#it doesnt cross between light and dark

[grugruel]

Can you do that for me?

Pairings: ruined!Jayce x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: Formerly partners, you've started a new business in Zaun after Jayce's disappearance. One day, after hearing whispers of Victor's apparent evolution, Jayce shows up unannounced.

Wordcount: 4.2 k

Warnings: Some canon stuff (beware spoilers), pinv sex, angst, fluff, fingering, slight handjob, choking, biting, creampie, doggy, missionary, cowgirl (a lot of positions), sub/dom/switch!Jayce, power struggle, fight for dominance, praise (f and m recieving), spanking, overstimulation, "I love you", difficult feelings, hot depraved Jayce.

AN: Not proofread, I intend to make a few changes to it later but wanted to get it out. Might be spelling mistakes. I tried to fit a bit of everything into this. ENJOY GIRLIES🎀

Having pulled the curtains aside, a vigilant man inspects the dark streets below. "He's almost here, ma'am," the man says, eyes following the subject. There's a slight stiffnes to his stance, as if he's readying himself for a fight. "What do you want us to do?"

"Let him in," she smiles at him faintly, attempting to reassure the large man before returning to her paperwork. "Dont give him trouble, there's nothing to fear."

The guard nods slowly and crosses the room to leave, he knows she's right. Yet, he stays in the doorway, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.

Warm light creeps in through the entryway, contrasting the faint light that Zauns streetlights provide for her otherwise gloomy office.

Noticing how the strong wash of light remains, she looks up at her guard to find another question lingering on his lips. "I've know you long enough to tell when something ails you." She leans back in her chair.

He catches her gaze reluctantly, facing away before he speaks. The man clears his throat, he knows he's crossing a line. "He's trouble, if you ask me. The boys and I-"

The woman pulls her glasses of and sighs, done with her work for the evening. "Im a big girl, I can handle myself."

The guard leans against the doorway and shrugs in reluctant recognition. "We're worried for you, ma'am-" but catching himself on his words, his hands gesture to remedy his meaning. "Respectfully, of course," he ads quickly, aversed to insult his employer.

The woman stands slowly, walking around her crammed desk to casually prop herself next to him. "I know," she reassures, placing a soft hand on his chest. "But I'll be fine, send him in."

The large man huffs. "We'll be outside then," he begins, but as the next words begin to form on his tongue, he decides against it, solely out of trust for his employer. If he could, he would've added 'when you need us'.

She doesnt doubt it, nor does she take offence. They're a tight knit family down here, she cares for them as much as they do her. But this would be an interaction no family member should hear. "That won't be necessary, keep to the foyer . . . Now go," she hurries him, careful to keep an understanding smile on her lips lest he changes his mind.

With a heavy breath and one last glance, the guard reluctantly closes the door and heavy footsteps recede.

She sighs, moving to brace her hands against the desktop and preparing herself for whats to come, for what she suspects.

She lights the lantern on her desk and waits. Only a moment later the same warm light creeps into the room. She twitches, unprepared for his arrival inspite of her efforts as the squeaking door slices through the eerily silent space.

In her peripheral, a fallen man stands. He's tired and dirty. Cut up and run down. There's a moment of contemplation between her and the newcomer, she does not move and neither does he. It's been a long time.

Squeak, thump, click . . . Pause. He's locked the door. A heavy thud between metal and wood sounds next, there's a faint sound of coarse skin sliding along fine metal before the familiar vibrations of hextech dies out.

All that exists between them now is heavy breathing in two parts, laboring against their own minds and bodies.

The floorboards begin to creek, irregularly, as if the weight placed upon them has not yet decided it's course of action. She grips the desktop harder, fingernails burrying into fine wood. She can only guess why he has come. "It's Viktor, isn't it?" She breathes, trying hard to keep her voice steady.

She gets no response, the only answer she recieves is the creeking of floorboards as the uncertain weight shifts back and forth. But that is all the answer she needs.

Having seamingly made up his mind, determined footsteps approach her in a sudden haste. Srong arms wrap around her body, pulling her toward a hard chest in a tight, tight embrace. His head collides with her shoulderblade as he burries his face in her scent. Muffled by her body, strained breaths blow welcome warmth onto her skin.

"What's happened?" She whispers, not entirely sure she wants the answer for she can smell him now. Metal and gunpowder. But it's not the type raw metal used for smithing or creating, it's not the metal she's used to. No, this is pungent, corporeal. It's blood. "Jayce, please . . . " She begins, 'talk to me' her lips shape, but no sound comes out. Unable to muster the strength.

"Cant- I cant . . . talk about it. Not now, not yet," he manages, voice rough as if he has fought and damp breath raising goosebumps on her neck. "I just . . . Needed you. I need you."

A strong hand slides higher, knuckles intently brushing the underside of her breast. "Can't think anymore."

And inspite of her better judgement. "Ok," she agrees, whispering, as if her consience wouldnt be able to hear. She's missed him, worried for him. So, her body betrays her.

Laying her hand on top of his, she guides him over the hill of her breast.

His breath hitches while his other hand move downward, tracing her ribs, down her waist, stopping on her thigh and squeezing tenderly. Soft flesh dimpling beneath the force of strong fingers. "I've been lost, " his voice breaks. "Missed you." His hands slide further down to slither under the slit in her dress.

"No feelings right now, Jayce . . . Please, just-"

Two fingers slip inside of her and she gasps. "No feelings," he assures, placing a gentle kiss on her neck.

"Good, good . . . " she moans.

While massaging her breast his thumb finds her clit and tongue her neck, gently nipping and sucking on the crook of her neck. Her body grows to weak to hold itself upright so she puts her weight on her arms. Noticing, he holds her tighter and pushes her weight against the desk. "Already?" He whispers, dragging his teeth along the shell of her ear as his fingers steadily thrusts in and out of her. "You're making it too easy for me."

A breathless chuckle leaves her, crammed between heavy groans. "You work with your hands . . . Mmmh, unfair advantage."

He bites her earlobe, tugging, teasing. "So do you, if I remember correctly." A grin twists her lips as her hand reaches between them and palms his enlarged bulge. He hisses as she begins to stroke it, heat immedietly surfacing as the friction between fabric and skin grows. "Mhhg, that's what I thought," he groans. "Good girl."

He pushes a third finger inside off her, curling them at just the right angle.

"Fuck!" Her free hand curls into a fist, joints having nothing better to do than occupy themselves in anyway they can. He puts more focus on her clit, rubbing dutyful circles into and and finally pushes her over the edge. "Mhh, shit-"

His fingers slow down as she hits her high, gently leading her through it as he supports her weight. "Just breathe, that's right . . . "

Her breathing has become a mixture of moans and wheezes, the pleasure stimulating every nerve in her body. "Did you . . . ?" She asks, suddenly remember her hand on his clothed member.

"No," he whispers and kisses her temple. "Theres time." He tries to turn her around. But fear grips her. "No-" she stops him, gripping the edge of the desk to keep herself in place. Seeing the changes up close would make them real, would make whatever he has come from, real. "I can't look at you . . . not yet." She reaches over her shoulder to cup his jaw, and just like that, their bubble of reminiscence bursts. They arent colleagues anymore and havent been for a long time. Nor is their third party longer there to rationalise with them. A shrap jab strikes her heart. "Give me time, and just," her other hand reaches behind her, grabbing the fabric on his hip to pull him closer, pressing his erection against the curve of her ass. "Like this for now, Jayce. Please . . ."

His head lulls against her back, pushing his forehead firmly into her spine whilst releasing a big, shaky breath. She can feel him bare his teeth, silently working through the consequences of his actions.

He doesn't answer, he only obeys.

It goes silent for a short moment, until the warmth on her hips disappear and the metal clanging of a belt buckle sounds behind her.

Quickly, one hand returns to her thigh to pull her dress over her ass.

"Dont hold back," she says.

There's a pause in his movements. "Are you certain?"

She nods and he wastes no time. Pushing himself against her, his knees spread her legs efficiently, just liked they've practiced many times before. With no further warning, he sinks into her. One hand crossing over her waist as the other grabs her shoulder, then sets a ruthless pace.

Somehow she knows he needs to get this out of him, the pent of fury and need. But she doesnt complain, he always knew what he was doing.

The sound of slapping fills her office, while the lewd squelching from her previous orgasm further spurs them on. He bends over her, changing his grip. Fingers snaking around her throat as his knee and free hand work together to fish one of her legs onto the desk, hitting her deeper, harder. His thrusts are no longer about speed, but of that one special little spot.

He puts pressure on her throat, almost painstakingly so. But it feels heavenly and she wouldn't have it any other way.

With each rut, his members perfectly fills her. His face is next to hers and he kisses had bites around her neck and ear, making sure she knows how good he makes her fell by grunting and moaning right into her ear. It makes that pulsing in her core worse, and he seems to notice.

"Yeah, you like that?" He groans, kissing her soft skin right behind the ear.

"Mmmhmm," she hums, voice vibrating with the bumping of their bodies. Doing her best to keep silent, afraid that one of her guards suddenly decides to check up on her.

"Let me hear you, use your words," he breathes, flexing the fingers around her throat and biting her shoulder.

"Fuck-" her knuckles and nails take turns in destroying her desk, scratching and denting the expensive wood grain. "I like making you, mmh . . . feel good." She manages, words stuttering between thrusts.

He gently pulls on her ear with his teeth. "Good," he whispers, then releases her throat and places his hand on the back of her neck, pushing her against the desktop.

Slap. His hands comes down on her ass, then gripping the plump flesh hard to lessen some of the stinging. A jolt of electricity shoots through her and her insides clench arouns him.

Jayce whimpers from the sudden, godlike pleasure. "Wanna hear you, honey, don't be shy." His hand comes down again, harder this time.

She squeezes around him, nerves on fire as she feels her second climax building up inside her. She moans as tears run down her face, happy pleasurable tears only Jayce has been able to produce.

"That's it . . ." He slaps her ass a third time, and the wall inside her core crumbles. With a whimper, she comes. "You did so good, lovely, im almost there," he assures her. Tears stream down her face as his thrusts grow irregular, but continues to pleasure her body. "Fuck," she cries, squirming from the drawn out orgasm. One hand holds her steady at the hip while the other slides up her back, rubbing her tender body until he brushes away stray hair from her profile.

"Hold on a little longer, just breathe, baby," he comforts her, such a stark contrast to the rough thrusts he's been dealing her body. Her fingers are jittery from the overstimulation, they ached to touch him, pull his hair, anything. But she can not reach, so she presses her palms against the table to keep them occupied.

As he sees her tear streaked face, one last blow lands on her ass and he too, comes. He collapses on top of her, they attempt to regain their strength as their sweaty bodies lie flush against eachother.

After a few moments of breathing heavily together, Jayce wraps an arm around her torso and splays his hand over her rips, pulling her with him as he straightens out.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and turns around. Hands finding his face, guiding her lips to his.

"Please look at me, my beautiful girl. Look at me," he pleads, murmuring the words against her lips.

She opens her eyes and his breath hitches. Yellow, brown irises meet her won. They're the exact same ones she knew not too long ago. Except . . . Haunted.

His fingers brush along her cheek, jaw and down her throat. She winces at the soft touch and his brows furrow in confusion.

Capturing her chin, he tilts her head back.

"It's fine, I'm fine," she whispers, assuring him as she sees his expression. Pure shock animates them.

"I don't-" his fingers trace the red marks running around her throat and tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes. "Im so sorry." He falls to his knees, hands resting against her chins as he hides his face between them. "I don't know-" he chokes and kisses her legs with remorse. He pecks her delicately, trailing his lips over her knees and up her thighs, hands following behind, tracing the outside of her legs until they reach her waist and encircle her. He hugs her tightly, knees sore against the hard wood. "Im not right," he breathes, head lulling into her lap. She can feel wetness coating her skin, running between her thighs.

She exhales heavily and slides down the desk until the hard wooden floor welcomes her thighs.

They stay like this for a good long while, she's in no rush and neither is he. Over and over again, her fingers comb through his overgrown and unpreened hair while the sensation of his seed drips out of her. Sharp nails gently scratch at the nape of his neck, they trace his bonestructure and play with its halls and valleys. The back of her fingers caress the length of his nose and sharpness of his cheekbone.

All the while Jayce lays wordless, occasionally squeezing her thighs, her hips. Occasionally trailing featherlight touches along her legs, watching with wonder how goosebumps rise and fall.

She chuckles beneath her breath. It's the same expression he used to get when making progress in the lap, just like when they first cracked the hextech runes. "Jayce," she says, attempting to grab his attention.

Crouching beneath her, he looks up from her lap, chin resting on the softness of her flesh. His face glistens and eyes plead. He looks at her with fatigue, wordlessly asking for her forgiveness.

"What happened?" She asks, her voice soft but words demanding. She's not getting dersuled this time, she needs answers.

He shakes his head, reluctantly drawing his lips into a thin line as he breaks away from her gaze.

Her eyebrows twist together. "What have you done?" She asks, anger laces her tone now. But he closes his eyes, the corners of his eyes gleaming again. The fingers burried in his hair curl into a fist and she pulls his head back, forcing him look at her. "What. Have. You. Done?"

His eyes shift between hers, uncertain, unwilling. "He's gone . . . " He begins. "I had to, I had to–the hexcore, it was poisoning him, spreading like a disease." His voice is coarse. "I had to stop him, there was no other choice."

Her eyes grow. Viktor . . . Gone? She could only assume when Jayce suddenly pays her a visit, but never dared believe.

"I never ment to leave you," he says, hand reaching out to grab her waist. "You have to believe me." He rouches the fabric at the waist, white knuckling it out of desperation for an ounce of u derstanding. "Hextech isnt what we thought it was, not anymore. Viktor couldnt see it, he was infecting the undercity, it would've spread to Piltover, the rest of the world if I didn't stop him."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "But he was saving them, freeing them of shimmer."

"No . . . they weren't themselves anymore. I've been away, lost. I've seen–" She waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. "The hexcore mutates them, changes them. I had to stop him. It, the core."

Her eyes drift the Jayce's hammer posted by the door. "Like your hammer?" She studies the now misshapen weapon, once crafted with obsessive precision. Her eyes drift lower along the neck and over its face, blood splatter.

She looks away, closing her eyes to recollect herself. Remembering to strongly the smell of blood Jayce had arrived with.

"Yes," he says. "Like I did." His hand reaches up to loosely cup her face. She notices how the crystal from his old bracelet has fused with his skin. Her fingers run along his arm and slides along the crystal, feeling it, inspecting it. "I didn't chose this," he murmurs. "I didn't chose to leave you . . . I love you." His hand falls back to his side.

She's taken aback. Its not something they've said before, not while still partners, not before all of, this . . . But despite herself, she believes him. They were colleagues for a long time and affection had always kept them together. He wouldn't hurt Viktor without reason.

With hooded eyes and parted lips, he studies her, waiting for her judgement.

"You had to," she nods, seamingly decided.

Relief and disappointment floods his face all at once. He'd expected an 'I love you' back.

She leans in, kissing him for the first time since he disappeared. Finally reunited. "We'll get through this, ok?" her voice is uncertain, what's happened has not been fully processed.

"Ok," he agrees and straightens his back, carefully placing small kisses along her abdomen as he does so, afraid he'll scare her away. "I've missed you so damn much." He levels his head with hers, meeting her gaze head on.

"I've missed you too," she responds. "But I need you now, Jayce. Can you do that for me?" She places a soft kiss on his lips.

"Certainly," he murmurs against them.

She stands, slinding his hand into hers and leads him to the bed. With his back to the bed, she places her hands on his chest and pushes him into sitting at the edge of the bed.

One leg over the other, she straddles him, standing on her knees so he has to look up at her. His she brushes the hair away from his eyes and lowers her lips to ghost over his. Their scared and quivering, needy to be on hers.

His hands slide up her sides and curves around her back, coming to rest in the arch above her ass. Gently, he massages circles into her skin, tickling her intentionaly.

She squirms beneath his touch, luring a satisfied grin from him. "You look good like this." Her fingers run through his beard, tracing his new scars. "Dangerous." Reaching down between them and into his pants, she pulls Jayce's member free and lowers herself just enough to tease his tip.

With a hiss, he locks his thumb over her hipbones and wanting to guide her onto him.

She shakes her head, a smirk playing in the corner of her lips. "My turn," she whispers and pull the straps of her dress down, letting it gather at her hips. Jayce's eyes immeidetly fall as his hands slide up her ribs with a specific destination in mind. "Dont touch," she warns. "Now look at me, Jayce." Her chest is inches from his face, but unallowed to look and unable to touch, his eyes appear like that of a wounded stag.

Her nimble fingers work on the buttons of his shirt and quickly slides it off of his shoulders. "Ive missed this," she purs, dragging a finger down his torso, her nail leaving a white scratched up mark behind it. "But this is new," she refers to the chest hair she's never seen before. "I like that, too." Her lips meet his jaw as she leaves kisses all the way down to his collarbone and shoulder. Her continues down his abdomen and below his v-line, then there's a sharp intake of breath as she stokes his member, circling the leaking pre-cum around his tip.

"Devil woman," he groans, but there's a twisted smile to his lips.

She returns it and takes a step back, letting the dress fall completely as if wanting to prove his point and oh, how she revels in the desperation on his face.

Her gaze fixes on his hands, clenching and unclencing in his lap, knuckles white from the strain. She bites her lip. "You look good like this," she repeats. "All, fallen apart . . . " She steps closer, placing herself between his legs. "Bloody and broken."

Never has he taken his eyes off of hers, and as she lowers herself onto his lap once more, she finds his member and lines him up. And finally, she sinks onto his thick inches. Still, he does not touch her. There is only a desperate whimper leaving his lips at the much needed pressure. Obedient, or respcetful? Either way, he deserves his praise. "Good boy. Now, touch me," she whispers and topple them over.

He twitches inside her at the words, but before she can react he's upon her. Fitting one breast into his mouth and the other in his hand, he licks and spits and squeezes. Sucking the entierty of her tender, plush flesh into his mouth.

