discern whether it's with butterflies or dread. Maybe a mix of both.

"You must promise to not bring harm upon any cookie." Now you're making conditions, but you know you only say them to ease your conscience regarding your soon betrayal of the others. Asking the Cookie of Deceit to make a promise has a predictable conclusion.

"I've been trapped in that cursed tree for so long, deprived of touch I longed for from you! Must you make your beloved wait any longer?"

You can't. As pathetic as that sounds, you cannot leave the beast to wait. That being mentioned, you press your lips to his smooth ones, your partner squeaking from your bout of boldness.

Perhaps Pure Vanilla Cookie can find it in his dough to forgive you for your greed. He should come to know that Shadow Milk is a very manipulative cookie.

Or maybe you never put up much of a fight to begin with.

Shadow Milk melts into you afterwards, returning your kiss with more power than you gave. It's clear to see just how eager he was to have you back in his grasp.

His arms hold a tight grip around your neck, putting the entirety of his weight onto you, with one leg lifted into the air per usual. Repeatedly giving you small kisses afterward, Shadow Milk can't help but giggle.

Underneath, he's giddy at the fact he managed to slip under the walls you placed for him, which, if you asked him, such barriers should be nonexistent for him, your dear soon-to-be spouse.

Besides that, now he's certain to recruit you towards the livelier side of the beasts! You might've refused to call yourself such a term at first, but it was inevitable.

He can't wait to show you off to every cookie on Earthbread, to flaunt how you discovered the lies of the world and came into his loving embrace willingly. Your duo comeback will shake every crumb without a doubt.

Pure Vanilla Cookie's face will be priceless! With you here now, the finest performance he has ever hosted can only be awaited.

He hopes those doughbrains are prepared for a major plot twist.

[ambicutiebutt]

Answered the first one as if it was just asking for turn ons, but for turn offs:

Non-con, being forced, etc. Except for the above loophole. (I know this might be an obvious one, but listing it anyway) Also she never considers Ivory Wraith as non-con...

And any time she has to be fake. She's fake a LOT, around most people all the time. But the more fake she has to be, the more she has to pretend to be into it, the more she hates it. This is most prevalent with Avery. Daisy will play Avery's game and be however he wants her to be, but its a huge turn-off for her. She thinks sex with Avery is the biggest chore in the whole game.

2, 15, 29!!!!!!!!

2. What turns them on/off?

Their turn in is getting drunk!!! Being taken advantage of while they're drunk!!! This also goes for when Ivory Wraith possesses them, because they like the loss of agency (bondage does not do it for them because it's not the RIGHT loss of agency) Harper almost gets it with hypnosis, but not quite because they can't enjoy it if they don't remember it.

Getting drugged by those at the church never works for her though. But the group of teens out drinking in the moor who will get her drunk off her ass to gangbang her, that is 1000% up their alley.

I tried to think of if there are any physical traits someone might have that would work for them, but I dont think they have a preference in that way!

15. Their biggest sexual desire?

The only one I can think of: they want Ivory Wraith to drown them... they really like breath play, and also like losing consciousness, and also the wraith. I can't think of anything else I could put here but that one thing.

29. Wild-card! Give us a fun fact!

They'd enjoy being a top, but the game doesn't provide that. They like having some semblance of control over others. They want to be wanted. They do like being lusted after and obsessed over, because that gives them a sense of power over that person.

This is different from randos wanting to do them, because that's just them wanting anyone who is attractive. Daisy wants people to lust after them specifically.

[carawenfiction]

One night you are faced with a dream that alters something within you, forcing you to return to your now abandoned childhood home to search for answers.

Little do you know that the house is connected to another realm where darkness reigns and sunlight is nothing but a distant notion; a realm your family appears to be mysteriously involved with.

Upon encountering a group of paranormal beings of unknown nature, you are drawn further into a strange and unsettling existence as you strive to uncover the truth of your past and find your way back home.

Whatever path you choose, remember to look out for your own shadow.

"The Shadow Society" was first published in 2020 and is currently undergoing an extensive rewrite. The new version leans more into mystery elements with added focus on characters, relationships and how they are forged in a world where nothing is certain.

One sequel is planned to release once the rewrite is finished.

Demo | Patreon | Ko-fi

* Play as a male, female or non-binary main character whose personality, actions and appearance are shaped entirely by your choices. * Play as gay, bi, straight, aromantic or asexual. * Discover a hidden world and take the first steps in uncovering its secrets. * Pursue one of five love interests along with two hidden ones, become entangled in a triangle between two siblings or remain single. * Determine who to trust and who to shun, who to befriend and who to antagonize, among a cast of characters with differing secrets and motivations. * Experience a story that explores the meaning of reality and illusion, truth and deceit, in a world of shadows that mirrors our own.

✹ A (Azuridian/Azuridia)

Their eyes, cold and piercing, seem filled with bitter truths that they refuse to share. They protect their knowledge fiercely and disclose only what they believe they need to when the situation calls for it. Some call them arrogant, but to that they would retort that they are the only one who can do what needs to be done. Driven and direct with a dash of sensuous charm, they don't hesitate to pursue what they want.

Appearance (male version): His face is angular and pale, his lashes a fringe of silver-white. His hair is slicked back, the sides of his head trimmed in an orderly fade cut. He wears a form-fitting, navy blue suit that gives a refined and sophisticated impression. A powerful yet subtle presence, he seems to quietly command the very air around him, emanating a sense of confidence that is both inviting and intimidating all at once.

Appearance (female version): Her face is angular and elegant, her lashes a fringe of silver-white. Her hair is gathered into a high ponytail that reaches her lower back, the sides of her head trimmed in an orderly fade cut. A sensual carmine red blooms on her lips, standing in stark opposition to her somewhat achromatic appearance. She wears a form-fitting, navy blue suit that gives a refined and sophisticated impression. A powerful yet subtle presence, she seems to quietly command the very air around her, emanating a sense of confidence that is both inviting and intimidating all at once.

✹ G (Gwyndal/Gwendolyn)

There is something palpably playful about their gaze. When turned your way, it seems to shine with the same kind of interest a child might show a shiny new toy. Though jovial and charming, there's something just beneath the surface of their demeanor that gives the impression that something far less pleasant lurks within. G has certain obsessive tendencies - their tireless interest in anything related to the 'Sunworld', as they are prone to call your home, for one - and seems to prefer the company of humans to the company of their own kind.

