#it was one hell of a very lucid dream

[trans-man-named-marc]

About an hour or so ago I woke up (sadly) from a dream that BOTW/TOTK Link could shapeshift into a wolf like TP Link could, but B/T WASN'T TP, and B/T could shapeshift infront of everyone freely and just began spam shifting in front of Revali as some sort of "fuck you" to him, before B/T left very rapidly to go save Colin who was apparently being kidnapped by keese for some pathetic reason and Colin was being kidnapped into Gerudo town (and Gerudo Town let it happen cause they thought Colin was a girl ig?), so B/T shapeshifted to sneak into Gerudo Town and initially it worked until some random adult noticed wolf B/T's wolf balls and got him kicked out.

[zwei-rhunen]

best-worst city of mhach raid ever (i am dead on the ground)

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? PT 1

All I could do was stare at my reflection. This had to be a joke. I was going to wake up in my bed, right this instant.

“FUCK!”

Ok, so, pinching myself hurts. That’s fine. This is like. Some sort of lucid dream. What do they say to do if you’re lucid dreaming? Oh, that’s right, put your finger in your palm, it’ll phase through!

I resist the urge to scream as my finger meets solid flesh.

You see, I’m not in the right body. Or the right world from what I can tell. No, I’m supposed to be back home, waking up in a panic as I realize my alarm didn’t go off cuz my phone died after I stayed up way too late reading manga.

But of course, I’m not late to work, I’m in a lavish bedchamber right out of the latest webcomic I’d been reading! And by the looks of it…. I’m the crown princes crazy fiancé! As much as I love reading about the Isekai trope, I never wanted to be in one! And come on- as the Yandere Villain!? Couldn’t this at least be original? There’s hundred of stories just like “my next life as a villainess,” why couldn’t I be like… a stable hand or something? Ugh. Ok. Think!

I need to get home. Do the protagonists ever get back home in the stories I read? I pace around my room and rack my brain over every webcomic I’ve ever read, every manga I waited in line for, every anime I binged, even the unfinished manhwas! I can’t think of a single fucking one where they get home?

Well this isn’t going to stop me. I have a cat who’s going to absolutely flip if she’s not given fresh kibble in the morning. She has enough in her bowl for another 2 days but she needs it topped off ok! She’s a princess! I can’t be stuck here! Who’s going to throw her pompom toy for her if I’m not there???

What did all these have in common? What’s the barebones trope layout? Ok let’s see

1) person either died or falls asleep and wakes up in a new world…. Check

2) person is the villain!…. Check

3) to avoid the characters terrible death, person tries to change the story, ends up being new protagonist…

Ohhh… hey…. Do these Isekai characters ever just…. Play along? Even the “reincarnated as a baby” ones, they only play along till they’re old enough to try to run away or rework the political structure of the entire city. Maybe that’s it. Make it to the books natural end, and you’ll wake up where you belong. It’s like when you get part of a song stuck in your head. Play the whole song, and it’ll get out.

Ok, I’ve trained most of my adult life for this- I can totally ace this trope! I just have to stalk the crown prince, act totally in love with him, and be a bitch to the female lead. Then my finance will leave me, I’ll do some crazy dramatic act to try to kill the female lead, and then I’ll be exiled or executed, and wake up to feed my cat. How hard can it be?

Hard. It’s very hard.

Where the hell did he go!? My fiancé, the crown prince Eric, was JUST HERE. I swear! He turned that corner back there and then went down this hall… at least I think it was this hall? Ugh! This is impossible! For someone with such loud shoes and an armed escort, you’d think he’d be easier to follow! Now my feet just hurt. They don’t make these fancy shoes to run around the castle all day. They’re meant to daintily peek from beneath my many skirts as I host a tea party or some shit.

Ok. I’ve got this! I’ll just peek into each room until I find him, maybe I can get a better feel for the layout, or maybe find his office and see if he has a schedule or a day planner or something I can use to make this whole stalking thing easier.