"Ooh," she braces herself, strings of pleasure and heavy breaths return to them. "You liked that didn't you, pretty boy?" All she gets in response is humming between the lewd, obscene slurping.

Alright, then. Putting a hand on his chest for support, she begins to move, rocking back and forth just watching his expression of pleased torture.

Moving his hands to her hips, lips tear free from her breast for some much needed air, only to replace them upon her lips and kiss her with fervour.

She sits up, getting a better vantage and he follows not long thereafter. Unable to sit by and let her do the work. Leaning back on one hand and wrapping the other around her back, he helps her rut against him while he can't softly thrust up to meet her. "Fuck me- Jayce . . . " She gasps, hardly able to get enough air to moan.

He grins against her lips, sharing their breaths. "You liked that didn't you, pretty girl?" He mocks her.

She laughs breathlessly and digs her nails into his biceps. "Naughty," she murmurs and bites his lip, drawing blood. Again, she feels his member twitch amidst all the rocking between them. Their eyes meet and share a knowing glance. She cocks an eyebrow, he blushes. "That's what I thought," she smirks. It's her win, for now.

Unable to let it slide, Jayce takes the reigns. Flipping them over, he pins her beneath him without missing a single thrust. Amidst the confusion, he interlocks their fingers and pulls her arms above her head, stretching her out and limiting her movement.

She squirms against his restrains, testing the limits but he's rock solid. With her legs around his waist, he thrust perfectly into her and she cant help but roll her hips. She can feel the knot tightening in her core and she furrows her brows with displeasure. Missionary always did her in, he'll win. "Unfair," she moans, throwing her head back as waves of pleasure wash over her with every movement of his hips.

He moves one pair of their locked hands down so ha can stroke her throat with his thumb, placing soft kisses on the damage he caused.

His tenderness alone could cause her to crumble. "Put your back into it at least," she whines, realising she only had her pettiness left. Being beneath him, in his control feels way better than any win she could earn.

A breathless chuckle leaves him. "Yes, ma'am," he grunts, releases her and pulls out before he hooks her legs over his shoulders and thrusts back in. Hands finally free, she cups his face and pulls him in for a kiss concealing the cries bubbling up in her throat. For as it stands, he moves expertly and he's deeper–better than any man ever has been. "Fuck me-"

He smirks. "Tell me I'm good, again . . . " Shes uncertain if this is his ego talking or- "Please, please tell me im good," he whimpers, kissing her inbetween every word.

Without warning her, athird orgasm washes over her, back arching and nails digging into Jayce's cheeks. "You're so good to me," she sobs. "Such a good boy."

His thrusts falter and then he too, comes. Filling her with his seed, once again.

With shaking limbs he falls to her side, one arm draped over her chest. Both breathing heavily as they regain their senses.

"You win," he admits and kisses her temple.

Yes she does. "I love you, too," she smiles, heart and teeth achingly sweet.

[reomikagekin]

Overworked reader and Luka where reader is working tirelessly that she misses some days of sleep and relies on energy drinks , Luka doesnt notice it yet because she acts like she isnt tired around him and one day , Luka calls reader to dinner and as reader is walking to the kitchen , she suddenly loses consciousness and faints brutally , then she doesnt wake up for the next few hours until midnight . When she does wake up , she finds herself in Lukas room , sleeping on his bed . Lukas sleeping on a wooden chair next to her , his head on the very side of his bed ( basically like the desk crossed arms sleeping position but instead of a desk , its Lukas bed ) . He then slowly wakes up , but hes only glaring at reader . The air feels thick until reader finally decides to speak his name in an attempt to break the silence but Luka cuts her off and says " dont say a word . " Then he scolds reader for not telling him about reader being THAT overworked and how scared he was when reader suddenly blacks out , his voice even cracking a bit . Reader apologizes repeatedly and Luka comforts her .

Don't Say a Word

The cursor blinked at the end of the page like it was mocking you. Twelve more lines to finish. Twelve.

You could do twelve. Even if your vision was blurry. Even if your hands were trembling from the sixth—no, seventh—energy drink of the day. You knew you’d pushed yourself too far. Sleep had been an afterthought, food even less so. But the pressure wasn’t something you could just shrug off. There was always more to do. More to prepare. And you couldn’t show weakness—not now, not to him.

Luka had his own world to carry. He was always watching, always calculating, always three steps ahead. You didn’t want to be the one thing dragging him back. So when he was around, you smiled. You laughed. You made sure your voice sounded even. Eyes open, shoulders back. Unshakable.

You didn’t notice him behind you until he knocked gently on the doorframe.

“Dinner’s ready.”

His voice was calm, mellow. Always a little distant, even when he was trying to be sweet.

You turned your head and smiled. “Coming.”

You stood from your desk too fast. The chair scraped against the floor behind you, a sharp sound, but it barely registered. Your knees buckled for a second—just a second—but you straightened up and kept walking.

Just get to the kitchen. Eat something. Pretend everything’s fine.

But the hallway spun.

One step. Another. Your foot hit the wall as your balance slipped. Then the sound of your breath catching. A loud thud. And darkness.

You woke to warmth.

The room was dim, and the sheets weren’t your own. You blinked slowly, registering the soft navy bedding, the subtle scent of Luka’s cologne on the pillows, and the faint hum of a nearby lamp.

You were in his bed.

Disoriented, you shifted slightly—then froze.

A figure was slouched at your side, sitting in a wooden chair pulled close to the bed. Luka. His arms folded on the edge of the mattress, head resting sideways against them. It looked painfully uncomfortable, but he hadn’t moved. His breathing was slow, steady. His hair had fallen over his eyes.

He’d been there the whole time.

You felt the guilt in your chest twist like a blade. You remembered the fall. The way your body gave out. The way the world slipped from your grasp completely.

And Luka had seen it.

You looked at him again. He looked different like this. Vulnerable. Tense even in sleep.

You barely had time to process that thought when his brow twitched. Then he stirred.

Luka blinked slowly, his lashes fluttering as he woke. His gaze found you immediately, sharp and unreadable in the low light. He straightened, cracking his neck slightly.

Silence.

Not a single word passed between you.

You hesitated, your lips parting slightly. “…Luka?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t say a word.”

His voice was hoarse. Cold. Fractured.

You shut your mouth, startled. He stared at you like he didn’t recognize you, like you were some cruel version of yourself he didn’t want to believe existed.

“I’m not—” you started.

“I said don’t.” He stood abruptly. The chair scraped back behind him.

Your heart sank.

He walked a slow pace away from the bed, running a hand through his hair. When he turned back to face you, his expression had cracked completely. Not angry. No—scared.

“You collapsed,” he said, almost whispering. “You fainted in the hallway. Do you know how terrifying that was?”

Your throat tightened.

“I thought you hit your head—I didn’t know if you were breathing at first—do you even realize how long you were unconscious?” Luka’s voice was rising, but it shook like he was holding himself together by a thread. “Hours. You didn’t move. Didn’t respond. And the worst part?”

His eyes locked with yours.

“I had no idea it was coming. Not even a clue. You pretended like everything was fine. Lied right to my face. Smiled. While your body was shutting down.”

“I didn’t mean to—” you croaked, but his glare stopped you again.

“Don’t. You don’t get to make this sound small. You don’t get to brush this off like it’s nothing.” His jaw clenched. “Do you have any idea how angry I am right now? How scared I was when I thought—”

He cut himself off, his voice catching.

You felt like you were going to cry.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you said finally, voice trembling. “You’re always busy. Focused. You already carry so much. I thought… if I could just keep going a little longer, if I could just hold it together, I wouldn’t have to be the reason you got distracted or—”

“You think I wouldn’t want to be distracted by you?” Luka interrupted, stepping forward. “You think I don’t notice how hard you work? You’re not some background piece in my life—I care about you. More than anything.”

Your breath hitched.

His eyes softened, just barely. “But I can’t protect you if you won’t let me see you. The real you. The tired, overworked, messy, human you.”

You didn’t have words. Only tears brimming in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I didn’t know how to stop.”

Luka stared at you for a long moment. Then quietly, he walked over and sat back in the chair beside you.

He reached out, gently brushing your hair back from your face.

“…I know the feeling,” he murmured. “Of not knowing how to stop.”

You nodded silently.

He took your hand, his fingers firm but warm.

“You’re staying here tonight. No arguing.” He exhaled, resting his forehead against your knuckles. “And tomorrow… we figure out how to fix this. Together.”

“Okay,” you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips.

He looked up again, his voice gentler now. “I’m not letting you go back to destroying yourself just to look strong. Not when you’re already enough, exactly as you are.”

Tears spilled quietly down your cheeks.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel everything—guilt, relief, exhaustion.

You let yourself fall asleep again.

But this time, with Luka’s hand in yours, you knew you wouldn’t be waking up alone.

[florihaei]

BROOKLYN’S PRETTY BABY —!⋆୨୧˚ (엔시티 드림)

📞 ⋆୨୧˚ based on brooklyn baby by lana del ray ⋆୨୧˚

in which… in brooklyn’s chaos, jeno adores you, his “pretty baby,” but love blurs who’s in control. — 이제노 x fem!reader ⋆୨୧˚ suggestive /full fic ⋆୨୧˚ wc • 935 pet names such as my baby, pretty baby, pretty girl, baby! made with love by autum ⋆୨୧˚

⋆୨୧˚ authors note- likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated, everything is in lowercase on purpose, enjoy reading ⋆୨୧˚

the loft is loud with laughter and cigarette smoke, the hum of a pretentious jazz record playing from a beaten up vinyl player in the corner. you sit on the floor by the window, your back against the peeling brick wall, a notebook sprawled open in your lap, your pen hovers over the page, thoughts half formed as you glance around at the crowd.

jeno across the room, leaning against a rusted radiator, his arms crossed and his head tipped slightly to the side. he’s watching you. he always is. you can feel his gaze even when you don’t meet it , heavy and steady, like your the only thing worth noticing in the whole chaotic scene.

“my baby” he calls over the din, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he pushes off the wall and strolls toward you. his voice carries, low and familiar sending a ripple through the group. heads turn, but he doesn’t care. he only had eyes for you

you glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “what, jeno?”

he crouches down beside you, his leather jacket creaking softly as he moves “what masterpiece are you working on now, pretty girl?”

“it’s not for you” you said, closing the notebook before he can peek inside. “i don’t expect you to get it”

jeno laughs, and the sound feels warm against your skin. “your so full of it” he plucks the pen from your fingers like it belongs to him and twirls it between his fingers. “but that’s why i like you. you’re my baby, even when you’re acting all untouchable”

you roll your eyes, through you can’t help the small grin tugging at the corners of your lips. jeno always knows how to disarm you, breaking through your carefully crafted armor with a single well placed word or trust.

the night wears on, and the conversation around you blurs into white noise. jeno says by your side, his presence steady and grounding in a way you don’t like to admit. he doesn’t try to join the debates about the art and politics, he just sat there, his arm slung casually over the back of your chair, watching you with that soft look in his eyes.

at some point, his lips find your ear, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. “lets get out of here baby”

you hesitate, glancing around the room. these people, the scene it’s your world, the one you created so carefully. but jeno doesnt belong here, and somehow, neither do you.

“fine” you say, standing and grabbing your jacket. “but only because this place is boring”

he laughs, low and teasing, but he doesn’t argue. instead, he takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he leads you out into the cold brooklyn night.

the city is alive, the streets buzzing with honking cars and the chatter of strangers. neon signs flicker overhead, casting their glow on the slick pavement. jeno walked beside you, his hands warm and steady in yours. he doesn’t ask where you want to go, he just keeps walking, weaving through the chaos like he knows exactly where you’re meant to end up

eventually, the noise fades, and you find yourselves alone on a quiet street, a single street lamp flickering above. jeno leaned against the lamppost, his dark eyes meeting yours in the dim light.

“you think you’re better than everyone in that room” he says, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “and you are.., but you’re also mine”

you cross your arms, tilting your head. “oh im yours now?”

he steeped closer, his hands finding your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. “yeah, my pretty baby, you are. even with your big words and your bigger attitude”

you don’t reply, not with words, anyway. instead, you let him kiss you, his lips soft, his touch grounding you. in the moment. jeno has a way of making you feel small and infinite all at once , like your both the queen of the city and the girl who can’t resist the boy who calls her “baby”

when the kiss breaks, he smirks, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “see?, told you”

you scoffed, stepping back but letting your hands linger in his “you’re insufferable”

“and you love it” he says, his grin widening as he tugs you closer again.

maybe you do, but you’d never admit it.

as the two of you wander further down the quiet street, he suddenly stops by a graffiti covered wall. the bright colors and the bold strokes of paint are almost hypnotizing under the streetlights. he pulls you close, resting his chin on top of your head.

“someday, im gonna paint you” he muttered, his voice soft. “something that’ll last forever. you’d look good up there, don’t you think? my pretty baby on ever wall in brooklyn”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you’re delusional, jeno”

“maybe..” he says with a grin, titling you’re face up to meet his gaze. “but you’d love it, don’t lie”

the truth is , you would. you’d love to see yourself up there, to know that even in the chaos of the city, you’d left your mark. for now though, you left jeno to think he’s the dreamer, the artist, the one with the vision

but between the two of you, you know who the real muse is.

and the city?, it can wait. tonight, it’s just you, your boy, and the dream you both keep pretending doesn’t scare you.

[lnfours]

bestfriend!reader craving physical touch but her family never liked physical touch so she doesnt know how to ask for it. lando and her are watching a movie at his place in bed. and she keep glancing over at his lap because she wants nothing more than just to curl up between his legs and have his arms wrap around her, but she cant bring herself to ask!! and eventually lando realizes and nudges her. and he pats his leg and hes like "come here" in the softest voice imaginable - 🍒anon

ANON!!!!!!!!!! screaming into my pillow. also… i kinda did something different towards the end, you’ll see. i hope you like it! 🫶🏻

lando brainrot? lando brainrot.

the movie was like background noise for you. your eyes somewhere else as the light of the tv lit up the dark room.

lando was locked in, his focus on the movie in front of him. which gave you the perfect opportunity to let your eyes rake down his body. your eyes landing on his lap, your mind wandering to think about what it would be like to sit on his lap. his arms wrapped around you, his face nuzzled into your neck. it sounded so heavenly-

“you okay?

his voice pulls you out of your daydream. you meet his eyes, a soft smile on his face as he looks over at you.

“yeah, sorry,” you said, “just zoned out for a second.”

he nodded before he stuck his hand out to you, his voice soft as he spoke, “c’mere,”

you gave him a questioning look, but did as he asked you to. you put your hand in his as he pulled you closer to where he was sitting. he put his hand on your waist, helping you as your legs moved to straddle his, his hands putting your arms on his shoulder.

he smiled at you, eyes bright, “hey,”

you chuckled softly, “hey.”

“is this what you wanted?” he asked softly. you nodded, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the tiny curls on the nape of his neck. he was pretty up close, the little moles you have always wanted to place kisses on now sitting directly in front of your face. taunting you.

his eyes were taking in your face too, how your eyes sparkled down at him. you were stunning, the definition of an angel in his eyes. it was no lie that he had always thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world, but you had been oblivious to his bluntness.

“lan,” you breathed out softly, his hands rubbing small shapes into your hips. he hummed at you, not shying away from the fact that his eyes keep traveling to your lips.

“kiss me,” he said, his eyes finally finding yours, “please.”

you didn’t waste a second longer, your lips pressing against his. he was quick to kiss you back, your lips moving together as he pulled you closer. there was no space between your bodies as he placed a hand on your cheek, deepening the kiss. the line you both had been afraid to cross now left in the dust as you both dove in head first into the uncharted territory.

he moved the two of you, not daring the break the kiss as he placed a hand on your back, guiding you to lay back onto the couch. you did, pulling him with you as he smiled against your lips, him pulling away for a second to breathe. his fingers traced circles onto the outer part of your thigh, a comforting touch that only he could give you.

“i’ve been waiting forever to do that.”

you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close again. he smiled against your lips as you spoke, “no sense in wasting anymore time now.”

[ms-snape]

ok hear me out, herbology professor that is tied to plants in a special way and has a crush on snape. For example, whenever he's around flowers begin to just pop out of her head and he just raises a brow and is like "are you well?"

hes not necessarily oblivious, but he doesnt read into it much so while everyone else knows about readers crush, he just assumes shes nervous bc of who he his

Title: Language Of Flowers

Warning: Mone (I think)

Words Count: 1000+

Masterlist

___

In the quiet sanctuary of greenhouse four, where the sun slipped lazily through the slatted glass and vines wound like slow thoughts across the rafters, she bloomed.

Not metaphorically—though she often did that too—but literally. Petals. Stems. Soft blooms of green unfurling from her hairline, the curl of ivy gently exploring her collarbone, poppies yawning open behind her ear. The plants responded to her soul like they were attuned to the beat of it. A breath of joy could coax daisies from her fingertips. A moment of embarrassment? Snapdragons. And when she was flustered—truly, genuinely undone by a certain man’s presence—an entire crown of trembling forget-me-nots would erupt from her head like fireworks.

It had been happening since she was a girl, tied not to spell or hex, but to something older. Something elemental. The magic that pulsed in her bones had always drawn green things to her. She had learned, in time, to control it—to some degree. But emotions still slipped through the cracks. And he—he—was the most dangerous emotion of all.

Severus Snape. Potion Master. Head of Slytherin House. A man of obsidian silk and sharp edges, the kind of man who walked into a room and absorbed the light without trying. He was all logic, order, meticulous calculation. A man rooted so deeply in structure that the very chaos she represented must have been a bewilderment.

He visited the greenhouses only occasionally. Never without purpose. He was not the kind to idle among honeysuckle and buzzing bees. And every time he came—whether for a root, a venomous pod, or a clipped petal—he’d bring with him a low-pressure system that made the air electric around her.

Today had been no exception.