Appearance (both versions): They have tawny skin that contrasts with the short, blond hair that frames their rounded face, a slightly upturned nose sitting above charmingly curved lips. Their clothing style is eclectic and flashy, consisting of a torn yellow shirt with red- and black checkered pants. Silver chains hang around their neck and wrists, the metallic sheen matching the piercings that line their pointed ears.

✹ M (Michael/Michaela)

Though they aren't considered particularly bright, their dark eyes hold a reassuring warmth, alight with zest that could lure a smile from even the most jaded of people. But at times, when they think you aren’t looking, that spark seems to dim, the faint creases in their face appearing more prominent.

They are quick with quips and remarks they most likely hope others find witty, and equally quick to lend an ear and protect the things they care about.

Appearance (male version): His hair is dark brown, thick and tousled, often falling into his eyes. As an avid athlete he works out frequently, sporting a toned and muscular figure as a result. His clothing style is simple and comfortable, rarely going beyond casual jeans, t-shirts and sneakers.

Appearance (female version): Her hair is dark brown and thick, often pulled back in a high ponytail. As an avid athlete she works out frequently, sporting a toned and muscular figure as a result. Her clothing style is simple and comfortable, rarely going beyond casual jeans, t-shirts and sneakers.

�� Q (Quaiel/Quarie)

A great, invisible chasm stretches between them and the people in their vicinity, a silent yet keenly felt tension seeming to follow wherever they go.

Bereft of the ability to speak, they somehow still appear more forthcoming than the people they surround themselves with. Somewhere deep inside they harbor an unyielding loyalty to A that is difficult to comprehend, especially when the latter's morals and actions often clash with what Q would normally agree with.

Though they rarely seek others out willingly, their eyes are kind, and when gazing upon someone they care about, a subtle tenderness seems to shine through.

Appearance (male version): His creamy skin is dotted with freckles that peek out around the dark muzzle covering his lower face. His red hair is curly and unevenly cut, long in the front and short in the back. A tattered, knitted cardigan falls off one shoulder, reaching a little past his knees. Beneath he wears a white shirt carelessly half-tucked into umber pants.

Appearance (female version): Her creamy skin is dotted with freckles that peek out around the dark muzzle covering her lower face. Her red hair, curly and wild, falls over her shoulders down to her waist. A tattered, knitted cardigan lays half-neglected at her elbows and reaches a little past her knees. Beneath she wears a white shirt carelessly half-tucked into umber pants.

✹ R (Rheylo/Rheyla)

Their gaze is withdrawn, bordering on hostile, their eyes a pair of flames that seem to want to incinerate whoever they’re aimed at. They hide themselves behind long, black hair and a hood, wielding snark and sharp comments as weapons to fend off deeper probing into their psyche. For all their posturing, they get embarrassed easily and may not be quite as laidback as they hope to appear.

Appearance (male version): His skin is medium-dark, the half of his face that he deigns to show sharp and eye-catching. His hair is long and black, some of it hanging loose while the rest is fixed in small braids. He has faint stubble that runs along his jaw and chin and a small gap between his front teeth that he'd rather keep hidden.

Appearance (female version): Her skin is medium-dark, the half of her face that she deigns to show sharp and eye-catching. Her hair is long and black, some of it hanging loose while the rest is fixed in small braids. She wears black lipstick and has a small gap between her front teeth that she'd rather keep hidden.

✹ Jaelyn

Caution follows their every move. Though quiet and reserved, they are not without humor. Once comfortable with a person, their perceived shyness can turn into good-natured smugness and gentle back-and-forth teasing. They have a certain fondness for books and will take whatever opportunity they get to quote a work they enjoy.

Jaelyn works closely with the Shadowman/Shadowlady and is often the one who carries out their orders, though not always without complaint. Though loyal, they are not a blind follower and possess strong opinions of their own. As for their motives and how they ended up in their current position is anyone’s guess.

Appearance (male version): His eyes are a mystery to you, concealed behind a pair of gradient colored, diamond-shaped glasses. He has dark skin and long tight curls that are parted on one side. His lean figure is draped in clothing that appears at once modern and antique, consisting of a violet blouse with an intricately designed jabot, waist-high pants and a pair of leather boots.

Appearance (female version): Her eyes are a mystery to you, concealed behind a pair of gradient colored, diamond-shaped glasses. She has dark skin and long tight curls that are parted on one side. Her lean figure is draped in clothing that appears at once modern and antique, consisting of a violet blouse with an intricately designed jabot, waist-high pants and a pair of leather boots.

✹ The Shadowman/The Shadowlady

It was their voice that drew you in first; the kind that could lure anyone into a sense of security and then cruelly leave you to navigate best you could in its absence. Smooth and mysterious, they grace your life through whispers and echoes of times long gone. When you first meet them face to face, they hide behind masks and shadows alike.

But who are they, really?

Appearance (male version): His turquoise eyes glow with a terrifying kind of potency, lips formed in an ever-present half-smile. He stands taller than most humans, his long hair streaked with black and silver, gathered in a loose ponytail that reaches his lower back. A few wisps that have managed to free themselves almost appear to float around his face, dark clinging to shining grey like black ink stuck to parchment.

His long lashes, each black one followed by one of silver, curve above tiny streaks and dots delicately painted to accentuate his eyes. A golden earring attached to a peacock feather hangs from his left ear, swaying delicately when he moves.

His skin appears polished and glossy, like that of a porcelain doll, his figure lithe and broad shouldered. He wears an iridescent blue and green robe that is adorned with gemstones. Underneath he wears a fitted, sleek black suit, complete with a tie. Strange, dark dust covers his hands and long, claw-like nails.

Appearance (female version): Her turquoise eyes glow with a terrifying kind of potency, lips formed in an ever-present half-smile. She stands taller than most humans, her long hair streaked with black and silver and pulled back in an elaborate updo. A few wisps have managed to free themselves from the chignon and float gently around her face, dark strands clinging to shining greys like black ink stuck to parchment.

A golden earring attached to a peacock feather hangs from her left ear, swaying delicately when she moves. Her lashes are long, each black one followed by one of silver. She wears purple-blue eyeshadow and shimmering purple lipstick.

Her skin appears polished and glossy, like that of a porcelain doll. She wears an iridescent blue and green robe that is adorned with gemstones. Underneath she wears a low-cut dress  that clings to her voluptuous figure. Strange, dark dust covers her hands and long, claw-like nails.  