I begin snooping, and it’s a bit of thrill to be honest! Back in my real life, I’m the kind of person to hide a wrapper deep in the trash can if I’m babysitting, sitting on the floor playing a game on my phone after the kid goes to bed rather than “making myself at home” the way the parents insisted as they showed me how to access Netflix. I’ve never been a snooper. Now…. Well. It’s totally on brand for this character! I’m not me, I’m a psycho lovesick fool! I giggle a bit at that as my fingers trail over a shelf of beautiful pottery in some sort of sitting room.

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

I practically screech as my heart leaps to my throat and I whirl around, and see the very person I’d been searching for has snuck up on ME…. That’s so unfair!

“W-what? O-oh! Nothing! I was just- uh, admiring the pottery?”

I stutter out as I try to recall how to act like a human being while simultaneously trying to stop feeling my own pulse in my ears. The idiot has the nerve to LAUGH! Full on snort and everything!

“What are you doing in this wing anyways? Weren’t you meant to be out riding today?”

Shit. I was so busy trying to figure out his schedule, I didn’t consider maybe the body I was shoved into had a schedule of her own. Ok. Play it cool- I’ve got this!

“Yes, well, I decided I wasn’t in the mood and wanted to stay in today instead.”

His brows furrow

“Oh, but you love riding? Are you feeling ill? I can fetch the royal physician for you if you-“

“No! That’s- that’s quite alright! I simply wanted a change of schedule, that is all. Um… what about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He looked a bit surprised at that, and a small smile danced on his lips.

“I was just going to the library to do some paperwork, boring stuff really, and then of course our dinner at its regular time.”

I nod like that means anything to me. Ok think, if I were crazy in love with this man, what would I say?

“Would you like some company? Reading in the library sounds really nice, maybe we could have some tea as well?”

Ok. I’m already fucking this up. He looks confused…. God damnit …. I knew I shouldn’t have skimmed over those early chapters- but the translation was shit ok!?

“Well… I’d actually love that. But are you sure? You haven’t exactly shown interest in reading, and you’ve never requested something like this before…. In fact I don’t think I can recall the last time we’ve interacted outside of dinner or a scheduled social event in… well. Ever.”

Wait…. What? Isn’t my character like goo-goo-ga-ga over him? Are you telling me she never asks to just… spend time with her lover? They only talk during dinner and parties or whatever?

“Of course, I think it’ll be relaxing! Just lead the way!”

My brain is working overtime as I smile politely at him as we reach the library and I pretend to browse for books. I’m missing something here. What is-

Oh. Shit. That’s right. I’m supposed to be really insecure and awkward about him. That’s why she stalks him- she spends all her free time obsessing over this man from the shadows, threatening the competition…. Yet chokes up when it comes to how to act natural. Her inferiority complex is what drives her entire character. And then to him, they’re just two nobles in an arranged marriage who speak on dull subjects like the weather and horse rides…. And who barely interact.

This must have been a real big shake up, she always stays out of sight, they never run into each other by chance. And she certainly never would ask to sit and read with him…. Maybe watch him do his work from a hidden keyhole somewhere, but that’s right…. She IS more of a traditional lady with her hobbies. She was raised to be the perfect noble wife, so naturally, her hobbies include things like dancing, needlepoint, and horse riding. The only studies she’s interested in are etiquette and things that noble ladies are supposed to know.

Well…. Shit. That’s so like me to already have fucked this up. But that’s ok. That’s ok- he’s going to meet the female lead and fall in love and so I just have to be the obstacle they need to overcome. Surely the details don’t matter too much…. It’s my first day in the job ok? Not everyone’s perfect!

I find a book that honestly actually sounds interesting, it’s historical, but it’s giving Hellen of Troy, the closest to a dark romance I think I’ll get from an academic personal library like this. I settle into what looks like the comfiest chair in the central area, and begin reading. The prince and I exist comfortably, the only sound being the scratch of his pen, and the occasional rustle of paper as he flips a document or I finish a page. We continue like this for several hours until he puts down his pen and clears his throat, getting my attention.