He’d stepped into greenhouse four with the same unreadable expression, coat swirling, and she, bent over a blooming mandrake sprout, had nearly screamed when violets burst along her temples like a halo.

She hadn’t looked up. She didn’t need to. His presence wrapped around her spine like mistletoe.

“Professor,” he said, with that voice like aged parchment and thunderclouds. Dry and endlessly deep.

She had tried to pretend she hadn’t heard the rustling of leaves unfurling in her hair.

But then his shadow crossed hers.

And, of course, he noticed. He always noticed.

“Are you… well?”

He didn’t sound concerned. Just vaguely disturbed. As though watching someone melt into leaves wasn’t entirely beyond the realm of his lived experience, but still fell somewhere between ‘odd’ and ‘a matter for Pomfrey.’

She gave a strangled sort of cough. “Fine. Perfectly. Allergies.”

The single dark brow he raised in response might as well have been a cruciatus curse.

He moved past her, mercifully, reaching for the small tray of moonwort she’d set aside. She turned away, digging her fingernails into her palms. She could feel roses blooming behind her ears. Big, romantic roses. The traitorous kind.

This was her curse. Or gift. Or both.

Every time he was near, something in her—something old and longing and unspoken—spilled into the world around her in green bursts. She had tried suppressants. Charms. Meditative rituals. But the plants didn’t care for logic. They cared for feeling.

And she had so many feelings about Severus Snape, she could have fertilized an entire orchard with them.

⸻

It had become a running joke among the staff.

Minerva would smile knowingly when anemones danced from her robes after dinner. Flitwick once offered to brew a calming draught when lilies bloomed in her tea. Even Hooch had taken to muttering, “Snape’s passing,” whenever her braid sprouted forget-me-nots in the corridor.

Everyone knew. Everyone except him.

Because Severus Snape did not read into things. Not those things. Especially not from her.

He assumed, if he thought about it at all, that she was simply unsettled by his presence—as so many were. That she trembled under his gaze out of discomfort, not yearning. That the flushed cheeks and flowering curls were signs of magical instability, not hopeless, blooming affection.

And that suited him just fine. He was a man who did not want to be loved.

She had accepted that. Told herself it was enough to love him quietly. To admire him from a distance. To feel the thrum of her magic react to his nearness like a sunflower leaning toward dusk.

Until the day he found her crying in the garden.

⸻

It had been a long week. The Whomping Willow had uprooted half the peony beds. Two sixth-years had charmed the fire ferns to sing. And she had received, earlier that morning, a letter from home. A reminder of everything she’d lost.

So she sat in the dirt, hands stained with soil, head bowed, and let herself sob among the violets.

She didn’t hear him at first. He moved like a shadow when he wanted to. But the moment he spoke, she froze.

“I was told you might be here.”

His voice again. Softened, this time. A little less cut glass.

She scrambled to wipe her eyes, but of course it was pointless. The air around her had already begun to thicken with wildflowers—grief-born and wild. Petunias for longing. Bluebells for sorrow. A thistle, sharp and purple, bloomed from her shoulder.

She couldn’t bear to look at him.

But he stepped closer. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to see.

“These—” His voice broke for a second, subtle but audible. “These come from your emotions.”

It was not a question.

She nodded, trying and failing to pull the wild roses from her braid. “Yes.”

A silence, filled only by the rustle of petals.

“I thought—” He paused. “I thought they were…an uncontrolled side-effect.”

She laughed, hoarse and tired. “They are. Just not the kind you thought.”

Another silence.

Then, softer than she had ever heard him: “Why me?”

She did not answer. Couldn’t. She just looked up at him, her heart in her throat, and hoped the flowers would say what she never could.

Chrysanthemums bloomed by her feet—red and gold.

Love. Loyalty. Grief. All tangled together.

He looked down at them for a long time. So long, the sun dipped behind the trees.

“I do not inspire softness,” he said finally, his voice unreadable.

“You do,” she whispered. “You just don’t see it.”

His eyes met hers. And for a flicker of a moment—barely there—something fragile cracked open in his expression. A sliver of vulnerability. Not acceptance. Not quite affection. But recognition.

And in that moment, the first snowdrops bloomed in her hair.

Hope.

⸻

He did not speak of it again. Not for weeks. But sometimes, she would catch him in the gardens at dusk, lingering longer than he needed to. Sometimes, she would find a pot of carefully labeled belladonna left at her door.

And sometimes—just sometimes—when she passed him in the corridor, her crown of wildflowers would tremble, and he would look at them.

Not with confusion. Not with disdain.

But with the faintest, quietest smile.

As if he, too, was beginning to understand the language of flowers.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Capt. Hector Barbossa x Sleepy!Fem!Reader || Drabble

Plot: How can it be that you're in love with the same man that still appears to you in your worst nightmares? // How can it be that he's all 'soft and gooey' about a girl he tried to kill? // Its amazing how things change.

Warnings: Nightmares, mentions of past threatening behaviour, like one (tasteful) sexual reference.

You wake up with a gasp, hand gripping your chest, and sitting up stock-straight. The images from your dreams, the same old nightmares as always, remain seared into the forefront of your mind. The feeling of grimy fingers digging into your skin, dragging you in the dark. Cruel blue eyes searing into your soul and the sound of a barking laugh in your ears. Utter terror pumping through your veins, turning your blood cold as ice. That terrible night when He was still searching for Will Turner, and you just got caught up in the awful crossfires.

... it's the same old thing. Despite all that's happened, all the time that's passed and all that's changed. You still have nightmares about Hector that leave you shaking; it might be laughable, if you could breathe in the seconds after you wake up.

As soon as you can breath again, you slip out of your bunk, between the rest of the crew still snoring and muttering in their uninterrupted sleep. The fresh air takes your breath away again as soon as you reach the deck, but in a refreshing way. You close your eyes for a moment and smell the sea on the air, then keep moving further inwards. When you get far enough from the stairs, you can peer up and see if he's still steering. He is; both hands on the wheel, stood tall like he was born to be stood there keeping watch of the ocean and stars.

Doesn't even look tired at the late hour.

With that confirmation, you cross your arms over your chest and start up the second flight of stairs, towards the upper deck.

"What areye doing awake? Toldya to get some sleep, didnt I?" Hector doesnt even glance away from the distance when he acknowledges you. He probably knows you by your footsteps.

Sucking in another deep breath, you reach the top of the stairs and approach the captain; shaking your head. "Yes, sir. But no... Nightmare again."

His eyes flicker off course towards you for a second, awkward, before lookin back. "... Ah."

With a weak smirk, you nod, stepping right up to the tall, scary-looking pirate captain with his big hat and his nightmare scowl. "It's okay." You whisper, having your sleepy body guided against the wheel by him, when he takes one hand off just long enough to drag you gently between him and it. Then cage you in. Heavily, you draw your arms one at a time over his shoulders, feeling exhausted from a long day on the water and lack of good sleep. No doubt your body will hate you in the morning, if it isn't already the morning. But also- its not all too often that you get Hector all to yourself. "... I can think of a few ways, that you can make it up to me."

The grin that crawls across his lips is downright fowl; nasty and greedy, pirate to the bone. You must be really fucked up these days that you like that now.

"... Oh?" He asks- still watching the stars instead of you. And he knows damn well what he's doing; that it drives you a little crazy when he pretends not to pay attention.

"Mhm... "

"Well, you better spell it out for a simple old pirate, miss. I'm not all there, y'see."

A sneaky grin slips across your lips in the dark. A cheeky little laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you'll soldier through." It's moments like these, light hearted and comfortable, that remind you why you chose this. Why you couldn't go back and be a bakers wife somewhere after your adventure. You'd never get this with a baker.

And yes, you want to be silly and filthy-minded always. Even dangerous.

So yes, you picked your monster. And you would do it again, you'd take that Terrible Night and the occasional nightmare about it, every single time; if it meant you got to be free.

"Aye, I suppose so."

"... I'll take an IOU." You tell him, yawning, but trying to sound gracious. It makes him chuckle.

"Sure, lass."

You lapse into comfortable silence together, then. Hector watches the ocean move, looking like stoic chaos himself there with his wild eyes and his rootedness to the spot, moving only with the sway of the ship- you watch him for a few moments, the thick scar under his eye, the way his face sits in a seemingly perpetual scowl- appreciating the view. His eyes are bluer since that dreadful night and the curse broke, not so yellow in the whites anymore. He's less pale, too, more healthy looking. And his breath no longer smells like rot, rather like the mint leaves he chews since you returned to the ship, which is nice. He almost does not resemble your nightmare anymore at all. Finally, you have to close your eyes because you're so tired. Rest your forehead on his shoulder, nuzzling your face into the leather belt tied there, and try to fight sleep.

"... why dontcha take a nap in the captains cabin tonight, Y/N, hm?" When his voice wakes you up from the doze you'd fallen victim to, you lift your forehead again and squint at him; noticing he's actually looking at you now. The tiniest sign of softness in his tough face.

"... the crew will talk... " You sigh, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands. Maybe you should go back for a few more hours of sleep... though you don't know how you'll make it back to your cot. The only thing keeping you up on your feet right now is the wheel, and Hector.

"Pft." Hector rolls his eyes into the back of his skull, all-dramatic. Since when does he care about that? "That be but an insignificant detail." He does a double take when your sleep-heavy eyes fall closed again, your hands on his arms keeping steady, struggling to remain awake at all. Gives a frustrated sigh at you. "Thats enough."

"Hm?" You ask, unable to lift your eyes open again.

When suddenly there are gloved hands on your shoulders whipping you around, aiming you somewhere in the darkness, you give a yelp. What!- oh.

"Careful of the steps, lass."

"Mmhm," You give a confirming hum; actual words missing from you now, you're so tired. Still, you manage to crack your eyes open just for the stairs, a hand finding the rail and tracing down, then close your eyes again at the bottom like relief and let Hector guide you the rest of the way to his quarters.

He stops you at the door, the back of your shirt caught in between his fingers, and you let him lean around you and throw the door open. You miss his warmth when he returns behind you. "Walk. G'head." Then just a few more heavy steps and he nudges you, non-too-gently, towards the bed. Nicest bed on the ship (You'd know.). These days, Hector has a taste for all things Comfort; rugs of Egyptian cotton stolen from the Mediterranean sea and sheets of French silk. Could you blame him??

Eagerly, you blindly feel your way to the top and crawl under the covers. You're overcome with cosiness and sleep, but you can't help the grin when you feel an extra blanket from the end of the bed thrown over your body. It might be too much on land, but you can never be too warm on the sea. Not that anyone else on the seven seas, or on any land, get the same consideration from Captain Barbossa as you do.

"G'night." You sigh, curling up into the pillows. He pauses, then makes up his mind and lands a kiss on your head.

~

"Night, lass." Hector gives your hip a pat and a tight squeeze, before disappearing from the room- back to his place at the wheel. As soon as he's back out on deck, the fresh air and a spray of seawater cooling him back to the bone, he shakes his head at himself. "... Christ." He may be a simple old pirate, but he's smart enough to know when he's done for. You ensnared him, somehow, with your pretty eyes and your warm touch, and there's not any getting out of this one.

[hannachuuu]

Preachers Daughter

for my one and only ethel cain girlies

𝔗𝔥𝔢 Village had always been my whole world, a small place shrouded in gloom and silence, tucked deep within the forests of eastern europe.

The heavy Irongates enclosing this safehaven i have called my home all my life had always felt like a barrier of protection, the chilling bedtime stories still haunting me to this day, even though i have outgrown my naive childlike-self, at least i believe so.

We´ve been warned, preached to, that one shall never cross the barrier that keeps us safe within, yet over time i started to notice that even iron rots, making me feel anxious. it had made me wonder wether this barricade, this shield, would hold up for the sake of our lifes, haunted by the thoughts by what awaits us beyond what i know.

My dad, the preacher, would take me down to the edge in the early morning hours, where the red beams of the new born sun would reflect off the dark metal, an image that would follow me into my dreams, good and bad ones. We would bless the rusted material, but with each time it seemed it would wither away more.

I tightend my grip around the small ourn, a family heirloom that has been passed down multiple generations already, cotaining freshly blessed water. A routine had established with tasks that i needed to fulfill with each year that i had gotten older, preparing me for the duties when i would find a husband, bear a child.

The cold morning air bit my cheeks, and the hem of my once white dress dragged along the dirt of the muddy path, picking up every fleck of flith that was stuck between the old cobblestones. Today something felt different, my heart was restless. In the distance the sound of the heavy church bells were echoing throught the dark forest, creating a haunting tune while mixing with the whispers of the wind.

My Nan would tell me stories when my father was away in church, busy preaching the eternal one. She would tell about the forest and the origins of us, from a land far, far away. Eventhough she was considered the villages mad old lady, i had loved to listen to her stories, making me excitedly jump each time she´d sit down in that old rocking chair on the poarch.

I remeber the last time i had talked to her until the old age got to her first, the allmighty flame engulfing her welcomingly. Eternal life was waiting for her blessed soul, in a form, different from her physical one. For the first time since i could think, her wrinkly face was scrunched together in a serious expression.

She told me about a prophecy she had dreamed about, including me and the future of our commune, written long before i had been born. Standing on the edge of the world i was crossing a path towards something my Nan wasnt able to identify, but judging by her void eyes, it seemed to have scared her deep within her old bones.

Her trembling hands had wrapped around my chubby face, her dark orbs locking with my own like she was studying my soul.

´´Your light will burn brigther than anyone elses my dear, but it will burn fast´´, she managed to choke out, ´´You will not see the world you create, but it will be a better one because of you...´´

´´The eternal flame doesnt just burn to punish, its burns to guide, to purify, to make way for something new. That´s what you are. A beacon to lead us into the unkown, our flame.´´

shedding a couple tears while embracing me tightly i had already felt her spirit leaving me behind, yet something had attched itself to my heart back then, keeping me safe and guiding me whenever i was lost on my path of believing.

When reaching the edge of the looming forest i felt a chill run down my spine, making me glance around nervously. The forest clinging to my dress while its skeleton like branches released me of their tight hold, nevertheless the heavy weight on my chest hadnt lifted.

I froze when i heard it -a low groan, faint but unmistakable. At first i had thought my imagination had gotten the better of me on this already strange day, but then i saw him.

Just beyond the Irongates, slumped against a tree, was a man. He looked strange, wearing clothes i had never seen before, it reminded me of uniforms i had seen in some of my schoolbooks. His attire however, looked everything but new. Dirty, torn and stained with blood, and his leg- twisted horribly into an unnatrual position- leaking crimson into the leaf covered soil.

I stood there, paralyzed, the wind gushing around me, as if an invisible force was pushing me towards him. Outsiders were forbidden, their presence a violation of everything id been taught. My fathers supercilious voice rang in my head, a sharp rebuke for even looking at a stranger. But the man groaned again, his head lolling to the side, and something deep within me shifted. He wasnt a threat. He was dying.

Clutching the cold Iron of the gate, staining my hands with the rust of the dirty metal, my heart hammering. If i helped him, id be breaking the communes most sacred law. If i left him, id be no better than the wickedness we claimed to shun. Taking a shaky breath, whispering my myself, ´´..surely the eternal flame wouldnt want me to let him suffer..´´, after all life was one of the most valuable sections in our existence.

Before i could think twice, i unlatched the gate and stepped into the forbidden woods. The air beyond felt colder, heavier, as though the forest itself was watching me. I crouched beside the wounded man, my hands trembling with fear. His eyes fluttered open for a split second, glazed with pain, and he muttered something i couldnt understand.

´´Its alright´´, i cooed softly, though wasnt sure it was, ´´ill help you´´.

Instincts took me over as i pressed my hands on his wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The weigth of what id done settled over me, the red crimson staining my delicate hands.

His voice rang in my ears, filled with so much agony and everything else seemed to fade into the background. Biting my lip hard i tried to keep myself from crying out as the blood gushed onto my white dress, staining it vermillion.

And when i decided to rip my dress apart in order to save him, it felt as if i ripped myself into two different pieces. I couldnt just leave him behind, everything in my being was fighting against that very thought.

So i crossed the line; I had let him in.

The wounded man wearing a mask symbolizing the very thing i was trying to save him from. His warm blood was seeping into my clothes, staining my skin red, marking me with the shame i had put over my family.

There was no turning back now, my familys urn left behind, dropped into the dirty soil by the rusted gate,squeaking angirly in the storm that was brewing in the dark summer sky.

[esrione]

404: Soul Not Found

Summary // Five friends enter a VR horror game, unaware that one of them has been secretly assigned as the killer. As reality blurs and roles shift, trust shatters. The only way out is through betrayal, death, and the unraveling of their sanity.

Pairing:

-

Warnings:

Dolls, blood, gore, horror, strangled, whole arm being torn off, physically body abused till death, sanity zero till death, instant death

Side characters:

-

W/C:

10 693

Note:

Replicated from -> GoSe ep: 34&35 Bad Clue & Corpse Party(anime)

Title by -> @nerdycheol

Character selection by -> @gyubakeries

As @gyubakeries said, this sub-unit's name is called the brain line🤣

If your blog doesnt have age stated and a pfp / you are under 21, you are blocked.

Masterlist

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Kwon Soonyoung hated virtual reality.

The headset loomed on the table like a trap, humming faintly under the dim blue light of the testing room. He crossed his arms, scowling at it like it had insulted his choreography. It wasn’t fear—he’d never admit to that. But the thought of being trapped in a world built from code made his skin itch.

“I’m not putting that thing on,” he said flatly.

“Oh, come on,” Seungkwan whined from the corner, already halfway into his gear. “It’s not haunted. It's high-tech.”

“That’s what someone possessed by the headset would say,” Soonyoung muttered.

“Just put it on,” Jihoon said without looking up from the terminal. His tone was clipped, efficient. “They won’t let us start until everyone’s in.”

“Yeah, Hoshi,” Jeonghan drawled, lounging on a nearby bench like he was in a spa. “Think of it as... performance art. You're pretending to be brave.”