Appearance (non-binary version): Their eyes glow with a terrifying kind of potency, lips formed in an ever-present half-smile. They stand taller than most humans, their long hair streaked with black and silver and pulled back in a loose ponytail that reaches their lower back. Their lashes are long, each black one followed by one of silver.

Sometimes their figure appears soft, shaped by feminine curves, other times lithe and slender with broadened shoulders. They wear an iridescent blue and green robe that is adorned with gemstones and slide off their shoulders, baring the intricate piece of golden jewellery tied around their neck.

Their long lashes, each black one followed by one of silver, curve above shimmering purple-blue eyeshadow and purple lips. A golden earring attached to a peacock feather hangs from their left ear, swaying delicately as they move. Strange, dark dust covers their hands and long, claw-like nails.  

Current Progress:

Written/reworked chapters: Prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2, beginning of chapter 3 (very little).

Edited chapters: Prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2

Total wordcount: Around 34k as of beginning of April 2025

Credits

@filopay for the gorgeous cover art at the top

Canva for the other images used in this post

[radiantinvocation]

You... accidentally became the beasts of deceits spouse???

One moment, you're agreeing to take part in his play as the 'bride' the next you're his actual spouse?

I can imagine that the idea came up when you were getting too cuddly with your friend, Pure Vanilla Cookie. He got oh so jealous that his favorite puppet was showering love and affection to the one who stole his soul jam.

So, like the most brilliant cookie that he is, he organized a wedding act. Where you will exchange rings at the altar. Real rings, may he add! Everyone is invited! His minions, gingerbrave and co. Even dear old Pure Vanilla. Oh yeah, did he forget to mention? Shadow Milk himself will play the part of the groom!

Anddd just to step up his game, you two will sign a 'fake' wedding certificate. All while, dear Silly Vanilly gets to play the part of the wedding officiant that will 'unify' your 'vows'.

You won't be made aware of any of the ceremony being real. That's the fun part! You will only stare at Shadow Milk in confusion as he takes the whole ceremony seriously.

[hexxedcore]

What would Yandere Viktor be like in this 2nd season? Of course if you want, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable making this yandere topic

not an uncomfortable question at all, anon! in fact i love viktor and i love yandere tropes even more ❤️

WARNINGS: YANDERE, unhealthy / toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, delusion (mostly religiously fuelled if i’m being honest), codependency

I’m a firm believer that Viktor wouldn’t be a yandere who imposes him physically. This is a man who is speculative and used to hiding away in the shadows — he demonstrates everything with well planted seeds of deceit and doubt.

Now, Season Two Viktor? With what we know, it’s up to so much speculation regarding what his motives are and what’s going to happen next — but this specific trope is so rich in the potential it has depending on who you present yourself as to him. A devoted follower? An estranged lover who sought him out after he abruptly left? A Zaunite attempting to stop the hold he has on his vulnerable disciples?

I’ll be covering the disciple trope below but will gladly create more posts for the others.

DISCIPLE READER:

You come to him in a moment of desperation, having heard of the whispers scattered through dark alleyways of Zaun that there was a mage who possessed the capability to heal any wound he was presented with. A miracle worker in the flesh.

It was a opportunity impossible to pass up. Everyone had been scrambling for an opportunity to meet him, have him cure their lung ailments or their Shimmer addictions.

Despite being tentative going into the belly of Zaun, you were admittedly shocked by the abundance of life in what had once been deemed the slums. People who were rumoured to be disfigured and marred purple were walking around, regarding you with inviting smiles, soft skin, full eyes.

When Viktor first spotted you wandering his growing compound, lost, he was absolutely entranced. For a moment he was left wondering why everyone was so adamant on worshipping him, when the obvious miracle here was you. You’re just so pure, so perfect, that even the Hexcore is adamant in prolonging your visit.

You approached him with hopes of a cure to the infection that had been riddling your lungs due to the Gray being released to the Undercity. Viktor wasn't in a state to do anything but oblige.

For as much as you heard of his cures being instantaneous and life-changing, yours had been painfully slow. Viktor reassured that due to the unique nature of the Gray, the Arcane was reacting in unpredictable ways. Therefore; you should make yourself at home. Stay, for the time being.

It wasn't difficult to settle in with how amiable the other 'followers' were, as they enjoyed calling themselves. It also wasn't surprising, considering how reverently respectful Viktor had been treating you. As though you were a deity of his own, despite your lack of impressive actions.

It almost made you forget about the swelling cough that persisted in your chest, or the fact you’ve forgotten how long it’s been since you’ve even begun your stay.

Needless to say, you don’t plan to leave this routine anytime soon. He doesn’t plan on allowing you, either.

[movedblog-thesacrificialdove]

the idea of a YAN!WITCH speaks to me because you know that fucker is going to act like your friend, trick you, fuck you under a spell, and lock you with a magic collar to keep you in his fucking hut.

patreon | masterlist | inbox | taglist | home | req. & comms

witches aren't always deceitful. actually, maybe most witches would want to help you get out of this haunted forest. their choice to live there is only because it has the most ingredients to potions that they could profit off of.

but this witch? he stays in the forest because he is the danger. he knows he's obsessessive. the pile of rotting corpses and frayed bones in his storage room is proof of it. he finds someone lost, takes them in like a good witch, use magic on them, and play with them until they eventually rot in their mortal body.

and he sees you. you're different. you're a different breed. you're innocent, but not quite clueless. you're trusting, but not naive. you can stand up to him but you say it so fucking meekly he doesn't know what to do to you!

well, that's a lie. he does know. you come in here, like any other human, and he invites you in as always. but this time—you refuse. it's cliché and typical of him to be so hung up on someone like you. still, its effective. he tries everything to get you inside: threats of monsters, the impending true darkness, the coldness of the night, everything.

it's only when he promises you food do you actually come in. he should've tried that in the first place.

so you come in, all wide eyed at his cabin and loving all the decor inside. you, of course, don't notice the potion he slipped in your drink. you even compliment the taste—so fucking helpless.

what's a wonder is that he didn't even need to give you some sort of love potion (love potion is a tacky name. he prefers elixir of submission). before you even pass asleep, your eyes drift down his body and blush a hot pink when he notices you staring.

you're lustful and needy. it doesn't take you long to open up to him because he learns you're so touch starved. but your eyes close as he kisses down your neck and fondle your body.

it's a shame that you're asleep. but then again, you asked for this. he continues to fondle you before you even wake up and beg for his cock, unknowing your lips already enveloped it.

his playthings really only last the mortal's average lifespan. but you, he would like to keep you a little longer. once you drink from him again, your body will regenerate and allows you to live just a few years more in this beauty of an appearance you have.

he can't wait for eternity.