“I know it’s a long way from dinner…. But I was thinking I’d grab something light for a mid day meal and then take a walk about the gardens …. Would you care to join me?”

Honestly, some lunch and pretty royal gardens sounds like so much fun, so I agree. As we begin walking, I ponder how I can recover from all this.

You know what.. this can totally still go to plan. This is just me being the evil villain and sinking my claws into him! The female lead will appear, and I’ll reveal my true, nasty side to her! She’ll have to fight to save the prince from his marriage to me!

*insert evil laughter!*

“You’re smiling.”

“W-what?”

“A smile. It suits you. You’ve been doing that a lot today….. I like it.”

Ok and now I’m blushing. I go to reply when I suddenly find myself weightless for a moment, and then hit the ground with a hard thump.

“Ow! What the-!?”

My eyes snap up and glare at this pretty blonde girl who just rammed into me, and sent me flying

“Do you not know how to watch where you’re going!? Owww…. Ugh.”

Ok I’m sorry I’m usually a nice and understanding person but I’ve never been literally knocked over before! Who does that to a person?

Eric helps me to my feet and sends a reproachful glare toward the girl, asking me if I’m alright with most concerned look…. And the girl gasps and says,

“C-crown prince Eric! I apologize! I’d didn’t recognize you!”

She drops into a curtsy and lowers her eyes all demure and modest as if she hadn’t just bulldozed me. I send an incredulous look toward Eric…. She… didn’t see HIM? I’m the one she took out? He gives me an equally puzzled look and so I decide, you know what, fuck it. I’m this evil person in this world…. I need to act like it!

“And not recognizing his highness is an excuse for taking out the princess consort, soon to be crown princess? Are you blind or just daft?”

Oh my god I really just called someone daft! This feels like when you stay up late thinking all the witty comebacks you could’ve used against your high school bullies, except actually using them in the moment!

And Eric is being a sweetie and letting me handle this, waiting expectantly for blondie to answer me, just prompting her,

“Well?”

“Forgive me…. Princess consort…. You are right. My oversight in inexcusable. It appears neither of us were looking where we were going. I hope we can start fresh!”

I scoff- that’s it? Who does this bitch think she is? Yes, I was looking at Eric, but I was going a walking pace, who rounds a corner with so much force that you knock someone over?

Suddenly something clicks- oh shit! This is the female lead!!!! This scene happened in the story, just without the prince here. This is good, that means this is on track. Although I gotta say- I was much more on the female main characters side when reading it. Now, I just feel like she’s one of those mean girls in high school who’s not *technically* doing anything mean. Anyways- what was I supposed to say? That’s right.

“Yes…. Well. I’m sure we won’t be seeing much of each other anyways. If you’ll excuse me-“

Nailed ittttt…. Now her line?

“Well, actually…. My name is Lady Cressida, and I’ll be staying in the place for several months as my father is a foreign ambassador overseeing trade agreements with his highness the king. So I imagine we will be seeing *plenty* of each other. That goes for you too your highness! So please- forgive me, I look forward to getting to know each of you better!”

Oh that’s so cool, seeing her recite the lines from the story. But ok- I have a role to play as well. I scoff and grab Eric’s arm, pulling him behind me as I storm off, playing the part of entitled lover, stuck up and irritated at this ambassadors daughter who DARED to speak to my love.

Yea, this will work, Eric will think Cressida is a genuine sweetie, and see me as being the unreasonable bitch who’s refusing to accept her apology, or apologize for not looking where I was going either. And now I’m manhandling him- totally unlady like. God I’m killing this aren’t I? Minimum wage job and demanding cat, here I come!

What I don’t see, as I lead Eric by the arm, is the cold glare he shoots towards Cressida, before smiling down at our connected hands, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Part 2

SERIES IS DISCONTINUED- sorry y’all, just not inspired to write this anymore and don’t wanna force it.