Soonyoung glared at him. “I am brave.”

“Then prove it,” Jeonghan said with a smirk.

In the corner, Vernon adjusted his gloves silently, eyes flicking to Soonyoung’s reflection in the monitor. He hadn’t said a word since entering the room, but there was a strange focus in his expression, like he was already halfway inside the game.

Soonyoung sighed. His pride was at war with his instincts. One more look at the headset, and—

The lights flickered.

Once. Twice. On the third flicker, everything went black.

He didn’t even touch the headset.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

Soonyoung groaned.

His eyes fluttered open, but the world that greeted him wasn’t the testing room.

It was... quiet. Too quiet. A thick mist hung low over cobbled streets, and dull lanterns cast an amber glow through the fog. Old stone buildings rose around him like a forgotten European town, eerie and untouched. The air smelled like rain and rust.

He sat up slowly, his fingers brushing against uneven pavement. It felt real. Too real. The chill, the texture, even the weight in his limbs. it wasn’t how games were supposed to feel. Not that he had much experience to compare.

A voice crackled faintly overhead, mechanical and cheerful.

《Welcome, players, to Halcyon. Please remain calm while initial syncing completes.》

Soonyoung blinked up at the foggy sky. “Remain calm?” he muttered. “I didn’t even log in.”

“Hey!” a familiar voice called. “There you are!”

Seungkwan jogged toward him, dressed in strange Victorian-style clothing—lace cuffs, a dark vest, and boots that looked stolen off a stage production. His expression flickered between relief and annoyance.

“You okay?” he asked. “You just appeared out of nowhere like—poof.”

“I never agreed to this,” Soonyoung said, standing with effort. “I didn’t put the headset on. The lights went out, and then—bam. I’m here.”

Seungkwan looked uneasy. “Yeah... same. None of us pressed start.”

“Wait—‘us’?”

“Over here.”

Jihoon’s voice cut through the fog. He stood near a crooked fountain with Jeonghan beside him, both looking equally displeased in their tailored NPC-style clothes. Vernon leaned against a wall nearby, arms crossed, staring at a glowing board that had just lit up on the side of a building.

“We all got pulled in,” Jeonghan said lightly, but his usual smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Glitch, maybe?”

“Or a trap,” Vernon said.

The board let out a low chime, then words began to appear, letter by letter, in a glowing serif font:

《Welcome to Halcyon.

You have seven days.

Solve the murder mystery.

Find the killer.

Win the grand prize.

Fail—and you may never leave.》

A collective silence fell over them.

“What kind of tutorial is this?” Seungkwan said, laughing nervously. “Where’s the pause button?”

“There’s no UI,” Jihoon muttered. “No menus. I can’t access system functions.”

Soonyoung felt the hairs on his neck rise. Something was wrong—deeply wrong.

The board flashed again:

《Day 1 begins now. First clue awaits in the mansion.》

In the distance, a bell tolled once. A shadow moved in the mist.

Soonyoung’s jaw clenched. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you guys.”

Jeonghan patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You can trust us.”

He smiled and Soonyoung didn’t believe him for a second.

The mist clung to their clothes as they moved through the narrow streets. Their footsteps echoed against the stone, too loud in the silence. No other people. No animals. Just old signs creaking in the wind and broken lamps flickering like they were tired of pretending to be alive.

The mansion loomed in the distance—tall and crooked, like it had grown out of the earth against its will. A wrought-iron gate stood open, the path ahead lined with dead trees and wilting hedges. It felt like they had been dropped into the middle of a ghost story.

Soonyoung kept glancing behind them.

Jeonghan led the way with surprising ease. He walked like he knew the place already, occasionally pausing to glance at signs or statues, fingers brushing against odd symbols carved into stone.

“You seem suspiciously comfortable,” Jihoon muttered, eyeing him sideways.

Jeonghan just grinned. “I pay attention.”

“Or you know something we don’t,” Vernon added, sharp eyes not missing a beat.

Jeonghan turned, walking backwards as he faced them. “Fine. You want to know? There’s a way to see your character profiles. Took me five minutes to figure out.” He tapped his temple. “The command works mentally. Just think ‘Reveal Role’ really hard. And no, you can’t use voice commands, they’re blocked.”

“Wait, really?” Seungkwan blinked. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I wanted to see if anyone else would figure it out,” Jeonghan said, unapologetic.

Soonyoung sighed. “Of course you did.”

Still, curiosity itched at the back of his mind. He shut his eyes for a moment and focused: Reveal Role.

A soft chime echoed inside his head. Then text appeared in his vision like a floating screen only he could see.

《Kwon Soonyoung

Role: Detective

Skills: Interrogation Boost, Flash Memory Recall

Limitation: Cannot lie without penalty (verbal stun)

Objective: Solve the murder, protect the truth.》

Soonyoung’s lips pressed into a line. “Detective,” he muttered.

“Same,” Jihoon said quietly. “Well... Investigator. Close enough.”

“I’m the Lawyer,” Seungkwan announced. “Charm bonus. High persuasion. And, ugh- emotionally unstable? Excuse me?”

“I got Doctor,” Vernon said. “Can treat wounds. Moderate logic, low charisma. Wow. Thanks, game.”

Jeonghan smiled like a cat who already knew his prey was cornered. “And I’m the Heir.”

Everyone turned to him.

“Of course you are,” Seungkwan said dryly.

“I have high access to the mansion’s locked areas,” Jeonghan explained. “Also... apparently, I have secrets. And the prompt literally says: Don’t trust the Heir. Isn’t that fun?”

No one laughed.

As they reached the gate, the mansion’s massive doors creaked open slowly on their own. Inside, the air was colder, the hall dimly lit by chandeliers that flickered as if afraid to glow too brightly. Portraits lined the walls, elegant, grim, unfamiliar faces watching their every move.

“This better not be horror,” Soonyoung muttered, stepping over the threshold.

A voice echoed through the hall:

《Welcome to Halcyon Manor. Your stay has begun. One among you is not who they claim to be.》

The doors slammed shut behind them with finality.

Everyone froze and no one moved.

Soonyoung’s heart pounded in his ears. He scanned the hall again, arched ceilings, velvet carpet, the scent of old wood and wax. Everything was too still. No dust in the air. No sound beyond their breathing.

Then, something twitched.

The chandelier above flickered, not a normal flicker, but a stutter, like frames skipping in a broken film reel. The lights blinked in and out of place, freezing mid-swing. The walls behind Vernon shimmered, their texture folding over itself like corrupted data.

“What the-?” Vernon stepped back, eyes darting to the warped wallpaper behind him.

A cold wind rushed through the hallway, though none of the windows were open. The portraits on the walls melted for half a second, faces stretching downward like wax before snapping back to normal. A piano note played itself in the next room, loud and dissonant.

Then, silence.

Everything returned to normal. The walls. The lights. Even the chandelier settled back into place like it had never moved.

Jeonghan slowly turned to the group. “Did we all see that?”

“Yup,” Seungkwan said, already hugging himself. “That was not just me.”

Jihoon was silent, jaw tight. “That wasn’t part of the game.”

“No way it was,” Soonyoung muttered. “That was a glitch. Like... the code broke.”

Jeonghan looked up at the chandelier. “Or something inside the game is breaking it.”

Vernon knelt near the portrait that had glitched. He ran his fingers over the frame. It was solid. Real. “Whatever it is, we should move fast. Glitches like that don’t happen without a reason.”

“Right,” Soonyoung agreed. “We look for clues. Stay in pairs. Don’t split up completely.”

“I’m not going anywhere near a room alone,” Seungkwan declared, grabbing Jihoon’s arm. “We’re a team now.”

Jihoon scowled, but didn’t shake him off. “Fine.”

They fanned out into the mansion’s main floor, boots echoing on marble. The entry hall led to several rooms: a grand dining hall, a dim study, and a sunroom with blacked-out windows. Dustless, but unnervingly lived-in. Someone had left a teacup on a table. A fire flickered in the study’s hearth.

Soonyoung and Jeonghan entered the study first. There, Jeonghan ran a hand over the bookcase until a click echoed. A hidden drawer opened, revealing an old letter sealed in red wax.

Soonyoung scanned the elegant script:

《To my dearest heir,

If you are reading this, then the bloodline has fractured. Trust no one—especially not those closest to you. The truth lies in Room 6.》

He looked up. Jeonghan’s gaze was unreadable.

“Room 6,” Soonyoung said. “We find that next.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan replied smoothly. “After all, this is my house. Let me show you around.”

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes.

Even in a game, Jeonghan played too well.

Soonyoung kept the letter tucked in his palm, its weight far heavier than paper should be.

The mansion twisted like a maze, hallways that looped in gentle curves, doors that had no labels, mirrors that reflected the walls behind them instead of their own images. Jeonghan led the way, hands behind his back, almost humming as if this were a casual stroll through a museum.

Soonyoung wasn’t convinced.

"You sure you know where you're going?" he asked.

“Mm,” Jeonghan mused, pausing at an intersection. “The mansion map changes every round of the game. But I saw a brass ‘6’ etched above a door earlier. I just need to find that hallway again.”

“That’s… very specific.”

Jeonghan turned, smiling. “That’s me.”

Soonyoung rolled his eyes but said nothing.

As they moved deeper into the corridor, the warmth of the lit hall gave way to something colder. The wallpaper darkened. Floorboards creaked more loudly. The air grew thick, like it had been waiting for them.

“There,” Jeonghan said suddenly.

At the far end of the hallway, half-covered by a torn curtain, was a wooden door with a brass number. The 6 had been scratched, the bottom of the curve fading into nothing. But it was still visible.

Room 6.

Soonyoung stepped forward first, testing the doorknob. It turned easily, and the door creaked open with a whisper.

The room was dim, lit only by a candle on a writing desk. A portrait hung over the fireplace—a woman in black, face turned slightly as if she'd been watching the door. A thick journal sat in the center of the desk, untouched. And everything smelled like dust and roses.

They stepped inside.

No sound. No motion. The door didn’t slam shut this time—but Soonyoung still felt watched. He approached the desk, reaching for the journal. Jeonghan, meanwhile, wandered the room casually, glancing at the portrait, fingers trailing the drapes. Soonyoung opened the journal carefully. The pages were old, handwritten, dates scattered in the margins.

《March 12 — The voices are louder. I can hear them between the walls. They whisper names. Sometimes mine.

March 17 — My brother suspects me. He saw the red stain on my sleeve. I told him it was wine. He didn’t believe me.

March 23 — The mansion is shifting. I opened the door to the nursery and found the garden instead. I am losing time again.

April 1 — Someone else is here. They are not part of the game.》

Soonyoung froze.

He looked up. “Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan turned, meeting his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Read this.”

Jeonghan took the journal, scanning the page. His face didn’t change, but his posture shifted. A beat passed.

“I thought this was supposed to be scripted,” Soonyoung said quietly. “Like, part of the murder mystery plotline.”

“It is,” Jeonghan replied, closing the book slowly. “But that last entry?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not part of the game.”

Soonyoung’s mouth went dry. “You sure?”

“I’ve watched gameplay streams before. Read guides. There’s no mention of a hidden journal like this. And definitely no mention of someone outside the game being in it.”

Soonyoung turned toward the door. He didn’t like the way the room felt now—like something had taken a breath beneath the floorboards.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“For once,” Jeonghan said, “I completely agree.”

As they stepped out, the candle in the room flickered violently then snuffed out.

And somewhere deep in the mansion, a faint laugh echoed.

A child’s.

Jeonghan’s eyes met Soonyoung’s.

Neither needed to speak, they bolted down the hallway in sync, the silence of the mansion broken only by the pounding of their footsteps. The shadows twisted unnaturally as they passed, walls groaning faintly as though the house itself were breathing.

Then-

A scream.

Jihoon.

Soonyoung’s heart dropped. He didn’t even pause, just turned the corner where the voice came from. They tore through the hallway and burst into the small library, just as the others crowded around a toppled bookshelf.

Jihoon was on the floor, face contorted in pain, one leg pinned underneath the thick wooden shelf.

“Jihoon!” Jeonghan yelled.

“I’m-! I’m stuck!” Jihoon hissed, fists clenched, trying to keep from yelling again.

Vernon was already kneeling beside him. “We need to lift this. Now!”

The five of them scrambled around the shelf, Soonyoung grabbed one end, Seungkwan at the other. With a heavy groan, they lifted just enough for Jeonghan to pull Jihoon out by the shoulders. Vernon was immediately at his side, digging through his inventory menu with frantic fingers.

"Hold on, just- let me-" Vernon muttered. “There should be a healing command- some kind of item!”

Jihoon gritted his teeth. “Hurry-”

Then they heard it.

That same child’s laugh. Soft. Echoing from the walls. Twisting around their ears like it was circling them.

Soonyoung froze. “That’s the same one…”

Jeonghan nodded, jaw tight. “It followed us.”

Seungkwan clutched his arms. “Why is there laughing, this isn’t funny! Who let a demon baby in here?!”

The laughter grew louder. Clearer. Coming closer.

Vernon’s fingers raced. “Got it!” A soft blue light emanated from the medallion he pulled out, he pressed it against Jihoon’s leg, which glowed momentarily. Jihoon let out a sharp breath, the pain visibly ebbing from his face.

“I can move,” he said, voice hoarse. “Let’s go.”

No one needed to be told twice.

They helped Jihoon up, supported him, and rushed to the nearest exit, toward the grand living room. But when they got there, everything stopped.

The main door. the one they’d entered from just an hour ago, was sealed shut. Chains of dark iron wrapped around the frame, stretching unnaturally like veins of a dying tree. The handles were twisted together, almost melted into one.

“Oh no…” Seungkwan whispered. “Oh, nononono…”

Soonyoung stepped forward, grabbed the door handle, and pulled.

Nothing.

“Why is it locked?” Jihoon asked, breath still uneven.

“It’s supposed to be the reset point,” Vernon said. “This door always leads out at the end of the cycle. It’s part of the design.”

“Well, it’s not part of this one,” Jeonghan muttered.

Another giggle. Right behind them.

Everyone spun around‐ But no one was there.

Just the massive, flickering fireplace and their own shadows trembling on the walls.

The cold silence stretched across the grand living room. The massive door loomed like a final verdict, its twisted chains unmoving no matter how hard they pulled or pushed.

Soonyoung ran his fingers through his hair, trying to suppress the rising dread. “There’s gotta be another way out. This can’t be it.”

Jeonghan glanced around the room, fingers resting thoughtfully against his chin. “If this mansion is the core of the game, there has to be a system. An end. Maybe even a hidden reset.”

“Or a backdoor,” Vernon added. “In most VR games, there’s always a failsafe. A sequence the players can trigger manually.”

Jihoon, now standing with the help of a makeshift cane Vernon fashioned from a chair leg, squinted at the portraits on the walls. “Maybe we missed something earlier.”

“Okay, split up again?” Seungkwan asked, hesitant.

Jeonghan shook his head. “No. We’re not doing that again. Not after what happened with Jihoon.”

That seemed to ease Seungkwan a little.

Soonyoung glanced toward the hallway leading to the east wing. “There were locked rooms we didn’t touch before. Maybe something’s there.”

Together, the group began sweeping the mansion again, this time sticking together. Room after room revealed eerie antiques, dust-covered furniture, and riddled bookshelves. In one parlor, they found an old clock ticking backward. In another, a piano that only played a single note no matter which key they pressed.

“Why is everything broken or cursed in this place?” Seungkwan muttered.

They reached a narrow corridor lined with paintings of various staff and residents: fictional characters from the game, each labeled with names and professions. It was Vernon who pointed it out first.

“These are NPC profiles,” he said. “Designed to look like a part of the scenery. But I think they’re giving us hints about our roles.”

Jeonghan stepped closer to one, squinting. “Wait, this one’s labeled ‘Chief Investigator.’ That’s what I got.”

Soonyoung turned to Jihoon. “Didn’t you say that’s your job too?”

Jihoon blinked. “Yeah… weird. Could be a game error?”

Seungkwan tilted his head. “But isn’t it weird that only Jeonghan seems to know all the mechanics?”

Soonyoung paused, suddenly considering it. “Now that you mention it…”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “What, are you saying I’m the villain because I actually know how to play?”

“You do know too much,” Vernon added, but his voice wasn’t accusing, more puzzled.

Jeonghan crossed his arms. “What, I read the manual. Sorry I didn’t dive in blind like you guys.”

Still, the unease crept in. Soonyoung didn’t want to admit it, but something about the logic of the game was bending around Jeonghan. His instincts were starting to itch.

Before the tension could settle, a creak echoed from the ceiling above, followed by a thump.

All of them froze.

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes. “That came from the attic.”

Jihoon shifted slightly, fingers tight around the cane. “Should we go up?”

Jeonghan turned without hesitation. “There might be another clue. Or another way out.”

Soonyoung sighed. “Let’s move.”

And just like that, the group headed for the narrow stairway to the attic, unaware that time was ticking down and that one of them wasn’t playing fair.

The narrow stairs creaked under their weight as the group ascended. Dust floated thick in the air, making each breath feel like swallowing cobwebs. The attic door groaned open with a reluctant shriek, revealing a room shrouded in dim, flickering candlelight.

Old furniture lay under white sheets, and dozens of porcelain dolls sat in rows along the far wall, their glassy eyes reflecting the faint light.

“Why is it always dolls?” Seungkwan muttered, visibly unnerved.

“I think they’re just decoration,” Vernon whispered, though he didn’t sound convinced.

Soonyoung stepped carefully across the wooden floorboards, scanning for anything that stood out. Jeonghan moved to the shelves at the back, eyes squinting at a series of old notebooks.

Just as Jihoon limped over to peer into a dusty trunk, one of the dolls’ heads snapped around with a sickening crack.

Everyone froze.

The doll's mouth slowly opened… and from it came a garbled, mechanical whisper.

“He sees you.”

Then, the candles blew out all at once.

Seungkwan screamed. So did Vernon.

Jeonghan’s voice broke through the chaos. “Lights on! Light spell- whatever the system command is!”