UPDATE ! 📢 @wiltedpoison @elloredef @alureasoley

[choerypetal]

Their Princess / Billy Loomis x Stu Macher

Summary: Billy and Stu have one motivation for their killing spree: to make you theirs, regardless of whether you realize they are Ghostface. They will stop at nothing to achieve this.

ps; english isn't my first language so i apologize for any grammar errors xoxo

Being close to Sidney meant enduring her gossip, endless talk about boyfriends, and tantrums over the next party at Tatum's house. Now, with a serial killer on the loose and a mandatory curfew in place, you had to deal with Stu constantly trailing you. Clutching your books to your chest, you tried to focus elsewhere, only to bump into the talk of the town—Billy himself.

"Y/N..." His voice sang in your ear, just enough for Stu to rush to your side, his silhouette eclipsing your own. He leaned in close, nestling into the crook of your neck. You were fortunate that neither Tatum nor Sidney was there to witness it—unless their initial motive was evident from the first glance they shared. A glance of deceit, perhaps, when Stu’s pouty lips appeared as Billy spelled out your name, letter by letter. "Coming to this weekend’s party?" Billy asked, raising his brows while barely breaking his gaze. Stu’s sly fingers brushed your shoulder, tempting you not to react, especially under Billy’s intense stare.

You were taken aback by the question. Yes, Tatum had invited you—practically begged you to come because one of Randy’s friends would be there, and she wanted to set you up with him. Naturally, this information made its way back to Billy, thanks to Stu, who had overheard the entire conversation. His clingy hands were all over Tatum’s, trying to resist thinking about you the whole time.

"That would be great for Y/N, don't you think?" Her innocent question nearly made Stu choke on his drink that night. It was clear, the plan was to make you the grand finale. Not you with someone else. Someone who couldn’t satisfy their girl. Tatum smacked Stu’s chest, startled by his reaction, and nodded innocently with a chuckle. "Right, right," he said, obviously annoyed. "It sure would be great for Y/N." 

“Yes,” you said, your voice as soft as he expected. His lips curved into a smirk, and he bit his bottom lip, resisting the urge to devour you on sight, especially with the new skirt you had bought– thanks to Tatum. “Loving the new skirt,” he whispered, making you blush. Stu eagerly agreed. “Maybe our girl should wear that skirt this weekend,” he purred from behind you, his breath almost touching your skin. Billy quickly snapped Stu out of it with a sharp tap on the back of his neck. “What did we say about public intimacy?” Billy’s voice was almost a threat. 

Stu gulped silently. "Right," he said, smirking in perfect sync with Billy. Billy nodded, his gaze fixed on you, the main topic of this weekend's party conversation. "So," he paused, his eyes scrutinizing you in a way that made you shift uncomfortably—it was the same intense look he gave Sidney. Which you weren’t. "You'll be there?" You had almost forgotten the main question and quickly nodded, feeling vulnerable. Your swift response made him chuckle, clearly enjoying how small you felt between them. “Yes..”

Billy huffed in silence, ready to leave. Stu slid his fingers around your waist. "See you this weekend, princess," he said. Billy, anxious to avoid suspicion, muttered something under his breath, careful not to make any devious stares around the school. Despite hating the idea, he couldn't help but steal glances over his shoulder as he walked away, thoughts of you on top of him driving him nearly crazy. Unlike Stu, though, he had some boundaries when it came to sharing. 

The week flew by faster than you had expected. With the curfew in place, days ended earlier than usual, with bedtime set at 10 p.m. School was canceled until the suspect was caught, leaving you eager for some fresh air and the chance to join the Tatum’s party. The boys, especially Billy, were particularly impatient for your arrival. Particularly him, struggling to keep himself sane through the night, especially with Sidney wrapped around his finger. And you with another guy. 

"Jeez, man, if you keep pacing like this, our plan won't work. You look way too obvious right now," Stu's voice echoed in Billy's mind as he moved to the living room, leaving Sidney waiting in the bedroom. Mistake number one was to be as inconspicuous as possible around everyone. Kill, then execute plans A and B, and finally claim you as theirs. Easy, right? Billy thought to himself. But then your name was called out, and Randy’s arm was a little too close for his liking. He reconsidered. "Randy won't always have her around. Soon enough, she'll come begging for her hero’s to save her," Stu had said, and Billy appreciated the comment. After all, why would you be with a complete nerd?

He nods silently, feeling his friend’s hand squeezing his shoulder. “Deal with Sid. I’ll deal with her. Treat her like the princess she is.” And he wasn’t entirely wrong, focusing all his attention on you. While he noticed Randy welcoming you with open arms and the others happily handing you a bottle of beer. Tatum back at the garage to grab some extra beers. Billy couldn’t help but steal glances in your direction before finally trying to distract himself. He immediately needed a distraction, one with Tatum, then moved on to Sidney. “Just don’t scare her yet, okay?” Even though he was the mastermind of his own plan, he didn’t want Stu—or you—to mess things up. And he definitely didn’t want you to know they were the Ghostface. 

In a way, you kind of messed up their whole plan. Stu was doing everything he could to keep Tatum distracted and maintain Sidney’s obliviousness, as planned. Until you were completely out of his sight. Right after Randy had told you to go check up on Tatum. ‘The beers won’t be coming on their own’, he had said to you with a cocky grin. It wasn’t until you arrived at the garage yourself, hearing some muffled sounds, that you couldn’t help but smirk. With a party full of alcohol, girls, and boys, you didn’t think much of it. That is, until you heard the door swing open and came face to face with Mr. Ghostface, himself.

Billy's knife almost slipped from his hands as he saw you this close to him. Stu had just enough time to catch you, blinking twice to make sure he wasn't imagining things—Billy, and you. You, on the other hand, had a look on your face they both expected to see. "Y/N—" Stu’s voice was cut off by Billy’s stare from beneath his mask. You stood still, but the second you heard Stu’s voice, you wanted to run to him, hoping he would save you from this killer everyone was talking about. But then Billy’s grip tightened, catching you right into his trap.

“No, no, no…” Stu purrs, his sickening chuckle filling the air as he approaches you. Now in the middle, Billy had no pleasure of covering for himself. Because he knew you’d be on their side, meaning you’d do anything possible to avoid getting caught. Starting off with a proposition. “The game, only just started love,” Billy’s voice, unmistakably familiar, came from beneath his mask as he spoke and gently removed it. His face was covered in sweat, his eyes darkening as he glanced down at you. With a slight chuckle, he said, “Love the skirt,” as the knife gently touched the fabric. You could feel Stu’s breath on the crook of your neck. Just like at school, but now away from prying eyes.