[venomvalley]

POISON AND PANACEA

pitfighter!vi x fem!reader | 5.3k words

SUMMARY: After ten years without a word, Vi comes back into your life like a whirlwind—sudden and destructive. What follows is a series of one-night stands that you both swear mean absolutely nothing. (Yeah, right.)

TAGS: 18+ only! switch!vi, childhood friends to fwb to ???, mental health issues, mentions of alcohol, blood and injury, sex as a coping mechanism, pining, angst, ambiguous ending.

NOTES: vi drives me absolutely insane idk what else to say. hopefully this is good and somewhat in-character cause im very nervous about that.

-> READ ON AO3 | ARCANE MASTERLIST

Through the whispers of nosy neighbors and bar gossip, your past comes back to haunt you. It takes the form of a woman fighting her way through champions in the Pit, some no-name hothead who reminds you of the angry little girl you befriended a long, long time ago.

Things were simple back then, but never easy; better times when you weren’t responsible for putting food on the table, and you never understood why your mom stressed the importance of staying close to home. Now, you work a job at a local consignment shop and pay your skeevy landlord way too much for such a shit apartment.

You knew her before she shortened her name to Vi, and before you could comprehend the idea of a crush. Violet was your first crush—you liked the way she stood up for you against the neighborhood bullies, always so brave and nice and cool with her pink hair—and you haven't seen her in over ten years. Last you heard, she was thrown in Stillwater for murder, and Powder fucked off to Janna-knows-where in the aftermath.

So you don’t expect a pounding on your front door in the middle of the night, and you really don’t expect the older version of your childhood friend to greet you. For a long moment, you consider the possibility that this is all just a vivid, lucid dream ripped straight from some dusty folder in your memory bank.

And then she speaks, shuffling on her feet in a strange, vertigo-esque dance. “I thought I’d find you here.”

The messy slur to her words gives her away. Drunk. Given the distance of your apartment to the nearest bar, you wonder how in the hell she even made it this far. What brought her here in the first place.

“Vi?”

Her but not. Choppy black hair, a blue-bruised undereye, taller than you remember. A nose ring that gives an edge to the soft features of her face now filled out with age. Tattooed on the cheek and neck and the bare skin of her forearms that you only notice when she steadies herself with a hand against the door frame.

“In the flesh.” She stretches out her arms and dips into a bow, almost plowing face-first into the floor. A good thing, then, that you saw it coming and use your own body to fight the gravity weighing her down.

Janna's tits, she's heavy. Skin woven over sinew, thick around the biceps that you grab to steady her. “Okay, uh. How about I get you some water?”

You open the door and wait patiently as she shuffles inside your apartment, before shutting it with a click then a metallic thump of the lock. When you turn around, she's sprawled out on the couch, a drawn-out, muffled groan reaching your ears.

This is fucking weird. After so many years, for her to show up at your door unannounced— rumors of her imprisonment notwithstanding—throws you off kilter. Really, you never thought you'd see her again. The flash of pink hair in a crowd at most, not… not this: her sucking the air from your living room, drooling a puddle into the fabric beneath her head, already snoring a symphony.

With a huff of breath, you leave to fetch a blanket from your closet, and come back to untie her scuffed-up boots before tucking her in for the night. You put her shoes next to the door, fill up a glass of water, and settle in for a sleep curled up on the floor in the living room. It’s instinct at this point. Staying close to listen for her cries, or the sound of her gagging, or her nightmare-catalyzed fussing.

(After her parents died, she suffered from horrible dreams. You stopped sleeping in her bed for a while during sleepovers, after one too many times of jolting awake to the sensation of bruising pain. A fist to your back, a kick to your knee, as if she was fighting something you couldn't comprehend.)

Throughout the night, she mumbles in her sleep. Wakes long enough to adjust her blanket then roll over, again and again. Until—

“You awake?”

Her voice filters through the static of the ether, and your eyes blink open to the blurry sight of the water-stained ceiling, a blue cast to the room from your moon-filtered window.

“You sober?”