With a faint bzzt, the candles flickered back to life. The dolls sat still again.

“Did that… thing just talk?” Jihoon asked, his knuckles white around the cane.

Jeonghan walked forward, ignoring the rows of dolls, and reached behind the one that moved. With a quiet click, a false panel in the wall opened behind it, revealing a small compartment.

Inside, wrapped in old cloth, was a dusty mirror with an inscription carved into the handle: “Only the true face may unlock the truth.”

Soonyoung took it carefully, frowning. “Is this… another clue?”

Jeonghan nodded slowly. “A metaphor, probably. ‘True face’ could mean our character identities. Maybe we need to find something that matches each of us.”

“There’s a library downstairs,” Vernon said. “Those NPC files, maybe we’ll find character portraits or more records there. If we cross-check them with the mirror, maybe we’ll see something.”

As they turned to leave the attic, Soonyoung cast one last glance at the doll. Its head was still tilted. Watching.

And though no one else noticed, for a brief second, he could’ve sworn its lips moved again. But this time, there was no sound.

Back in the library, the atmosphere was thick with unease. Dust hung in the air, undisturbed pages still fluttering from their earlier rush. The group huddled around the character console. Jeonghan tapping in commands as the familiar glowing profiles began to load.

“I just want to confirm mine,” Soonyoung muttered. “It said I was a detective when we started.”

Each panel loaded, one by one.

《Kwon Soonyoung

Role: Groundskeeper

Skillset: Manual labor, Observation, Stealth

Background: Works quietly around the estate. Knows every inch of the mansion but keeps to himself.》

Soonyoung’s brows furrowed. “What the…? That’s not me.”

Jeonghan quickly clicked into his own.

《Yoon Jeonghan

Role: Game Designer (Flagged)

Skillset: Authority Override, Puzzle Instinct

Background: Insider knowledge of game structure. Possibly tampered with original pathing.》

Jeonghan blinked, lips parting. “No, no, no—that’s not what I had before.”

“Try mine,” Jihoon said tensely.

《Lee Jihoon

Role: Archivist

Skillset: Information recall, Surveillance logs

Background: Studied the mansion’s past. Archives include identity discrepancies.》

“Wait—mine changed too.” Vernon pushed forward.

《Hansol Vernon

Role: Alchemist (Experimental)

Skillset: Brewing, Improvised medicine

Background: Disgraced for failed treatment methods. Obsession with altering fates.》

Seungkwan squinted at the console as his name loaded.

《Boo Seungkwan

Role: Medium

Skillset: Spiritual sensitivity, Speechcraft

Background: Former skeptic turned believer after a courtroom possession incident.》

They all stared at each other.

“These aren’t random,” Soonyoung muttered. “They match what we found downstairs. It’s changing the story.”

“Or showing us what we’ve been hiding,” Seungkwan said shakily.

“That’s not possible,” Jeonghan snapped, though his voice faltered.

“You're the only one who seems to know how this game works inside out,” Vernon pointed out coolly.

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue.

A soft click echoed from one of the bookshelves. A hidden panel slid open. Inside was a box with a riddle engraved:

“Only when stripped of all falsehoods shall the path ahead open. Speak your truth or remain trapped in lies.”

The box had five rotating dials, one for each player.

Soonyoung looked at the others. “We’ll have to use these new roles to solve this.”

The five of them stood over the strange box, each rotating their dial to reflect the roles that had been revealed—Groundskeeper, Game Designer, Archivist, Alchemist, Medium.

As the last dial clicked into place, a deep rumble shook the walls. The box hissed open. Inside was a folded parchment, worn with age, and a brass key. Soonyoung snatched the note and read aloud: “The mansion holds the truth, but only beyond its walls lies the key to survival. Your roles may deceive you—but your choices won’t.”

“Is that… a way out?” Jeonghan asked, stepping toward the back wall where a sealed door had previously been.

Now, the bricks were shifting. Grinding open. But before they could move, the lights flickered violently. Then—screaming.

A horrifying glitch split the ceiling, reality tearing open like shattered glass. Red-eyed, grotesque figures twisted from the walls, crawling on all fours. Their limbs elongated with each glitching movement.

“Run!” Soonyoung shouted, grabbing Seungkwan by the wrist.

But it was too late. One of the creatures lunged. Seungkwan shrieked as it slammed into him, clawing across his side and sending him crashing into the bookshelf. Blood pooled quickly.

“SEUNGKWAN!” Jihoon screamed, rushing to his side.

Vernon yanked Seungkwan back, barely dodging another swipe.

“Do something, Vernon!” Jihoon’s voice cracked with desperation. “He’s not breathing right!”

“I- I'm not really a doctor! I’m an alchemist now- my medicine isn’t stable!” Vernon’s hands trembled, searching his inventory bag. “I don’t know if it’ll help or kill him!”

“Try!” Jihoon barked.

Jeonghan and Soonyoung pushed a cabinet against the open door as more horrors glitched into the room.

“Hurry!” Soonyoung yelled.

Jeonghan turned, kneeling beside Vernon. “What do you need?”

“Something cold and something binding-” Vernon muttered, digging out vials. “It might stop the internal bleeding.”

As Vernon administered the shaky concoction, Seungkwan coughed, then groaned. His eyelids fluttered.

“He’s alive,” Vernon exhaled. “But we have to move. Now.”

Together, the group carried Seungkwan out the secret passage, the brass key fitting perfectly into the ancient lock.

A heavy click. The door swung open—

And sunlight poured in.

They stumbled outside, into thick forest. The mansion sealed behind them with a grinding slam, as if angry to let them go. The silence that followed felt heavy, too heavy.

Soonyoung turned to look at the others.

“We’re out,” he whispered. “But something doesn’t want us to leave.”

Behind them, the mansion loomed. A shadow moved behind one of the upstairs windows. Watching. Waiting.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The forest felt like a dream stuck on loop.

No matter how long they walked, the golden light filtering through the trees didn’t shift. The sky remained locked in that strange, almost surreal hour—too bright to be evening, too soft to be noon.

But their bodies told another story. Their limbs were heavy. Their stomachs ached with hunger. Their minds ran dull with exhaustion.

“We’ve been out here for hours,” Jeonghan muttered, crouching beneath a tree and wiping his sweat-dampened brow. “How the hell is it still daylight?”

“No way to tell the time here,” Soonyoung said, looking up at the frozen sun. “It’s like this world doesn’t have night.”

“Feels like we’re being watched, even out here,” Jihoon added, his eyes scanning the treetops. “It’s... unsettling.”

Seungkwan sat with his back against a rock, one hand pressed to his still-bandaged side. “I’m starving. We need to find food or we’ll collapse before this game kills us.”

“We already searched for an hour,” Vernon sighed. “Nothing edible. Just rocks and cursed-looking mushrooms.”

Soonyoung rubbed his temple, then looked to Vernon. “Hey, you’re an alchemist, right? Can’t you, like... make a potion or something? Something that gives us a boost?”

Jeonghan let out a laugh, voice rough with fatigue. “Yeah, Vern. Got any sparkling grape elixir in that coat?”

Seungkwan, with a huff, smacked the back of Jeonghan’s head. “Do not joke about grape juice right now, I swear.”

Vernon, unfazed, rummaged through his pouch. “I might be able to synthesize something. If I can combine a few base herbs and convert the mana correctly, it could...”

“You lost me,” Jeonghan interrupted.

“I’ll try,” Vernon mumbled.

Just as he laid the items in front of him, a loud ding echoed through the trees—sharp, synthetic, and way too cheerful.

A glowing interface blinked into existence above their heads. The robotic voice of the game returned, hollow and inhuman.

《System Update: Congratulations on clearing The Mansion of Mist.

Phase Two: Begin.

New Objective: Reach the Cradle of Origins. Coordinates uploading now.》

A glowing path lit up in the forest, snaking toward the east.

“Cradle of Origins?” Jihoon repeated, frowning.

“Sounds ominous,” Jeonghan muttered, standing slowly.

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes at the glowing trail. “It’s guiding us again. Just like back in the mansion.”

“But where is it taking us this time?” Seungkwan asked, struggling to his feet with Jihoon’s help.

Soonyoung glanced around at his friends—their shadows still stretching long even though the sun had not moved an inch.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “But I’ve got a bad feeling the game’s just starting to play dirty.”

The glowing path finally faded as they crested a ridge, revealing a clearing unlike anything they’d encountered so far.

Nestled within a wide basin of twisted trees and pale grass lay an ancient ruin. Crumbling pillars jutted from the ground like the fingers of a buried giant. Ivy crept along the cracked stone walls of a long-abandoned temple, its roof half-collapsed, its entrance carved with symbols that flickered faintly with digital glitches.

It was eerily quiet. Too quiet. No wind. No birds. Not even the usual ambient hum of the game’s system.

“This is it?” Vernon murmured, tightening his grip on his bag. “It looks like it hasn’t been touched in a thousand years.”

“The Cradle of Origins...” Jeonghan trailed off, stepping forward with a wary glance. “If this is where it all started, maybe it’s also where it ends.”

Soonyoung remained silent, eyes tracing the strange carvings on the archway. It reminded him of something—he couldn’t place it, but the symbols felt familiar. As if he’d seen them earlier in the game, or... somewhere else entirely.

As the group stepped through the threshold, the atmosphere shifted instantly. A low, humming sound vibrated in their bones.

The interior was massive, much larger than the temple’s exterior suggested. There were no doors or furniture—just a vast stone chamber bathed in unnatural white light. On the far end, a massive, mechanical structure hovered in the air, floating above a stone pedestal like a suspended heart. Dozens of black cables fed into it, pulsing faintly.

“So this is the core of the game?” Seungkwan whispered, gripping Jihoon’s shoulder for balance.

“I don’t like this,” Jihoon muttered, eyes narrowed. “It feels too exposed. Like we’re standing in the middle of something’s eye.”

Suddenly, the humming stopped. Then, the game spoke again—this time slower, deeper.

《Welcome, players. This is where stories are rewritten... and truths are erased.》

A massive digital interface unfurled midair, displaying the players’ profiles—each of their faces, names, and character roles. But something was wrong.

The names began to glitch. Letters scrambled. Roles flickered.

Soonyoung’s title switched from “Groundskeeper” to “... ??? …” Jihoon’s briefly showed “Archivist,” then glitched violently, sparking as if it resisted being revealed. Seungkwan’s “Medium” swapped to “Archivist.” Vernon’s “Alchemist” flickered and turned into “Healer.” Jeonghan’s “Game Designer” now displayed... “Watcher.”

“What the hell is going on?” Jeonghan stepped back. “Why are our profiles changing again?”

The ground trembled. A crack split the floor beneath them just a few inches, but enough to make their hearts skip.

Soonyoung’s voice was low. “I think we’re being shown the truth.”

“Or someone’s rewriting it right in front of us,” Jihoon added.

Suddenly, a loud clang echoed through the temple. The floating machine began to descend, its pulsing core now glowing blood red.

Then came the laugh. The same child’s laughter from the mansion—but this time, distorted, metallic, and inhuman.

“Stay alert,” Soonyoung warned, drawing closer to the group. “Whatever this place is... it doesn’t want us to leave.”

The laughter faded into the stone walls, replaced once again by silence. The group remained still, hearts pounding, eyes trained on the floating machine now dormant in the center of the temple. Then, Jeonghan noticed something glinting through a hallway to their left.

“This way,” he said quietly, his voice tight.

They followed him down the corridor. It curved unnaturally, as if the temple had shifted its own architecture. The air was thicker here, and it carried a scent—sweet, warm, strangely comforting. When they turned the final corner, they stopped in unison.

A long banquet table stretched down a grand dining hall they hadn't seen on the map. Ornate chairs lined each side, and the table was covered in glistening dishes—roasted meats, steaming soups, golden pastries, vibrant fruits. It looked real, not the slightly-off aesthetic of most VR food. It even smelled real. Mouthwateringly real.

“What... the hell is this?” Vernon breathed, stepping forward.

“Is it a trap?” Seungkwan asked, already clutching his growling stomach.

“Maybe,” Jihoon muttered, analyzing the food from afar. “But we haven’t eaten since the mansion. This could be the game’s way of giving us a break... or testing us.”

Jeonghan scoffed. “So what? You think if we eat, we turn into pigs or something?”

“No, but if this game is glitching, then we don’t know if it's nourishment or poison,” Soonyoung said. Still, he couldn’t deny the gnawing emptiness inside him. “That being said... if we don’t eat, we’ll collapse.”

A quiet pause followed.

Jeonghan finally rolled his eyes and plopped into a chair. “Then I’ll go first. If I explode, don't follow.”

He grabbed a piece of bread, bit into it, and chewed. The others watched with bated breath.

"...This tastes real," Jeonghan said after swallowing. “Like... actually warm bread.”

One by one, cautiously, the others joined. Seungkwan cried a little after his first bite. “I missed this so much,” he mumbled, stuffing his face with fruit.

Even Vernon gave in, muttering, “Maybe this is what the alchemist made for us after all.”

Soonyoung, still hesitant, sat at the head of the table, scanning the room. Everything was too perfect. Even the candle flames didn't flicker.

He reached for a glass of water, but paused when he saw it. Underneath his plate, barely visible, was a folded slip of paper. He pulled it free, and discreetly opened it under the table. It was written in thick red ink:

《The food is borrowed time. When the bell tolls, you must pay your debt.》

A shiver ran down Soonyoung’s spine. He looked up. Everyone else was eating happily. But now, he wasn’t hungry anymore. 

The moment the last bite was taken and the laughter began to settle, the air shifted—dense and suffocating, like a pressure drop before a storm.

DONG.

A deep, resonating bell echoed through the temple, vibrating in their bones. The sound was ancient, metallic, and ominously slow—like a warning from something watching.

Soonyoung's head snapped toward the sound. The paper in his pocket practically burned against his chest now. His instincts screamed run, but his body couldn’t move fast enough.

DONG.

Another toll.

Suddenly, an invisible force slammed into Soonyoung from the left side, so hard that it threw him off his chair and into the wall with a sickening crack.

“SOONYOUNG!” Jeonghan yelled, leaping to his feet.

DONG.

A sharp, grotesque tearing noise filled the room. Soonyoung screamed. A raw, blood-curdling scream. His left arm—gone. Blood poured from the torn flesh where his arm had once been. He writhed in agony, clutching at the air in panic, vision spinning.

“VERNON!” Jihoon shouted, his voice cracking. “NOW!”

“I- I’m trying!” Vernon dropped to his knees beside Soonyoung, pulling vials from his coat. “I don’t know if this will work- I’m not a doctor!”

“YOU’RE ALL WE GOT!” Seungkwan yelled, voice trembling.

Vernon’s hands shook as he poured a glowing blue liquid over Soonyoung’s wound. A faint shimmer spread across the torn limb, slowing the bleeding. Soonyoung’s breathing turned ragged, eyes wide in terror, the pain far from fading.

Everyone else stood frozen. No one spoke of the food. No one said anything at all. But the silence was heavy. They all knew—this wasn’t just a punishment. This was a warning. And the cost of disobedience... had just become terrifyingly real.

Soonyoung sat slumped against the cold stone wall, his breath shallow as he stared at the stump where his left arm had once been. The pain was still there, searing and real, even though the wound had been healed by Vernon’s alchemic touch. It burned through him like it hadn’t been healed at all.

This is a VR game, Soonyoung kept repeating in his head, but the thought felt hollow. The pain had felt too real, too vivid. Every second of it had been agonizing, almost as if it had transcended the lines of virtual reality and seeped into his very consciousness.

“Do you feel it?” Jeonghan’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Soonyoung looked up to see Jeonghan standing by, his usual composure visibly shaken. His eyes were wide, filled with a mix of anger and fear. Soonyoung nodded slowly, his voice hoarse as he spoke.

“It was too real,” he rasped. “I don’t care if this is a game... it hurt like hell. It hurt.”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened for a moment, but then his shoulders stiffened, as if shaking off the vulnerability. “We can’t let it get to us. We need to keep moving.”

But Soonyoung couldn't shake the feeling. The pain hadn’t just been physical. It was like it had burrowed itself into his mind, branding him. He touched the bandage tightly wrapped around his shoulder, his fingers trembling.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. The group moved on, trekking deeper into the temple, but even as they walked, a sense of dread clung to them.

The walls of the temple loomed higher and higher, winding corridors leading into the unknown. The deeper they went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. Everything seemed to pulse with an energy that felt wrong. The air was thick, and the dark stone felt alive with malevolent whispers. Soonyoung could hear his own breathing loud in his ears, trying to drown out the noise in his head.

DONG.

The bell tolled again. This time, there was no warning. The air crackled, and everything seemed to freeze for a moment.

And then, a sudden scream.

“JIHOON!” Vernon shouted.

It was too fast for any of them to react. Soonyoung only saw Jihoon’s form lift from the ground, as if some invisible force had grabbed him. His feet left the floor, his body twisting in mid-air, before he was dragged—screaming—at an unimaginable speed down one of the winding passages. The rest of them barely had time to register what had happened.

“No!” Soonyoung's voice broke through the confusion, but it was too late.

Jihoon was gone.

Without another word, they scattered in different directions, racing through the dark, labyrinthine corridors. Soonyoung pushed through the stone hallways, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he forced his body to move despite the pain that still burned in his mind and phantom limb.

He rounded a corner, nearly tripping over his own feet. The place felt like it was shifting, closing in on him as if the temple itself was alive and mocking his every step. The stone walls seemed to hum with an energy, flickering dimly like the heartbeats of some ancient entity.

It was then he saw it, a faint glow from behind an old, cracked bookshelf. His instincts screamed at him to investigate. Soonyoung gritted his teeth, his remaining hand pushing aside the heavy, dusty wood. Hidden behind it was a small, ornate box.

A clue.

He knelt before it, his hands shaking as he pried it open, revealing an old parchment inside. The text was in a strange, jagged script, but it was decipherable enough. His heart pounded in his chest as he read the first few words aloud.