You managed to exhale a few whimpers as Stu’s tongue traveled down your neck. Billy watched for a moment, sensing you had something on your mind. “Go on, spill it,” he demanded, his voice hoarse and threatening. Your muscles tensed as he gently pinned you against the wall. “Tatum—” you began, but Billy’s fingers traced down your waist and then touched your bottom lip. The tension between Stu’s pants and your skirt was unmistakable, the obvious bulge appearing beneath his pants. The friction among the three of you was undeniable. Your cheeks flushed with a shade of pink, which only made Billy enjoy it more. “I think she’s enjoying it,” Billy remarked, clearly trying to change the subject. Stu agreed, purring, “Oh, she does.” 

"Boys, boys..." Your voice sounded so vulnerable to their ears that it took them by surprise. Initially, they thought you were afraid of discovering their true identities as Ghostface. However, as you spoke, it became clear that you didn't mind at all. In fact, you might have found Billy in the costume, with a slight droplet of blood on his cheek, somewhat attractive. Stu couldn't help but comment, "Princess doesn't seem to mind?" His remark, tinged with a mix of offense and confession, revealed his surprise at your attraction. Billy's eyes widened slightly, reflecting both shock and amusement as he watched you eyeing him up and down. "Oh, I bet she doesn't, does she?" 

You hummed quietly, drawing chuckles from both men. Billy's knife glided gently down your body, stopping at your skirt to reveal a hint of your red underwear. "Loving the red on you," he remarked with his trademark smirk. Stu, unable to resist, let his fingers travel under your skirt to grip your rear. "How about we treat our princess the way she deserves?" he suggested, his tongue now exploring the crook of your neck, nuzzling and licking every inch until your soft whimpers filled the room. The sounds of your pleasure spurred them on, making them crave more. "Stu..." you murmured his name, and Billy, watching with slight hesitation, hushed you with a gentle touch to your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss you hungrily. 

"What?" Stu's obvious teasing wasn't enough. Billy soon caught your lips in a kiss, one he didn't want to end. He wanted more, more than just your lips, resisting was difficult, especially after seeing you with another boy at the party. "More..." you whispered through the kiss, and Billy, catching only a fragment of your plea, paused midway, leaving you breathless and wanting. Your face was flushed with lust, your eyes begging for more. Before you could voice your protest, Billy scooped you into his arms, gripping your arse, his fingers digging into your flesh. Stu's chuckle echoed as he followed you both to the nearest bedroom.

"What?" Stu's obvious teasing wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Billy soon caught your lips in a kiss, one he didn’t want to end. He wanted more—more than just your lips. Resisting was difficult, especially after seeing you with another boy at the party. "More..." you whispered through the kiss. Billy, catching only a fragment of your plea, paused midway, leaving you breathless and wanting. Your face was flushed with lust, your eyes begging for more. Before you could voice your protest, Billy scooped you into his arms, gripping your rear with his fingers digging into your flesh. Stu's chuckle echoed as he followed you both to the nearest bedroom.

Billy’s fingers then traveled around your inner thighs, his thumb gently brushing on your clit. Which he couldn’t stop admire. “Look how tiny it is,” he pouts with a mockery, licking his bottom lip with the resisting urge not to devour you on the spot, which he does completely the contrary. Leaning in to eat you out, his fingers now gripping on your arse, as you moans his name out. His lips curving into a smirk the you felt his tongue gently brushing your clit. “I think she likes it, Billy…” 

Stu's voice echoed in your mind as he settled beside you, his large fingers trailing down your body. He leaned in, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, his tongue tracing your skin, coaxing more moans from you. "Come on, doll. Don't be afraid... Tell me. Tell me how you like it."

"I like it..." you paused momentarily, caught up by another whimper, your back arching as Billy's tongue thrust inside your vagina. "I like it a lot!" you then exclaimed in a high-pitched voice just before Stu leaned in, cupped your chin, and kissed you hungrily.

Billy growled with a pout, “Randy will have to find someone else,” he said, his eyes filled with hunger. His thumb brushed your clit while his tongue devoured you completely. Your eyes watered, pleading for more.

"You belong to us, princess," Stu said, savoring the sight of your now-exposed breasts. He couldn't resist caressing them, pinching your nipples to hear your cute moans. Billy nodded in agreement, both of them murmuring, 

"Our princess."

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Writing Advice From Various Authors!

Writing fiction isn’t easy but it can be fun and rewarding once you get the hang of it. It’s helpful to look at the advice of popular authors to find your groove. Here are various writers and their advice on writing:

Ernest Hemingway

“Write drunk and edit sober?” I never said that. Do both drunk, wimp.

William S. Burroughs

Just goddamn write and don't damn censor yourself or you should be hanged like a twink what's set aflame as he’s hanged on rope made of the lies and deceits of the city, the cursed city, the lugubrious city.

Yukio Mishima

You cannot capture beauty in words. Instead, die very painfully on someone's office floor, in that alone there is beauty.

Stephen King

Write six pages a day and don’t cut anything, even if everyone says “Stephen, for the love of god don’t write that, the rest of the novel is great but please don’t include that, what are you thinking?”

Cormac McCarthy

do whatever you want dont even use punctuation then people will think youre brilliant for some reason for each writer is the writer of all writers who suffers the sins of all men

J.K. Rowling

It’s critical to teach tolerance, understanding, and compassion in your books. Then and only then will people believe you when you tell them to hate and harm the people you tell them to.

E.L. James

Put your pen to paper so hard it can poke past that thin membrane page and plunge hard into your imagination. Write with strokes gentle and firm that make the reader soaked in their own gratification and struggle to close the book back up again, so hard did they break its spine in the throws of their perusal.

Hunter S. Thompson

The hell are you asking son don’t you dare YOU GET OFF MY PROPERTY! I invited you? Maybe but it won’t make you less dead THIS IS THE TIME WHEN THE WORD IS MADE FLESH! Republican meat needs no salt.

Ari Bach

Writing fiction isn’t easy but it can be fun and rewarding once you get the hang of it. It’s helpful to look at the advice of popular authors to find your groove. Here are various writers and their advice on writing.

[brittle-doughie]

Hi Brittle it's my birthday and I have been following your account for a while and I love all your content in your blogs.