“Unfortunately,” she grumbles, voice dragged through sharded glass. “Sorry about… everything.”

The couch creaks beneath her shifting weight as she turns to look at you, eyes unbearably blue even through the darkness. So pretty.

“How are you?” A pressing question you've been itching to know, alongside the curious what the hell happened? and a less polite why are you here?

“What do you think?”

“I haven't seen you in ten years. How the hell would I know?”

You can feel the snark coming, an electric sizzle to the air, and the bickering reminds you of old times with such bittersweet nostalgia that each pump of your heart physically aches. Deep down, shoved in some cobwebbed corner of grey-matter denial, you missed this. Missed Vi in all her stubborn, impulsive, heart-on-sleeve glory.

“I don't even know who I am anymore,” she says, voice a secretive mutter, resigned and exhausted. So many confessions woven into eight simple words.

You sit up from the floor, back cracking in protest, and plop down beside the couch. Face-to-face with Vi, her features slowly sharpening into view. She looks away, showcasing the slope of her profile—the dark smudge of her lashes, the small bump on her nose, the pout of her lower lip. There's a bruise taking shape just beneath her jawline, a mottled purple-black that you trace with your eyes.

“Where'd you get these bruises from?” you ask, thumb a perfect fit inside its irregular edges.

She jolts at the contact, but doesn't pull away. Says, “The Pit.”

All the air rushes from your lungs in a single, drawn-out breath. You can't believe it, even though you should. She gravitates toward violence, a penchant that began after the death of her parents. Street fights are one thing, but The Pit? That's…

“Janna's tits, Violet. You got a death wish?”

“I guess you could call it that.” Her shadowed form shrugs. “Doesn't matter anyway. I need the money, and fighting is the only thing I'm good for.”

You click your tongue, offended on her behalf. “Says who?”

“Me.”

Your heart sinks. Is that really how she sees herself? Good for nothing but violence?

“Vi—”

“Can I borrow your shower before I leave?”

The sharp shift in topic sends you reeling, and you barely manage to scoot away from the couch before she throws her legs over the side, feet planted right where you just sat.

“Uh, yeah. I should have some clothes that fit you, if you need.”

“That would be great, actually.”

You fail to mention, for reasons unbeknownst to you, that the clothes you hand her a few minutes later belonged to an ex-girlfriend from a year or two back. Drawing a similar conclusion takes no effort, though, and Vi inspects the underwear with a puppydog tilt to her head.

“Girlfriend?”

“Ex.“

She scoffs, balling the clothes up beneath her arm. “Been there, done that.”

Then she stands there for a long few moments, gaze glued to the sheets of your bed, lips twisted into a sour frown. And then, as if nothing happened, she blinks out of her trance, head snapping toward you.

“Come with me,” she says, nodding to the open bathroom door and the orange glow spilling from within.

“What, like… shower with you?”

Another shrug. “I could use the company.”

Following her into the bathroom is easy. Easier than it should be, given the long passage of time, but you're no stranger to one-night stands. Picking a pretty woman up from a bar, bringing her home, cooking breakfast the next morning to cancel out the hangover before never seeing her again.

This is different, though. Special. An opportunity that you should really take a second to mull over, but you're already watching her undress with the door closed, and the sight of her naked back smashes your self-control to bits. Intricate lines of dark ink paint her skin shoulder-to-shoulder, trailing down the back of each arm, following the soft curves of her muscles. Beautiful work—whether because of the canvas or in spite of it, you aren't sure.

“I like your tattoos,” you say, embarrassingly breathless.

She spins around fast as a whip, barely giving you time to register the glint of metal peeking from either side of her nipples before you're gawking at the huge shoe-sized bruise curling over her ribs.

“You can't shower with your clothes on,” she says, a playful quirk to her lips that sends you into action.

She's given you tunnel vision in the worst way. At the sight of the barbell pierced through each nipple, and the stretchmarks that fan over her hips and thighs, and the sinew of her biceps, you forget to bitch at her about the physical shape she's in. Injuries that don't seem to slow her down at all.