《To save what is taken, a price must be paid.》

The rest of the message was cryptic, something about blood and sacrifice, and an image of a locked door hidden deep within the temple. It made Soonyoung’s stomach twist, but his mind was already racing with possibilities.

The bell tolled when Jihoon was taken. The bell tolls again for us all.

Soonyoung knew one thing—if they didn’t act quickly, they’d all be trapped here, paying for a game that wasn’t supposed to feel this real.

He gritted his teeth and tucked the clue into his pocket, already standing and running down the passage to meet the others. His heart hammered in his chest. He couldn't let them lose Jihoon. The price was already high. And it was only just beginning.

Soonyoung’s legs felt heavy, each step an effort as he clutched the clue tightly in his right hand, his left arm still throbbing with a dull, phantom pain. The stone floors echoed beneath his feet as he searched for the others, his mind focused on the words he had just read.

I can’t let them down. Not Jihoon. Not any of them.

But before he could make any real progress, a scream split the air. It was raw, full of terror—a sound Soonyoung knew all too well. It was a scream that echoed through the temple, sharp and desperate.

And then there was a crash.

The noise reverberated, followed by the unsettling scrape of something heavy dragging across the ground. Soonyoung’s heart stuttered, and he sprinted towards the source of the sound, panic rising in his chest.

As he turned a corner, he saw it.

Jeonghan.

His body was being dragged with terrifying force across the stone floor. His limbs were bent at unnatural angles, his clothes torn. Soonyoung could only watch in horror as Jeonghan was slammed against the stone wall, his body crumpling in a sickening way. Blood splattered against the stone, the impact so brutal that it left Soonyoung frozen in place for a moment, his mind unable to process what was happening.

The scene was too much for him. Too real. The stench of blood filled the air, and the sight made his stomach churn. He couldn't breathe. His body rebelled as bile surged up his throat.

He stumbled back, vomiting violently, his knees buckling beneath him as his tears mixed with the bitter taste in his mouth. His chest tightened, his sobs escaping in broken gasps as the scene replayed in his mind, over and over again.

No. Not Jeonghan.

He couldn't process it. Couldn’t understand how it had all escalated so quickly. His vision blurred with tears, but even through the haze, he knew one thing.

The game had become real. And it was playing for keeps.

Soonyoung could barely stand. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as his heart pounded painfully in his chest, drowning out everything else. The bile in his throat burned, but it wasn’t just from the image of Jeonghan’s mangled body—it was the overwhelming, suffocating weight of it all. The crushing weight of the realization that this wasn’t just a game anymore. That it had turned into something they couldn’t control, something they couldn’t escape.

His arm… Jeonghan… He could still feel the phantom pain where his left arm had once been, the memory of the searing, agonizing cut fresh in his mind. It all seemed too much. Too real. Too impossible.

But then, a sharp breath, forced and controlled, left his lips.

I can’t break now. I can’t.

Soonyoung swallowed hard, pushing the terror down into the pit of his stomach, burying it beneath layers of exhaustion and numbness. The sadness was there, clinging to him like a heavy cloak, but he couldn't let it consume him. Not yet.

Vernon. Seungkwan. Jihoon... They need me.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his fingers trembling as he gripped the clue in his right hand. It felt like the only lifeline he had left. With one final shaky breath, he stood up, forcing his legs to move, each step heavy and deliberate, as though the very air in the temple had turned to lead. He couldn’t waste any more time.

The pain in his arm was nothing compared to the dread of losing more of his friends. I won’t let anyone else die. I can’t.

He glanced back one last time at the spot where Jeonghan had fallen, a quiet sorrow settling over him like a shadow, but he knew he couldn’t afford to linger. His heart broke for his friend, but right now, it wasn’t just about survival. It was about finding the others; finding a way out of this nightmare.

The sorrow would have to wait. For now, there was only the next step, and the next, and the next.

Vernon. Seungkwan. Jihoon... I’m coming for you.

Soonyoung wiped his tears, trying to clear his mind as he pressed forward. The walls seemed to close in on him, the weight of their surroundings a constant reminder that the game was far from over. The silence was oppressive, but the echo of his own footsteps kept him going.

Even if his heart was breaking, even if his body was screaming for rest, he had to keep moving.

They need me. And I won’t let them down.

Soonyoung’s feet dragged, each step a struggle. His entire body felt like it was made of lead, and every corner he turned seemed to stretch on forever, the silence weighing heavily around him. The air felt colder now, suffocating, as though the temple itself was closing in on him, urging him to give in.

But he couldn’t. Not now.

He forced himself forward, moving despite the numbness that threatened to overtake his mind and body. He was barely aware of how much time had passed, or how far he’d walked. His heart was still heavy with the image of Jeonghan’s body, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind. For now, there was nothing he could do for Jeonghan. There were too many others who needed him.

As he rounded another corner, he spotted Vernon, sitting against the stone wall, his expression worn and anxious. His eyes immediately met Soonyoung’s, relief flashing in his gaze, but it was quickly overshadowed by the concern that followed.

“Soonyoung,” Vernon said, rushing over. His voice was tense, though there was a flicker of hope behind it. “Where are the others?”

Soonyoung’s stomach twisted, the memory of Jeonghan still fresh, but he didn’t let himself falter. He couldn’t afford to.

“I found a clue,” Soonyoung said, his voice hoarse, but firm. He couldn’t let Vernon see how broken he was. “It’s about Jihoon.”

Vernon’s brows furrowed, a flicker of curiosity and desperation in his eyes. “What clue? Tell me, Soonyoung. We have to find him.”

Soonyoung swallowed the lump in his throat, fighting the rising emotions, the overwhelming sorrow that threatened to spill over. He clutched the piece of paper tighter, the edges crinkling in his hand. He had to say something. He had to keep going.

“It’s… It’s about the temple,” Soonyoung continued, speaking quickly, not allowing himself to pause. “The clue said there’s a hidden chamber beneath the altar. It’s the only way to reach him. We have to get there before time runs out.”

Vernon stared at him, blinking in disbelief for a moment before nodding. “The altar. Under the temple…” His gaze hardened, determination taking over his expression. “We’ll get him back. I won’t let him die here.”

Soonyoung’s heart tightened at the words, but he pushed it down. I can’t let him die, either.

For a moment, the weight of the situation nearly crushed him again. But he forced himself to focus, knowing that their lives were on the line. They had to find Jihoon. No matter what.

“Let’s go,” Soonyoung urged, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “We don’t have much time.”

Vernon didn’t hesitate, standing up quickly, his face grim but resolute. The two of them set off together, every step taking them deeper into the temple’s mysteries, to whatever horrors awaited them next.

But as they moved forward, Soonyoung couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Something was still hidden. Something that no one was ready for.

And though he didn’t speak a word of it, the haunting image of Jeonghan’s broken body lingered in his mind like a shadow, a reminder of how fragile they all were.

The heavy silence that enveloped the air felt suffocating as Soonyoung and Vernon made their way deeper into the temple, the dark stone walls seeming to close in around them. Each step echoed louder than the last, the weight of their mission pressing down on their shoulders. They moved quickly, the desperate need to find Jihoon driving them forward.

And then, through the thick shadows ahead, Soonyoung saw it: an eerie, chilling sight.

Jihoon’s body was suspended in mid-air, his legs dangling loosely, his back arched as if he were caught in an invisible grip. His head hung low, and for a moment, Soonyoung’s heart stopped. His mind raced with the worst possibilities, the terror of what he might find rushing over him.

But then, as the footsteps drew closer, Jihoon’s eyes slowly fluttered open. The light in his eyes was weak, but they were unmistakably alive, filled with a mixture of confusion, fear, and something that almost looked like relief when they locked onto Soonyoung and Vernon.

"Soonyoung… Vernon…" Jihoon whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible, as if every breath was a struggle. His head tilted just slightly, gaze hazy but fixed on them. "You found me…"

Soonyoung’s heart clenched in relief, but the fear didn’t fade. Not completely. He took a few more steps toward Jihoon, his eyes scanning the air around his friend, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The space around Jihoon seemed warped, as though the very air itself refused to acknowledge his form—no ropes, no chains, nothing to hold him. Yet, there he was, hanging in place, suspended by an invisible force.

Vernon stepped closer, his eyes wide with concern. "Jihoon, are you- are you okay? What happened? What’s going on here?"

Jihoon didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze flickered to Soonyoung and then to Vernon, his lips parted as if to speak, but the words seemed to die on his tongue. He struggled to gather himself, swallowing hard before finally speaking.

“I don’t know,” he managed to croak, his body trembling slightly, as if still recovering from the strange paralysis. “I was… pulled. There was no way to fight it. It felt like something was dragging me... pulling me deeper into the temple. I couldn’t- couldn’t stop it.”

Soonyoung clenched his fists, trying to keep his composure. He couldn’t let himself fall apart now, not with Jihoon still hanging on by some invisible thread.

Vernon’s face tightened in frustration, worry etched deep into his features. “We’re getting you down from there, Jihoon. Just hold on.”

As Soonyoung and Vernon worked to carefully approach Jihoon, trying to figure out how to release him from whatever held him in the air, the atmosphere around them shifted again, the air growing colder and heavier with each passing moment. The temple seemed to respond to their presence, the walls almost alive with a strange, oppressive energy. It felt like they weren’t just dealing with the game anymore but something much darker.

And as they reached Jihoon, Soonyoung caught the faintest glimpse of something, movement in the shadows, a flicker of something watching them, just out of sight. His heart skipped a beat, but before he could say anything, Jihoon gasped.

“Watch out,” Jihoon whispered, barely audible, his eyes wide in warning. “It’s not over… This place- It’s a trap.”

Soonyoung and Vernon froze, staring at Jihoon in alarm. Before they could react, a low, ominous hum filled the air. The shadows in the temple seemed to twist and distort, creeping closer around them, and suddenly, they could feel it. Something was wrong.

Soonyoung’s instincts flared. The air had thickened, and the pressure felt unbearable. This was no longer just a game. They were trapped in something far worse. And with Jihoon still suspended, barely clinging to consciousness, Soonyoung knew they needed to act fast.

“Vernon,” Soonyoung said with urgency in his voice, “grab Jihoon. Now.”

Without hesitation, Vernon lunged forward and gripped Jihoon’s ankle, trying to yank him down. But the moment his hand made contact, Jihoon’s eyes widened in panic. His body jolted violently, and his mouth opened in a silent gasp before choking sounds escaped him.

Soonyoung’s eyes darted up. Jihoon’s neck was being pulled back by something unseen, as if an invisible noose had snapped around it. His hands clawed at nothing, feet kicking helplessly in the air as he struggled for breath.

“Vernon, he’s being strangled- stop!” Soonyoung shouted, his voice cracking.

Vernon froze for a split second, stunned, his grip still firm on Jihoon’s ankle. Thinking fast, Soonyoung dropped his clue paper, rushed forward, and wrapped his arms tightly around Vernon’s legs.

“Hold steady!” Soonyoung yelled as he began to lift Vernon with all the strength his remaining arm could muster, pushing the younger up higher to relieve the tension around Jihoon’s neck.

As Vernon rose a few more inches, Jihoon let out a strained gasp, his body slackened slightly, the invisible pressure around his neck easing just enough. His hands dropped from the air as he sucked in the smallest breath, still trembling but momentarily free from the choking force.

“Let go!” Soonyoung called up. “Let go of his ankle- now!”

Vernon obeyed immediately, releasing Jihoon’s leg, and the moment he did, Soonyoung stumbled back, cradling Vernon’s descent. The two of them fell hard against the temple floor, panting.

Jihoon’s body, still suspended, fell limp again, but the strangling force didn’t return. He hung there, unconscious but alive, no longer gasping.

Soonyoung coughed as he sat up, sweat beading across his forehead despite the cold air. “That thing… it reacts to touch. We have to find a different way.”

Vernon nodded, stunned, still catching his breath. “We almost lost him…”

Soonyoung looked up at Jihoon’s limp form, fists tightening. “We’re not going to. We’ll figure this out.”

Despite the growing dread curling in his chest, Soonyoung refused to let fear take root again, not while Jihoon was still alive, not while Vernon was with him. They had no choice but to find another way to break Jihoon free… without waking whatever was watching from the shadows.

Soonyoung sat on the temple floor, breathing heavily, glancing up at Jihoon—still suspended midair, unconscious or barely hanging on.

Suddenly, the silence cracked.

“Soonyoung? Vernon? Jeonghan? Where are you?!”

It was Seungkwan’s voice, hoarse and anxious, echoing through the stone walls.

Vernon jolted upright. “That’s Seungkwan! I’ll go get him- stay with Jihoon!”

Before Soonyoung could protest, Vernon was already running, disappearing around the bend. Then came the silence. Thick. Oppressive. Soonyoung stayed crouched, his eyes shifting between Jihoon’s limp form and the hallway Vernon vanished into. Every breath felt like it weighed a ton. The flickering torchlight made Jihoon’s shadow twitch—like something else was moving. Soonyoung clenched the clue paper in his good hand, jaw tightening.

Then... a cold breeze whispered past his neck.

He froze. 

Behind him, a faint giggle. Low. Crooked. Childlike. The same one they had heard back in the mansion. 

He turned slowly, only to find the corridor as empty as before. No one was there. But the feeling lingered—like he wasn’t alone anymore. Soonyoung’s breath trembled as he stared up at Jihoon’s suspended body. He rubbed his eyes, hoping the exhaustion was playing tricks on him.

But when he looked again- Jihoon’s eyes were open. And they were wrong. A sickly, unnatural hue, murky and glowing faintly, not the brown he knew. The pupils were too wide, as if dilated with something inhuman. And worst of all, those eyes were looking right at him.

Soonyoung stumbled back, heart slamming in his chest. “Jihoon…?”

The head tilted just slightly. The expression unreadable. Cold. Almost smiling.

“No, no-” Soonyoung backed away further, the weight of the temple’s silence pressing against him. His mouth went dry, panic spiking.

“VERNON!!” he shouted hoarsely. “VERNON, COME BACK!!”

No response. Only the faint sound of his own ragged breathing and the slight creak of unseen movement somewhere in the shadows. Soonyoung clenched his fists. He couldn't stay here. Not with that thing pretending to be Jihoon.

With his right hand gripping the wall to guide himself, he turned and ran through the corridor, heart pounding. He needed Vernon. He needed someone.

Turning a corner, he nearly collided with someone- “Seungkwan!”

Seungkwan stepped back, startled. “Whoa- Soonyoung?”

Panting, Soonyoung grabbed Seungkwan’s shoulders. “Where’s Vernon? Did you see him?”

Seungkwan blinked. “Vernon? No- wasn’t he with you?”

“You screamed earlier!” Soonyoung insisted. “That’s why Vernon went to find you!”

Seungkwan froze. “What? I didn’t scream. I was searching for you two the whole time.”

Soonyoung’s stomach dropped. His hands fell to his sides as his face turned pale. 

“…Then who-” His voice cracked. If Seungkwan never screamed, then… who had Vernon heard? And where did Vernon go after following that voice?

The moment realization dawned on Soonyoung, a low, gurgling hiss filled the air. A thick black smoke slithered out from the cracks of the temple floor like veins, curling around Seungkwan and Soonyoung’s ankles. It rose fast, too fast, swallowing the corridor in an unnatural darkness. Instinctively, they clung to each other.

“Don’t let go!” Soonyoung gasped, gripping Seungkwan’s wrist tightly.

“I won’t-!”

But the smoke surged with a vengeance.

And in a heartbeat, Soonyoung was alone. Seungkwan was gone. The air was colder, heavier. The temple felt different—distorted, like a dream twisting into a nightmare.

“Soonyoung…” a voice slithered, and he spun around—only to find shadows moving like silhouettes, crawling along the walls with elongated fingers.

“No- no, no…” he backed away, breath hitching.

The whispers grew louder. His own thoughts screamed over them, but they were distorted too. Jeonghan’s broken body. Jihoon’s inhuman stare. Vernon’s disappearance. The fake voice. The laughter. All of it collided in a spiral of madness.

The wall he leaned against pulsed. The floor beneath him twisted. His injured body trembled, and his vision shook.

“Soonyoung,” the voice cooed again, soft and wrong.

And then he saw himself, a mirror image, smiling wide with pitch-black eyes, stepping forward with a hand outstretched.

He fell to his knees.

His mind, fractured, exhausted, and overwhelmed. He couldn’t take it anymore. Soonyoung let go. The last thing he saw before his body slumped, was the mirrored version of himself kneeling in front of him, cupping his cheek.

“Let’s play now,” it whispered.

And Soonyoung did. Because he was no longer there.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

Seungkwan’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as he jolted upright. The black smoke was gone, but so was Soonyoung.

His hands scraped against the cold stone floor. The room was unfamiliar, lit only by a single flickering flame in the corner that cast haunting shadows across the walls. It felt alive like something was watching, breathing with him.

He scrambled to his feet and stumbled toward the door, only to find none. Just solid, ancient brick surrounding him.

“No, no, no-” Seungkwan muttered, panic rising as he searched for a crack, a weakness, a seam.

A whisper drifted from behind him. He turned. No one. Then-

BANG.

The wall pulsed. Cracks formed.

He saw something, or someone, a hand reaching through a fracture. A hand… real.

“Soonyoung?” he gasped, dropping to his knees and crawling toward it. “Hyung, is that you? Please- please help me!”

His hand stretched out, fingertips brushing against the hand. But it pulled back. And something else grabbed Seungkwan from behind.

“No-! Let me go!” he screamed, nails digging into the stone as he was dragged backwards by something unseen.

His heels scraped violently. His breath turned to gasps. He clawed at the floor, the flame flickering wildly as the shadows turned monstrous.

Then the door revealed itself behind him, open, but too far.

His final scream was hoarse, desperate, before the room swallowed him whole. Silence followed. Only the faint scent of smoke and something burnt remained.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

Jihoon's eyes snapped open, his body lying on soft grass beneath a pale, unmoving sky. The temple loomed in the distance behind him, cold and silent. His body ached faintly, but he was alive. Breathing.