Especially the aus there but I love the Spawn of the Beast so far.

So if it's alright for you to make a small drabble of Shadow Milk and Burning Spice crashing or inviting themselves, or maybe just be present at their kids Buttermilk Pie Cookie and Red Curry Cookie birthday? What kind of gift would they give to them?

Thank you in advance.

You: “Happy birthday, you two! For the special occasion, I’ve got Red Curry a much larger axe for your collection and for Buttermilk Pie, she gets a puppet set!”

Red Curry Cookie: “Haha! Now that’s what I’m talking about! I can cut through anything in my way much easier with this!”

Buttermilk Pie Cookie: “Aw, you shouldn’t have, Y/N! I’m kidding, you should. I love it!”

The two first gave you a big hug before heading off to enjoy their gifts.

Dumpling Cookie: “Y/N Cookie, we have a problem at the front.”

You: “What do you mean-“

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Is it a CRIME to come see my daughter these days? Party poopers, amirite?”

Oh dear.

You head to the front gates of the castle, where Burning Spice Cookie and Shadow Milk Cookie were being held up.

“What’s wrong with wanting to see Red Curry Cookie’s progress? I’m not asking for too much, just an example with a nearby village. I must see the level of DESTRUCTION she’s capable of!”

“You can’t keep me from Buttermilk Pie forever! Everyone will learn the world of deceit and lies one way or another! You’re only delaying the inevitable, wake up and learn that the truth is simply a cloak to hide the reality that is deceit!”

[floweycidal]

there was never any other way this could have gone. 

the universe is not cruel, but it is not kind. it does not cup hands around a trembling flame to keep it from going out. it does not press balm to old wounds, does not soothe, does not spare. 

no. if it answers at all, it does so only in the way it must.

with necessity. with inevitability. with the understanding that some things cannot be saved, only changed.

and for siffrin, fate wore but one face.

no one else could have been sent. not a well-meaning friend, not a compassionate stranger, not some wise soul raising patience like a lantern through the dark. siffrin would have turned them all away, one by one, until none remained.

to accept help means admitting its necessity. to ask for it is to believe oneself worthy of receiving it. siffrin had never allowed themself either indulgence.

so, the universe did not bother sending a savior. it instead wrought the one thing that could not be disregarded, could not be waved away with distance or deceit.

it sent consequence, something so close to the marrow of siffrin’s being that ignoring it would have been akin to ignoring breath in their lungs.

see, hatred is easy when its target is nothing more than a specter, a formless thing against which one can rage without consequence. phantoms do not cry out. shadows do not bleed.

but when that hatred is split into two, when it gains corporeality, when it articulates with your own voice and quakes with your own hands... it becomes much harder to turn your back.

for suffering cannot be disavowed when it stands before you in bone and breath.

you cannot look away when your reflection refuses to blink.

rage cannot maintain itself when the thing you are fighting flinches just as you do.

recognition is a dangerous, dangerous force. once you recognize something, you give it permanence. you name it, bind it to your reality, and in doing so, you invite it to stay. you give it the semblance of understanding.

and understanding, whether accidental, begrudging, or dragged out of you kicking and screaming, comes frighteningly close to love. 

not quite. but enough.

enough for loop to reach out. 

enough for siffrin to reach back, fingers shaking. 

enough to make survival possible.

self-hatred does not tolerate exposure. it swells on distance, gorges itself on the safety of never having to face itself. but then drag it into the light–force it to stand, to see, to know–and watch how quickly it begins to starve.

loop resented siffrin for making it out. for being given something they never got. they didn’t believe they had helped. as far as they were concerned, the universe had written them off as collateral, something to be spent so siffrin could rise.

but then siffrin thanked them. and for all their wrath, for all their acrimony, loop had no answer for that.

because how do you hate something that thanks you?

how do you hold onto the toxin in your veins when the very thing you created whips around and tells you it was never meant to be your grave?

how do you look into your own eyes, your own hands, your own voice, and deny the truth standing right in front of you?

that you are here. that you existed. that you mattered.

that you were never the price. that you were the point.

that in every branching possibility, every outcome the universe could have siphoned, you were the only answer that ever could have worked.

siffrin never asks for help. but the universe made sure someone would.

[astra-ravana]

Cartomancy

A tarot styled divination method using standard playing cards. This oracle first appeared in Europe in the 14th century and is still used sporadically today. Practitioners of this divination are commonly called cartomancers. Cards can be laid in a variety of spreads and functions much like a tarot deck. As such, cartomancy decks should be designated and regarded with all the respect of a deck of tarot cards. The meanings of the cards are as follows:

Hearts

• Ace: Love, beginning, happiness, friendship

• King: Fair-haired man, affectionate and generous, but impetuous

• Queen: Fair-haired woman, trustworthy

• Jack: Fair-haired young person, good friend

• 10: Good fortune, joy

• 9: Desires fulfilled

• 8: Invitations/partings

• 7: Someone unreliable

• 6: Unexpected good fortune, generosity

• 5: Jealousy, indecision

• 4: Changes, travel

• 3: Need for caution

• 2: Friendship, success

Clubs

• Ace: Harmony, property, achievement, love

• King: Dark-haired man, honest, open

• Queen: Dark-haired woman, strong, helpful

• Jack: Reliable friend

• 10: Fortune, abundance

• 9: New romance

• 8: Opposition, danger of recklessness

• 7: Prosperity, potential romantic interference

• 6: Business success

• 5: Help from a friend/partner

• 4: Bad change of fortune

• 3: Good partnership

• 2: Disappointment and opposition

Diamonds

• Ace: Money, a ring

• King: Fair-haired man, stubborn

• Queen: Fair-haired woman, flirty, witty

• Jack: A relative, unreliable

• 10: Journey, wealth

• 9: Financial opportunity, surprises

• 8: Declarations of love

• 7: A gift

• 6: Reconciliation

• 5: Successful meeting

• 4: Change for the better, an inheritance

• 3: Domestic/legal battles

• 2: Important love affair

Spades

• Ace: Conflict, infidelity, stress

• King: Dark-haired man, successful, ambitious

• Queen: Dark-haired woman, seductive

• Jack: Dark-haired youth, well meaning

• 10: Grief, despair, imprisonment

• 9: Bad luck, delays, quarrels

• 8: Disappointment

• 7: Possible loss of friendship

• 6: Improvements

• 5: Anxiety, setbacks, interference

• 4: Jealousy, business troubles

• 3: Bitter parting

• 2: Scandal, gossip, deceit

Note: You may choose to include the joker to represent folly, new beginnings, the Universe and to also signify the person receiving the reading.

Bonus: Using Playing Cards to Detect Baneful Magick

This technique relies on reading either red or black cards and nothing else. It can technically be used to answer any yes/no question.

Shuffle the deck and ask, "have I been hexed or cursed?" -while you are shuffling. When ready, stop shuffling and deal out five cards in a row, face down. Then one by one, left to right, turn them over. Black indicates a 'no' response, while red indicates 'yes'. You can see the degree of the curse by the presence of red cards. All black is a clear 'no' and all red is a clear 'yes'. The spread can be read as follows:

5 Black - 0 Red: No curse or negative energy present

4 Black - 1 Red: Blip of dark energy, natural defenses can ward it off

3 Black - 2 Red: Dark energy present, possible jinx

2 Black - 3 Red: Sufficient dark energy, possible hex, cleanse immediately

1 Black - 4 Red: Significant harmful magick present, likely hex or curse. Do a purification/protection ritual

0 Black - 5 Red: Curse confirmed, take serious action to uncross/cleanse/protect. Someone has intentionally tried to harm you with magick.

[zeroseuniverse]

A Prince's Fear

Word Count: 2.5K Summary:“I swore I wouldn’t leave my—”“I swore I would bring you home,” Pairing: Wonwoo X Reader

taglist: @haaruki  @agaha127 @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120  @ltfirecracker

There are many kinds of rulers in this world.

There are those who command with words, whose voices stir hearts and ignite revolutions. They are the ones who walk among their people, speaking their names, promising change, vowing to carve a future from the echoes of their declarations.

There are those who lead with steel, standing shoulder to shoulder with their warriors. They do not hide behind castle walls or dictate orders from gilded thrones. Instead, they wade into battle, blood and dirt staining their armor as they fight not for their people, but with them. Their respect is earned through sacrifice, their loyalty forged in the crucible of war.

There are those who crave power, who see a crown as a means to indulge in riches and decadence. They rule for themselves, their subjects nothing more than a means to an end, a source of wealth, labor, or entertainment. Their reigns are often short, for greed invites downfall, and the people will only endure so much before their patience runs thin.

There are those who manipulate, spinning webs of deceit and secrets, ensuring they remain atop their throne not by brute strength, but by outmaneuvering all who seek to dethrone them. They are the masters of whispers and veiled threats, the ones who turn allies into enemies and enemies into pawns. Their rule is precarious, but their cunning makes them dangerous.

And then, there are the strategists—the ones who do not seek the throne but ensure it stands. They are the quiet architects of empires, fixing problems before they become catastrophes, moving pieces in a game only they can see in its entirety. Their victories are not sung in ballads, but without them, there would be no kingdom left to rule.

Among these rulers stands a warrior. A ruler who sees themselves not as a sovereign above their people, but as one of them. You fight because you must, because you know too well the cost of trust misplaced, the sting of betrayal buried deep in your bones. Your kingdom flourishes not because of fear or blind obedience, but because your people believe in you. A belief earned not by words, nor by political maneuvering, but by action.

And standing in opposition—or perhaps, beside you —is a strategist. A man who does not understand why his betrothed insists on throwing herself into the chaos of war when you have an army to fight in your stead. To him, a ruler’s duty is to command, to make the decisions that win wars before they are fought, not to risk her life on the front lines. Yet, despite his disagreements, despite the frustration that burns beneath his carefully composed exterior, he will ensure one thing above all else.

That you will always return home to him.

The war drums thundered in the distance, their rhythmic beat echoing through the valley. Soldiers stood in formation, banners fluttering under the weight of an approaching storm. At the front of the army, where a ruler should not be, you sat atop your steed, eyes fixed on the battlefield ahead.

"You should not be here," came the calm, measured voice from beside you.

Wonwoo’s horse moved in perfect step with your own, his dark eyes unreadable as he studied the scene before him. He was dressed in practical armor, unadorned but effective, his sword sheathed at his side. Unlike you, he had no intention of drawing it today.

"And yet, here I am," you responded, not sparing him a glance. Your fingers tightened around the hilt of your weapon. "Where else would I be?"

"In the war room. Behind the walls of your stronghold. Anywhere but in the path of a blade meant for another."

Your lips curled in something that was not quite amusement. "And leave my people to bleed while I hide behind stone and parchment? I am no coward, Wonwoo."

"Cowardice and wisdom are not the same," he countered smoothly. "A leader’s duty is not to die for her people but to ensure her people do not die at all."

You turned to him then, eyes burning with something fierce and unyielding. "And what would you have me do? Sit idly by while my people pay the price of my decisions? I will not lead from the shadows, Wonwoo. I will not rule from fear of death."

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, barely restraining the sigh that threatened to escape. He had known this argument would go nowhere. It never did.

"Then at least allow me to ensure you return home in one piece," he said at last, his voice quieter now, steadier. "If you insist on standing in the fire, I will be the one to pull you from the flames."

Your gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before you turned back to the battlefield. The war horns sounded. The battle was upon you.

And just as always, Wonwoo would ensure you came back alive.

The first clash of steel rang through the air, drowning out the war drums. The battlefield erupted into chaos—shouts of soldiers, the sickening crunch of metal against flesh, the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground. You wasted no time, urging your horse forward into the fray, your sword flashing in deadly arcs as you cut down the first enemy in your path.

Wonwoo remained close behind, his movements precise, controlled. He did not fight with reckless abandon, nor did he lose himself in the battle’s frenzy. Instead, he watched—analyzing, predicting. Where you fought with passion, he fought with calculation.

And still, his eyes never strayed too far from you.

A flash of movement—a blade aimed directly at your exposed side. Wonwoo reacted before he could think, his own sword meeting the strike with a sharp clang. With a swift, efficient motion, he dispatched the attacker, his grip tightening around the hilt.

"You are reckless," he muttered under his breath, stepping closer as you turned to him, expression unreadable.

"And you are predictable," you shot back, breathless but smirking. "I knew you would cover me."

Wonwoo didn’t answer, only letting out a soft exhale. Of course you had known. You always did.

The battle raged on for hours, long enough for the sun to bleed into the horizon, staining the sky in hues of crimson and ash. The once-green valley was now a sea of churned mud and trampled bodies, the earth slick with blood.

It happened fast—too fast.