And alone. Then came the voice.

《Congratulations, Jihoon. The game has ended.》

His breath caught. "What? Ended…? Where are the others?"

No answer.

He sat up quickly, fingers scrambling to open the character interface. Everyone’s profiles: gone. Only his remained. But something else appeared at the bottom of the menu:

《Log Out》

His eyes widened. "Finally…"

Without a second thought, Jihoon pressed the button. But nothing happened. Not immediately. Then—

A sharp crack echoed behind him. He turned. A shadow. Fast. No form. No time. A sudden coldness sliced through his chest before his mind could register it. His body froze mid-motion, eyes widening in horror as blood bloomed in his mouth.

He staggered, gurgled out a breath. Then collapsed.

The "Log Out" button flickered.

The grass drank in the silence. And the temple smiled in the distance.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

Back in the real world, the skies remained heavy with the gray hue of late afternoon, indifferent to the growing dread that settled across the city.

A corkboard outside the convenience store fluttered in the wind, the corners of the papers curling with time. Five posters stood side by side, all freshly printed but already weather-worn. 

Each one bearing a name… a photograph… and the haunting word: MISSING.

Kwon Soonyoung. Boo Seungkwan. Yoon Jeonghan. Lee Jihoon. Hansol Vernon Chwe.

Smiling faces stared back from the paper, unaware of their fate. Friends, classmates, and family passed by, whispering, placing candles and flowers beneath the board. Authorities gave up weeks ago, claiming it was a case of vanishing with “no traceable digital footprints.”

The gaming café where they were last seen was locked down. Their VR pods? Removed. The system logs? Erased. The game? No longer existed.

But those who knew them best… they remembered. They remembered how they were excited. How they laughed. How they entered the VR game for what should’ve been just another thrill.

Now, their bodies were never found. Only silence remained. And the chilling feeling that is somewhere beneath lines of corrupted code and false realities. 

In the shadows of the corrupted game logs, if anyone had the ability to dig deep enough, they would’ve seen the final shift.

Just before Soonyoung’s death, as his sanity was overtaken by the creeping dread and he allowed himself to be consumed, the game system silently made one last change to the character details.

Seungkwan’s profile flickered… and the title “KILLER” vanished from his role. A breath later, it appeared under a new name: Lee Jihoon.

But none of the players were aware of this, not even Jihoon, at the time. Only the system knew. Only the game watched. Yet if we rewind to the beginning, just before the five friends were allowed to meet inside the virtual mansion, there was a brief, strange moment where Seungkwan stood alone, the world still forming around him. A cold robotic voice had asked: 《List the order of your friends, from most to least.》

No context. No reason given. Just the demand. So Seungkwan, confused, complied. He listed:

1. Jeonghan

2. Vernon

3. Soonyoung

4. Seungkwan

5. Jihoon

He didn't know what he had done.

The game simply responded: 《Acknowledged. Prioritization received.》

It was only after Soonyoung’s death that Seungkwan’s killer status quietly lifted. Because the first on the list had been eliminated. 

By the time Jihoon woke up, outside the temple, isolated and confused, the weight of the silence was crushing.

He looked at the character details.

And there it was. His name… His role…《KILLER》

He stared at it, trembling.

“Why?” he whispered to no one. And the game gave no answer.

Only the briefest flicker on the screen before his world turned red-

LOG OUT: SUCCESS.

[myl0v3l1f3]

Something about Nicole’s suicide ending fills me with such indescribable sadness that I don’t know how to describe. The fact she’s just hanging there, the room was dark, the computer was on, the bed was not made, the whole house was dead silent. Don’t even get me SYARTED on the suicide note either:

“People are books, puzzles and pawns. In that order. First theyre read, then they’re figured out, then they’re persuaded”

People are read, figured out and persuaded as Nicole says herself, but theyre also open, confusing or difficult and gullible. In that order can be a reference to Nicole before the game, listing to her mom’s advice and being a “nice” child, but ending up being gullible and vulnerable in the end. Being confusing/difficult can be Nicole struggling to “fit in” in society, with the mindset and attitude she has.

“Some would call that wrongly manipulative but whats the alternative? Basically any advice my mom’s ever given me. “Dont be mean, don’t judge, be open,”,”

Nicole doesnt see another option besides manipulating people or being stupidly nice, with no in between. It shows the difference between how both of them think you should supposed ply act in society. Nicole thinks you should figure out how to change people to have control and ‘not get hurt’, whilst her mum thinks that you should be respectful, and - in Nicole’s eyes - vulnerable. An open target, really.

“And yeah sure but, that only works when men don’t wanna have sex with you. Be tolerant of guys who get off by choking you, no way that goes south.”

Nicole recognises that she CAN act like her mum says, she knows it’s an option, except she’s also aware that men do see woman as objects and things to stick their dicks in, and in a place where she is mostly interacting with men, it crosses it off as something she can do, because she knows if she does, she WILL get hurt. She’s aware that she’s supposed to ignore the warnings and calls it out but she’s also aware that she won’t be heard, by a majority of people.

“Whats wrong with a pizza delivery-boy with no career goals? Whens the last time you asked a pizza delivery-boy if he’s a rapist?”

I feel you can interpret this im different ways. I personally see it in two different lights - sarcastic (people like crispin are seen as people with no career goals, or realistic ones, and he’s most likely (obviously in Nicole’s eyes) a rapist, yet no one ever checks because they’re seen as less educated) and Nicole seeing no problem with ‘settling down’ with someone who doesn’t have a bright future ahead of him (idk I feel like this is a reach and doesnt make sense but this is the best I can describe what im thinking 😭)

“Theyre called warning signs, but ignoring them makes you a nice person. And one day, if you’re a nice enough girl you’ll end up just like me”

If you call out people on shit behaviour, you’re seen as ‘disrespectful’ or something along those lines. If you ignore them, you might have a good life, but in the end you will be caught up in vulnerability. Nicole frequently called out and accused men of inappropriate behaviour, and she was both hated for it and liked for it, however in the end, she called out someone who didn’t have a line to cross and in the end she couldn’t ’handle?’ It, the pressure and most likefesr of what would happen to her, as again, the men in this game dont have a line they can cross.

“And just like my dad”

This is such a line. Nicole’s dad killed himself, yeah, and Nicole could just be referencing the fact they both died the same way, but were not told why he kills himself, we just know it’s apparently Nicole’s fault. This could open up so many different reasons on why he did it (Nicole’s mum giving him less visitation rights, the divorce, etc etc or just being under pressure). I think my favourite thoughts in this line is that potentially, Nicole knew why her dad killed himself, and only she alone had the actual reason, which is why she says it - knowing people will just think it’s because they’re both dead/died the same way

If you’re reading this, im dead.

Very obvious, shes dead.

Sorry if this is out of reach Icl as I was writing this I lwk confused myself 💔 but uhhhhhhhhh lmk how you felt abt it?? CUS I CANT BE THE ONLY ONE WHO WNTS TO ACTUALLY START CRYING WHEN THEY SEE THE IMSGE RIGHT???

[trash-gremlin]

taking the bait wh0o'S Ratchet

me when you take the bait:

ok hes basically my half baked mcu oc this is pretty much all i know about him (this is not coherant): name: ratchet

birth name: kieran smith

lore: was trafficked as a child into the Madripoor (fictional marvel crime country) fighting rings as a child. was a successful fighter (and killer) with a bunch of sponsors before he had even hit puberty. was stolen out of his home (cage) in his early teens and thought he was being rescued from the rings. he was taken to a rogue AIM (advanced idea mechanics - evil biotech company basically) facility where he had black market alien tech fused with his body lol. he also has a built in HUD which i think is pretty cool even if that would have been traumatic asf. anyway the biotech basically gave him an innate knowledge of machinery and how they work and how he can repurpose them to work the way he wants them to. cue a bunch of explosions as he escapes and detonates the rogue facility. he then became a hitman/bounty hunter in Madripoor under the name Ratchet and earned himself quite a reputation for making unstable but highly effective weapons on the fly. he was eventually caught after a failed high profile assassination. ENTERING THUNDERBOTLS* CANON: his trial was halted when valentina gave him an ultimatum between prison or working under her. he chose the latter.

looks: olive skin, sharp features, dark eyes that reflect strangely in the dark. freckles. TOOTH GAP. messy longish hair that he cuts with rusty kitchen scissors while looking in a dirty mirror. wiry lean build, practical muscle but not bulky and quite short (hows that childhood malnutrition working out for you?). has a number identification tattoo from the rings, probably behind his right ear. has a bunch of poorly done tattoos he either did himself or got for cheap. has a bunch of ear piercings (maybe some facial piercings i havnt decided yet). big on the diy aesthetic. mostly wears a white singlet covered in grease stains and cargo pants when hes off duty. on duty basically the same but with steel capped boots, a cropped black jacket with RATCHET on the back, probably has half working led lights along the stitching, goggles, and fingerless gloves. probably has an attachable tablet with a tactical display on his left forearm.

personality: FREAK FREAK FREAK. arrogant smartass seductive violent conniving manipulative dictator. knows exactly what buttons to push to gain the upper hand. keeps a scoreboard on his HUD on his kills, who has crossed him and who has helped him. never forgets a name, sucks at faces tho. doesnt care about collateral damage. probably a masochist. think pre-shimmer jinx levels of unstable. like deadpool but uh.... evil. after his "reform" he no longer kills for money, but for fun. the pr team is working overtime on this fucking guy. probably does hard drugs to relax. likes to get rises out of people. is only allowed to be interviewed if hes in a group and under no circumstances is he allowed to drive (but he does anyway). has a strong disregard for pretty much every law in every country. basically summarised as: likes to kill and doesnt care if he dies in the process.

trivia tidbits: once killed an entire military team sent to apprehend him except for the leader and then mailed to dogtags of his fallen squadron back to him. has a blended french-american accent. listens to pirated music (mostly 80's-90's pop punk) on a homemade mp3 player. built a companion/med bot called 8UD-E (pronounced buddy) which stores a range of injectable "heals" (its either adrenaline, cocaine, or caffeine depending on the situation). 8UD-E communicates in beeps and trills that only ratchet can fully understand. he only ever goes by ratchet, barely even remembers his birth name himself.

in closing: HOLY YAP SESH. im a sucker for a tragic child soldier character, what can i say. ill add him to the list next to alastair and silas.

[bridgyrose]

continuation of that Cinder's stepsisters run away with her?

Ana practically ran through the halls with a pack slung over her shoulders as she looked for Cinder. Her heart raced as she finally started to catch up, glad that her mother hadnt looked for her yet. “We need to leave!” 

Cinder finished folding the bedding she held and sat it on a cart. “Why should I listen to you?” 

“Because Mother’s going to punish you for those swords-” her words cut out as she felt her back slam against the wall and Cinder’s tight grip squeezing her arms. As she looked in Cinder’s eyes, her breath nearly stopped as she only saw anger in them. 

“You and your sister have spent years tormenting me! Why would I ever believe you?!” 

Ana took a sharp breath as she started to feel Cinder’s hands heat up through her sleeves, legs shaking as she tried to speak. “I-I’m sorry. I cant… I cant fix what I’ve done but I can get you away from here so Mother doesnt punish you further!” 

“And why do you care?” 

“B-because Mother will get rid of you for this. A-and once she does, Melina and I will be the ones she punishes.” 

Cinder growled and pulled her hands away from Ana, burnt cloth fluttering in the air. “I didnt steal those swords, they were a gift.” 

“Melina doesnt care and she’s going to tell Mother you did anyway.” Ana held her arm, wincing from the small burn as she looked away from Cinder. “I’m sorry we hurt you, but I really can get you away from here. And I’ll leave with you, but we dont have much more time.” 

“I cant leave.” 

“You have to-” 

“If I leave now, then I cant be a huntress!” 

Ana went quiet as she watched the anger in Cinder’s eyes turn to fear. It was strange to see fear coming from something other than their Mother, and it was a fear that she understood: a fear of losing opportunities. “Who… when have you been training to be a huntress? You’re supposed to be working here.” 

Cinder froze for a moment before starting to walk off. “F-forget about it, I need to get back to work-” 

“If you leave with me then I can make sure you become a huntress,” Ana said as she grabbed Cinder’s wrist. 

“And why should I trust you?” Cinder asked. 

“You cant, but I know people who can get you where you need to be.” Ana let go of Cinder, legs starting to shake. “I know its not much, but I can make sure you’re safe.” 

“I dont see why you care.” 

“You-” Ana took a deep breath. “You’re still my sister, even if I havent treated you well. And the way Mother punishes you is taking things too far.” 

“Fine, but if this is a trick, I will make sure you pay.” 

Ana froze as she watched Cinder grab the necklace around her neck and melted through the metal chain with a single hand. Never in the months of tormenting Cinder did Ana ever believe that removing that necklace would be so easy. No shock, no punishment… almost as if Cinder was just biding her time. 

“Are we going?” Cinder asked. 

“Y-yes.” Ana threw the pack over her shoulder once more and started to lead Cinder out of the hotel. A smile started to cross her lips as she saw that the entrance to the hotel was still clear, her heart raced as they made their way through the lobby and out the door. 

Only to be met with the cold air stinging across her face. She took a few deep breaths to try to calm herself, adrenaline finally wearing off as she led Cinder down the street and towards the ferry ship that brought people between Atlas and Mantle, a walk that she was more than familiar with. 

And yet, it felt all that less familiar as the sun had set and the stars were already out. The streets were darker than Ana had remembered, her heart thumped hard in her chest as the lights over the streets became fewer and fewer. Her steps slowed until she came to a stop and watched Cinder walk past her. 

“Why are you stopping?” Cinder asked as she stopped. “I thought you were going to help me.” 

Ana nodded, voice shaking as she spoke. “I-I do, but I didnt realize it’d be this dark already and… maybe if we go back mom wont be so angry at you-” 

“And I cant go back!” Cinder let out a heavy sigh and started walking again. “She’ll punish me for breaking that necklace if I go back. Take me to these people you know and then you can head home for all I care. But *I’m* not going back.” 

Ana still couldnt seem to start walking again as Cinder walked down the street and out of sight. Her eyes stayed on the darkness lingering ahead of her as it grew ever closer as more lights started to out. As the darkness finally swallowed her, she ran forward to try to catch up with Cinder. “Wait for me!” 

prev

[hevanderson]

hi. take some glestern style descriptions. also i must preface by saying this is NOT historically accurate nor is it meant to be. this is based off of vibes alone. thumbs up

quinn: early on, she wears very modest outfits. high collars and skirts that go to the ankles. flat shoes. long sleeves and/or impractical lacy gloves. light colors, particularly blue and white. long hair, either all down or partially up and partially down. cross necklace is always on. classy, expensive looking jewelry, particularly bracelets. later, she wears pants that are clearly second-hand and in relatively poor condition, stolen. big, button up work shirts that are also not in the best shape. the buttons are never fully buttoned. her hair is now short, think her season 3 hair or s2 new york hair. no more cross necklace, and minimal jewelry, if any at all. more durable shoes meant for working. a belt with a holster to carry a gun. carries more practical gloves in the pocket of her pants. darker color schemes with a lot of neutrals. most of her clothes have some visible stress on them

santana: darker colors. a decent mix of tight and loose clothing– usually, her tops are tighter and her bottoms are looser. big fan of shorts and shorter skirts. moveability is a priority for her. likes necklaces, but doesnt own many. the ones she own are from her family and tend to somewhat clash with her outfits but she wears them anyway because she loves her family. ties her hair up when working, high ponytail, no bangs. when shes working with sue's gang, she layers up as best as she can and goes for all loose clothing so its easier to move and sneak around. her hair is tied into a low ponytail to keep it out of her face. at work and in everyday, she wears boots with a mild heel, but when shes on duty for sue she wears discreet flat shoes to avoid making sounds. for the same reason, she also doesnt wear jewelry while working with sue's gang

puck: dark colors. darker blue jeans that have been worn quite a bit. rips in the jeans. black cowboy boots are always on, and are rather simple with no designs in them. shaved head. off duty, he occasionally wears a cowboy hat. he wears button ups that are, of course, never fully (or at all) buttoned. the sleeves to these shirts are often rolled up to his forearms. tattoos on his arm, hand-done of course, random doodles he thinks make him look badass. always has a gun in his belt holster, conveniently placed right in front of his crotch. gross

tina: dark colors strike again, but her outfits have accents of blue. gloves, dyed black leather with the occasional lace. high collared shirts paired with intricate silver necklaces, usually adorned with blue gems. long, ruffled skirts. her outfits between working and day to day dont change much, although she sometimes will wear subtley striped black pants when working. always in heeled boots with looping stitched details in blue thread. her hair is plain back and usually down, but, occasionally when shes working at the saloon, she'll pull it into a low ponytail or braids. wears a black leather crossbody satchel. no guns on her but just in case she does carry around a small knife with a sheath

brittany: finally a break from dark colors. brittany primarily wears whites and lighter colors, particularly blues, pinks, and oranges. a wide collection of white shirts she's customized, either intentionally or unintentionally– grass stains, paint splatters, patterns stitched into her shirts. she keeps it loose. overalls enjoyer, usually wears a blue pair that have doodles and practice stitches all over them. she generally prefers pants and shorts, and usually wears light blue denim. if she does wear a skirt, it is flowy but not long, and must have some form of pattern on it (she likes florals the most). her hair is equally spent down as it is spent up; either, it is everywhere and flowing freely (usually when shes just out and about), but when working on her farm or performing she ties it up into a high ponytail, but leaves her bangs out (think her early s2 bangs). when shes working for sue, she borrows clothes from santana. she also ties her hair into a ponytail and pins it into a large, rather impractical, hat she wears. her gang clothes are dark, both to obscure her identity and to give her more security under darkness

mercedes: glamorous and colorful. the largest parts of her outfits are usually black or dark brown, but anything else is bursting with color. when performing, she wears darker high-low skirts with ruffles in purples, pinks, and reds depending on the costume. more corset-like tops that have ruffles lining the top and spilling over onto the off-the-shoulder sleeves. feathery headbands. gloves that stop at her wrists and are complimented by bejeweled bracelets. tights with some subtle patterns in them in a darker version of what her outfit's accent color is. tall boots that are just a little impractical to walk in. when shes off duty, she still wears skirts, and they range from stopping at her mid-thigh to coming down to her ankles. flat shoes that are comfortable to walk in. she wears the same bracelets, but loses her gloves and headband. her shirts have a similar construction to her performance ones, corest-y and off the shoulder, but when shes just lounging around or creating costumes she wears more relaxed tops– button ups and things like that. no matter what, though, she likes to have a lot of color. her hair, both on and off duty, is most similar to her s1 pilot hairstyle. no weapons, she tries to be a pacifist when she can

sam: light colors, but a bit less soft than brittany's color schemes. cool colors, blues and greens with some greys. his hair is similar to late s2. king of plaid button ups, and he wears them buttoned to the very top bc he takes his job as sheriff seriously. occasionally wears a grey cowboy hat that has his name stitched into the inside of it (courtesy of mercedes). his shirt is always tucked into his blue jeans, which have very faint grass stains and places that look like theyre on the verge of tearing. brown cowboy boots always. if he wants to class his outfit up, and he does abkut 50% of the time, he'll pair his shirt with a brown leather vest and, of course, a bolo tie. he also wears a belt with a medium sized round belt buckle. he has a holster on his belt but rarely has a gun in it because he honestly hates resorting to violence despite his job

[dballzposting]

Sorry I'm posting this video a third time.

This was such an awesome way to introduce them in DBS and I'm not just saying that becasue of Mr Satan's cherry red jacket.

It sets so many things straight for those of us who may have assumed that things were peaceful and rational between them ...

Buu is walking around a dark house and he's fuckingggg hungry and he doesnt know how to find his own food in that huge house so he just stalks around until he finds Mr Satan?

He THROWS the door open unflinchingly into a room of bright lights and cameras and a large audience. Not an uncommon sight and he doesnt care at all.

Buu does not see the significance of this. You may think that by now he might; that he knows of Mr Satan's hobby to appear in front of large groups of people and look nice and tell lies. But he doesn't. This is kind of Mr Satan's whole thing but it means absolutely nothing to Buu.

Most things mean nothing to Buu. He;s fucking hungry

Has Mr Satan ever tried to explain this to Buu?? "Hey when you see the cameras and the people, please just stay out of it"? Did it just not work? Maybe it just made no sense and meant nothing to Buu so Buu just discarded it.

Mr Satan scrambles to cook up a lie in front of everyone. It's a complete falsehood but to Buu standing there it's true enough. Buu would think that something just ~12% true would be true enough becasue he doesnt care. 0% true is true enough becasue he doesnt care AT ALL. He's fucking hungry

Mr Satan is banking on Buu to not deny or correct his story. This is reliable becasue Buu really isn't a stickler for those sorts of truths. The only truth he cares about is how he is feeling NOW as in RIGHT NOW. Fuck yesterday. Fuck a few years ago. Mr Satan can spin any story he wants. And it's not becasue Mr Satan and Buu have had conversations about how important it is that Mr Satan maintain this reputation. They've never talked about that. Mr Satan can say whatever he wants becasue Buu no care.

Mr Satan has to face off with Majin Buu and have a glaring contest. Mr Satan is hoping SO BAD that Buu will just do as he's told, but Buu JUST SAID that Buu hungry and that takes priority clearly. Fuck the audience fuck the cameras fuck what Mr Satan is saying fuck the tremble in Mr Satan's spine. Fuck everything it is like ants and pebbles to Buu. Buu hungry

Buu understands a NO when he hears it but he does not understand WHY and he does not stop being mad. He pushes back until he sees that Mr Satan isn't gonna back down, and at that point he blows steam out of his head to dispel his aggression enough to be able to disengage and turn around and leave. But he's still pissed. Buu stomps away and pauses at the doorway to glare over his shoulder. Fuck Mr Satan. Buu hungry. Buu go be hungry somewhere else.

Buu doesnt turn everyone to chocolate becasue Buu likes to be joyous and play games and presumably he understands now that causing misery and pain is only fun to him, and that makes it less fun overall. But he's fucking hungry. So he mostly just didnt do it becasue he has promised previously not to kill and eat people. Which is sort of arbitrary. You know what isnt arbitrary? BUU HUNGRY. He literally goes into the next room and sits down and crosses his arms about it.

THE WAY THAT MR SATAN SCUTTLES BACK WHEN BUU BLOWS STEAM ?!?? Like he's still afraid of him !?!?!?!?! Perhaps Buu is just SCARY but that doesnt mean that MR SATAN should feel scared. But I feel like Mr Satan's spine is synthetic and he has no real inner iron, and especially after the events he's lived through, his nervous system is just shot. Like many traumatized people he is able to continue on sheer force and denial but he's just so fuuucked . He is jumpy and easy to frighten. He's always kind of been that way and TBH it's kept him safe and out of danger. But he's never felt REAL strength or security or comfort. He's stuck being a scared little boy. He's still scared of Buu

NO ONE READS MR SATAN'S VERY OBVIOUS BODY LANGUAGE ?? ??? MANIACS ! ! ! !! ! !

Mr Satan is such a messssssss he goes to powder his nose & also to pee but really he just had to excuse himself AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE becasue he's scared of Buu and doesnt want him to blow up and he needs to appease him as quickly as possible. It's an exigence that Mr Satan feels. If he didnt go and do that immediately then I feel like it would have just sat in his throat like vomit. He wiould have felt faint and he would have had to go blow his ass off.

HE DEOSNT EXPLAIN ANYTHING TO BUU. Yes becasue Buu doesnt care and maybe wouldnt understand it, BUT ALSO becasue Not Exoplaining Things is VERY MUCH Mr Satan's way. I feel like he could explain things and Buu would get it. Maybe not all of it but some of it. Maybe not right now becasue hes fucking hungry and pissed but maybe it would sit in his head a while. Someone more articulate and inquisitive like Videl or Gohan would have felt the impulse to explain perplexing situations just naturally, and they would have had the tact to know their audience too; it's explainable. But Mr Satan just doesnt operate that way. FUCKKKK the truth FUCK the """situation."" FUCK five minutes ago. Fuck one minute ago. Right now he's scared and hurt and he feels Buu's pain and hunger. He doesnt think that explaining himself would soften the blow at all becasue it doesnt work that way with him; his intense emotional states just are what they are like a child's, and he thinks that others' explanations are just excuses and dirty tricks. He assumes Buu to be the same, which honestly is close enough, but if he DID explain things, then they could avoid this in the future.

Mr Satan just starts throwing items of appeasement at Buu without addressing the object of strife here. Buu sticks to his guns however and asserts himself. Buu fuckingg hungry. Mr Satan folds completely and haphazardly starts searching for chocolate, but he is no better at this than Buu is; Buu could have thrown open cabinets too. But this is more about Mr Satan tucking his tail between his legs and trying to serve than it is about food.

He fuckingg fails and calls for Videl to come clean up this mess. Buu still fucking hungry. Mr Satan does this to himself

Great video

[daydreamingtomatos]

im being a hater

(my shitty edit on the right)

i think theres a lot of very valid beef to be had with wolfwood's new design, particularly at how they botched his complexion in every direction. however my dumb nitpick that doesnt matter but feels emblematic of stampede's problems is how they fuck up wolfwood's silhouette. this POSE is very wolfwood, but trigun stampede made the weird and frankly awful decision to have the Punisher be black metal instead of a regular steel. this sucks and ruins his silhouette so wolfwood no longer dominates his own visual space when hes from a manga where he dominates the god damn page.

wolfwood's black suit's contrast is so important that nightow doesnt even put a line between the jacket and pants. i could get really into the visual metaphors you can drive from wolfwood's contrast to the thing we see him with most. he is a shadow next to a cross, he stands out from the religion he fights for and with, it is pure while he is dark. but this is all secondary to the fact that i can FUCKING SEE WHAT HES DOING

you know how people complain that directors should stop filming scenes in unlit rooms because the audience cant see anything. imagine condensing that principle into the secondary protagonist of a cgi show where you literally put lights on the object hes holding and i still have to squint at him to parse what hes doing in official promo art. now imagine vash and milly hitting a bong

[whirlandco]

Info dump to me about epoch I DEMAND IT

GLADLY. OKAY first off here is their reference just so you can get a clearer look at them without all the shading and such

and now infodump incoming. im copy-pasting a lot of this from a server where i talked about them already but its cool its fine

Epoch is in some weird gray area between being a tfoc and a tf sona cause their whole schtick is that their outlier ability flings them around the timeline at random intervals. like they're an oc in their own right but they're also kind of born of my inability to keep the timeline straight in my head because of how much tf media ive consumed. i use the word "Untethered" to describe their situation since it sounds cooler than just saying they have a flimsy grip on the timeline lol

the specifics of their ability are kind of convoluted but in simplest terms, they're paradox-proof. which means they cant really affect anything that would majorly change the course of events. their outlier ability kind of slingshots them through time without much rhyme or reason and any point where they might be about to alter the timeline irrepairably they get flung to a different point before they can go through with it. it is entirely arbitrary but i dont actually have to worry about how they'd work in a canon setting so i can do what i want

all this to say that even if they happened to randomly end up in the exact right time/place, they wouldnt be able to do something like stop the war. the timeline is actually really good at preserving itself and the universe doesnt like being completely uprooted so their ability will active and send them to another time before they can affect any major events.

their time travel works by law of fixed space which means that when they time travel, they stay where they are. so if theyre on a planet or a ship and they jump to a particular point and the ship has left or the planet has moved along its orbit, they will. kind of just be floating in space. there is a small amount of grace with this in that they will not intersect preexisting matter, so theyre not gonna end up stuck through any walls, but they have a space-worthy jet alt mode for a reason

only one Epoch can ever exist at a certain point-- similar to how Unicron is a universal singularity, Epoch is a temporal singularity-- but they actually can travel to the same point multiple times-- each new jump acts like an "overwrite" to the previous one, however it only applies if they repeat interactions. so they can end up at the same point at multiple instances, but if they only interact with different people and dont cross paths with anyone they met before, all of those instances of their appearance will continue to exist in the memory of the mechs who encountered them. for example say they went back to a point when baby-Epoch was around and babying under the dubiously-careful supervision of then-senator shockwave. if adult-Epoch went to wherever they were as a baby at that time, they would not be there, because there is only One Epoch ever. and so shockwave would only remember interacting with adult-Epoch at that instance (until they left). however if Adult-Epoch instead went to hang out with Bumblebee or whoever and didnt get seen by/interact with shockwave at all, then shockwave would continue to only remember baby-Epoch. because the timeline does not like being fucked with. it does not like trying to reason with the existence of multiple instances of the same Moment occurring more than once (because time is linear, but its also relative to an individual). and so the way that it resolves potential paradox situations is just. getting rid of the previous instances.

heres a really simple diagram to explain what i mean. the red line is the uninterrupted linear timeline of a normal mech. light blue line represents previous-instance-Epoch while the dark blue line represents current-instance-Epoch. the appearance of current-Epoch will override that of previous-Epoch, while leaving the rest of the interaction unaltered.

while irl i believe in the multiverse theory irt how time travel would work, with Epoch i have it based in the relative time of a single timeline. time is Fixed. it cant be moved around. and i know cybertronian dates work a little differently but assume that each Date/Instance can only happen once, and so if epoch happens to repeat the same Instance more than once, whatever the most "recent" (relative to them) version of that Instance is becomes the one that is "real" two different mechs can have completely differing memories of the same instance. if they happened to be in two entirely different places at once, they very well could Both remember meeting Epoch. even though only one of those meetings "actually" happened, because they cant be in two places at once but there is no such thing as "actually" happened except what is currently happening. all time beyond the present moment is entirely theoretical until it's happening. and since time is relative the past/present/future only exist in the perception of an individual.

thinking about the specifics of how their outlier ability works is kind of like playing 5d chess with multiverse time travel so do not worry if this all sounds like a bunch of pseudoscience technobabble

i can also talk about who they are, like, as a person if you want i just find the theoretical science of time travel fascinating

[purrple-bat]

Tearing the streets.

Mafia AU/Gangs AU/Crime Families AU. Main cast Workers Drones as a Crime Family. Disassembly Drones & family as a Crime Family. Human AU/Human-like Drone Society. Uzi not afraid to kill to protect her family. Copper-9 as an Ecumenopolis (a city spanning an entire planet/world).

Inspired by gangs AUs that leaves me frustrated with their takes and often makes the ship like 'Romeo and Juliet'. No, Uzi has more agency than love, f you.

World inspired by the Ecumenopolis worlds of Ravnica and New Capenna, which are owned by Magic: The Gathering™. The Riveteers family inspires the 'W.D.F.' and the Caldaia they live in inspires 'Sector-3'

Plot Ideas - AU - Possibly: Uzi/Any of the DD Trio.

Story n03 - 1,020 Words Draft

Sector-3 has been in relative peace for a long time. You could say, one of, if not the most peaceful sector in the entire Ecumenopolis of Copper-9.

Yet this peace is not achieved by the government - of course not; they wouldn't care less for the workers which keeps the power on and the factories running. No. This peace was fought tooth and nails by a less than clean group. The W.D.F., they call themselves; Guardian Angels for all who wish to work with them, and Mercilessly Demons for those who decided to cross them or not pay their dues. The fire of their forge would warm the steel of the city and burn anyone in their ways.

Under the guidance of The Khan (Khan Doorman, Khan might be a nickname.) their efforts has been to securing the protection of the sector and keep it well guarded. Outside of a few border disputes from the greed of any leaders of adjacent sectors, the WDF has held strongly, never yielding once in 15 years, and marking its borders clearly and keeping its deals to have neutral zones in betweens. Everything is kept clean.

Well, as clean as a country-sized sector can be when it is being run by a crime family.

It's mostly all done in fairness. When the majority of the people are simple workers having to do manual labours daily, and a majority of those are part of the W.D.F. you don't really mess around your own 'family'. But people will always seek entertainment and ways to blow of steam and rusts. A big part of the underground give to many illegals activities such as smuggling and dealing with pests. And one of the biggest entertainment being the brawls.

Give strong, angry and pent up drones free time and they will want to show off. Ranging from behemoths that normally moves materials weighting tons, to agile workers testing out their weapon creations against live opponents; the betting scene has for a long time been a major economy.

These unlit covered streets could be where we could find our dear Uzi. She might be technically the heir of the WDF; doesnt mean she would want to be treated like one. The dark coloured droneling could be seen wearing light equipments yet wielding these mean looking metallic gloves; ominous green lights emanating from them as they bellow steam every movements she takes.

This is where she thrives! Not behind a desk making deal and cowering behind the masses. No, she takes matters in her own hands! She builds for a living, from cars to these little ingenious wonders that is her gloves. She make plans, strategize and hit where she needs to with her own damned hands!

Uzi is a weird kid, sure, it's rare seeing a goth in somewhere like Sector-3. But, can't really mess with the Khan's daughter and the older generations were used to Nori being a goth as well. The older drone was regarded as a icon of independence for the workers and her death by the end of the last 'war' reached every workers.

Also if you knew anything about the undergrounds, you would know that there's more than words to the heiress's actions. She had the intelligence and brawl to back up her words and even without the WDF, you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of her crew. (Which might just be the workers in canon that aren't dumb; like Doll, Thad, Lizzy, etc. These kids born before the beginning of the peace, who have lost a lot and had to prove themselves to their elders, have been kinda like siblings for a long time.)

Lately, things has been getting spicier around Copper-9. From the more frequents raids done by the national police forces more like fascist forces to a new enclave forming near their border.

The Dissasemblers, they call themselves. Tho locally known as the Murder Drones, due to their penchant to end any 'talks' in an oilbath. It was clear that they were out for oil, expending their borders and not taking any declines.

Some even say that they're drinking said oil. Most likely a rumor to strike fear, obviously. Tho the most concrete rumors came from the composition of the group. They were small, only around known 5 members, with little to no informations about them but their nicknames all having only one letter.

As far, their excursions has been in other sectors, yet things were clear; nobody seemed to offer any resistance toward their strength and they were getting closer to Sector-3.. there was no dealing with them with words, only fire. Uzi wasn't deaf to the sector. She could hear her father talk with his subordinates. She could hear his spies talking to him when they thought they were alone. No delegations had come back in one pieces. Most often, they would disappear the moment they would reach their dominion, or parts of them came back in a small mail box.

All of these declarations of wars and he was doing nothing! No reinforcements, no communications with the citizens, no reciprocation of violence.

Well, Uzi would have none of it!

Lives were at stake here! If she wanted to protect the people, she would need to do so herself, show that she wasn't the heir simply by oil lineage; but by her conning and her actions.

Lizzy has been talking her ears off about this party happening soon in the neutral zone. A plan to calm the people and give them some peace; a night to not worry about tomorrow and let loose.

This close to the Dissasemblers turfs? Sounds to her more like a future oilbath; a perfect place for these murderers to strike fear in the border of Sector-3. And it was also a perfect place for her to see things go down. To plan her own protection and use her strength outside of the boxing ring. She would face them herself and show them not to mess with the WDF! And she knew just the perfect drones who would gladly help her plan it out.

I often get a lot of ideas and wants out of stories about Murder Drones, yet I kinda never do anything with them outside of ranting about them to friends.

So you know what? I'll just fucking put them down in posts for everyone to see.

If you get inspired by any of them or have extra ideas, don't be shy to let me know!

I'll just have this post here and reblog it with the stories so they're easy to access by looking at the reblogs! (Tho the downside is that it'll means they'll get the same notes and share likes but I kinda don't care about getting notes anyway, this is tumblr after all.)

Reblogs of the stories are appreciated!