You were locked in combat with a soldier twice your size, blades clashing in rapid succession. You didn’t see the second soldier closing in behind you.

But Wonwoo did.

“Behind you!” his voice rang out, sharp and clear, but he was too far.

The second soldier lunged.

You spun, blade meeting the strike—but too late. The enemy’s sword carved a thin, shallow line across your side, slicing through leather and grazing flesh. You hissed sharply, pain blooming white-hot across your ribs.

Wonwoo was already there.

His sword cut through the first soldier with cold, lethal precision, then struck down the second attacker in a single blow. His movements were swift, practiced—but his eyes were wild, dark with fury.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. His hands were already on you, gloved fingers brushing against the torn leather at your side, seeking the wound.

“It’s nothing,” you gritted out, trying to shake him off. Your hand was still tight around your sword, blood still staining your knuckles. “I can still fight.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed, dark with barely restrained anger. His voice was low, sharp.

“Enough.”

The word cut through the battlefield noise, cold and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

Before you could protest, he caught your wrist and yanked you close. Your chest collided against his armor, and before you could react, he was hauling you onto his horse.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you snapped, struggling in his grip.

“Getting you off the battlefield.” His tone was unwavering, unyielding.

“I swore I wouldn’t leave my—”

“I swore I would bring you home,” he bit out, his voice low but fierce. His arms tightened around you, firm and protective, refusing to let go.

And you knew, despite your protests, he would always keep that vow.

The ride back was silent.

You sat stiffly in front of him on the horse, your back pressed against his chest, but neither of you spoke. Wonwoo’s arm was a steel band around your waist, keeping you secure despite your attempts to squirm free in the beginning. Eventually, you stilled, the throbbing ache from your wound making you lean ever so slightly into him.

You could feel the tension in his body—the rigid line of his shoulders, the sharp edge of his jaw pressed against your temple when the horse jolted forward. He was furious, you knew. Not at the enemy. Not at the battle.

At you.

When you reached the stronghold, he dismounted first, gripping your waist firmly as he helped you down. His hands were steady—too steady. Wonwoo was always composed, but you could feel the storm barely restrained beneath the surface.

He didn’t say a word as he guided you inside. His grip on your wrist was gentle, but unyielding, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers.

“Wonwoo—” you started once you were in the privacy of your chambers, but he cut you off with a look.

“Sit.” His voice was low, rough. A command.

You blinked, startled by the sharpness in his tone. He was never this curt with you. You parted your lips, ready to argue, but something in his eyes made you pause. So, without another word, you sank onto the edge of the bed.

He knelt before you without hesitation, pulling off his gloves and setting them aside. His fingers were steady as he unlaced the buckles of your leather armor, but he refused to meet your eyes.

The metal plates clattered softly to the floor as he removed them piece by piece. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching. Only when he peeled back the torn fabric of your tunic did he pause, inhaling sharply.

The cut wasn’t deep, but the sight of blood against your skin made something dark flicker in his eyes.

“You said it was nothing,” he muttered, voice low and gravel-rough.

You winced slightly as he pressed a damp cloth against the wound. The sting made you hiss, but you bit your lip, refusing to pull away.

“It is nothing,” you insisted quietly. “I’ve had worse.”

Wonwoo’s fingers stilled for half a second.

Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to meet yours. And it was only then that you realized the depth of the fury he had been holding back. It wasn’t loud or explosive. It was sharp and quiet—a barely restrained storm, threatening to break.

“That’s the problem,” he said softly, but his voice was like iron. “You’ve had worse.”

Your lips parted, a retort on the tip of your tongue, but he wasn’t finished.

“You’ve had worse because you’re reckless. Because you don’t think. You rush in without hesitation, without care for whether or not you come back.” His voice was calm—too calm. That sharp edge of control only made it more cutting. “And you think it’s noble. You think it’s brave.” His fingers curled slightly around the cloth in his hand, knuckles whitening. “But it isn’t.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“It’s foolish,” he muttered bitterly, voice barely above a whisper. “And one day, it’s going to get you killed.”

There it was—the truth he had been holding in, the words he hadn’t spoken on all the battlefields before this one.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound in the room was your unsteady breathing.

Then, softly, you reached out. Your fingers brushed over his knuckles, curling around his hand.

“I know it’s foolish,” you admitted quietly, surprising even yourself with your honesty. “But I’m not afraid.”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. “I am.”

The confession fell from his lips before he could stop it. His voice was so soft, so raw, that it felt like a blade against your chest. You felt the weight of it—the fear he had never spoken aloud, the quiet dread he carried every time he watched you ride into battle.

He let out a slow, unsteady breath, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse.

“You’re afraid of being a coward,” he muttered. “And I’m afraid of losing you.”

The words hung in the space between you, fragile and heavy all at once. You stared at him, your chest tightening with something you weren’t sure you could name.

For once, you had no retort.

You watched as he set the cloth aside, his fingers trembling slightly when he pressed them over the bandage he had placed over your wound. His touch was light, almost reverent, as though he feared you might break beneath his hands.

“Don’t ask me to watch you die,” he whispered, voice barely audible. His eyes found yours—dark, pleading, stripped bare of the careful mask he usually wore. “Don’t ask me to be strong enough for that.”

You stared at him, breathless. His eyes were steady but filled with so much restrained emotion that it made your throat tighten.

You reached up slowly, cupping his face in your hands. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, and for the first time since the battle, he let out a shaky exhale, closing his eyes briefly at your touch.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, brushing your thumb gently over his cheekbone. “Not without you.”

His eyes opened slowly, dark and searching, and something in them softened ever so slightly. His hands came up, trembling slightly as he cradled your face in return.

“Swear it,” he muttered softly. “Swear you’ll come back. Every time.”

You held his gaze, your voice steady despite the rawness in your chest.

“I swear it.”

And then, before either of you could speak again, he was kissing you.

It was not a soft kiss. It was desperate, rough-edged with fear and longing, his lips pressing against yours with a fierce, unyielding tenderness. His hands framed your face, holding you there as though you might disappear if he let go.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers curling into the front of his tunic, pulling him closer. You could taste the salt of his sweat, feel the ragged edge of his breath against your lips.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. His breath was uneven, but his hands never left your face.

“I will bring you home,” he whispered against your skin, voice low and steady. “No matter what it takes.”

You pressed your lips against his again, softer this time, but no less sure.

“I know.”

And somehow, you knew that no matter how many battlefields you walked into, no matter how reckless or stubborn you were, he would always be the one who brought you back.

Every time.