You've never stripped so fast in your life, trapped beneath her low-lidded gaze. To be fair, it's been a while. You entered a dry spell after your most recent breakup and never really recovered, and now there's a beautiful woman standing in front of you. Naked. Staring at you like she wants to eats you up then lick her fingers clean.

“Nice.”

You can’t help but laugh at her reaction, suppressing the urge to hide yourself. You feel flayed open, desperate, hot beneath the skin. No better time to step around her and turn the shower on.

As you wait for the water to heat up, a spare toothbrush set aside for her to use, the air in the room sizzles with electricity. Tension. You can't take your eyes off each other in the mirror, even as you spit toothpaste in the sink. When you crawled into bed last night, you never could have imagined that this is where you’d end up, but you aren’t about to complain. She's beautiful, and she actually wants you. What more do you need?

When Vi steps beneath the shower spray, grey-dyed droplets sluice down her face and back to pool an opaque puddle at her feet. She sweeps strings of wet hair off her forehead, lashes brushing against her cheeks. Her closed eyes give you the opportunity to openly stare, stomach taut with lines of muscle, a nest of dark pink fur at the apex of her thighs. Tattoos, heavy tits, thick, toned legs.

Janna's mercy, what a woman.

Once she's scrubbed herself down and washed half the dye from her hair (while you freeze to death in the corner), it doesn't take long for her to step into your space, hands both calloused and warm curling around your waist. You audibly swallow, trapped in the sea of her eyes and the cute freckles peppered across her nose and cheeks. Your gaze drifts down to her lips, entranced by the scar that bisects pink flesh.

With a shuddering sigh, you whisper, “I missed you.”

And then she kisses you, hands moving to cup your face as you press against the steadfast line of her body. This isn't about love, or intimacy, or anything other than brain-stem urges—and from the way she kisses you, all rough and wanting, she's needed this for a while, too.

Her teeth sink into the pulse of your neck, breath a wet heat over your chest that strikes a shiver up your spine. “I didn't want to leave you.”

“I know.”

“It wasn't by choice.”

“It's okay. You're here now.”

She pulls away from your neck with an audible pop, nodding her head, eyes glittering like the out-of-reach stars. A contradiction of hope and melancholy written in the wrinkle of her brow.

“I need this.”

With a tender smile, you smooth the hair away from her face. “You have me, Skipper.”

Vi groans, nose scrunching (a lot cuter than it has any right to be). “Way to ruin the moment.”

You had no choice, really. Things were getting a bit too intimate for comfort, given the fact that she already planned on leaving. No sense in digging up old feelings that you'd have to bury again a few hours from now.

“What? It's a cute nickname.”

“No, it's embarrassing.” Still, she latches onto you, even as she physically recoils from discomfort. Runs her thumbs over the soft skin of your waist, over and over and over again.

“I can make it up to you,” you purr, fingertips trailing down the soft grooves of her stomach, toward the fluff of pink hair on her mound.

Her eyes widen a fraction, crystalline in their make-up—the kind of blue you've only seen in your dreams. Gone is the playful tenderness of moments previous, nothing left but a raging fire of heat. Desperation.

She kisses you hard on the mouth, forces you back against the cold shower wall with a muted thump. Your lips part on a groan, and her tongue slips between your teeth. She tastes like the mint of toothpaste and the bitter afterglow of alcohol, chest a purring vibration against your own.

You tilt your head back with a gasp, far enough away to speak.

“I have—” canine teeth sharp against the pulse of your neck, “a bed—” a thick arm curling around your back, “that we can use.”

“Not a fan of shower sex?” she asks, mouthing over the curve of your shoulder.

“Shit, who is?”

Her breath fans hot over your skin as she laughs. “Good point.”

You're a flurried tangle of limbs from the shower to the next-room mattress. The bedroom is small, barely wide enough to fit a dresser and a twin-sized bed and a desk. The rent in this part of the Undercity remains dirt cheap, but you sacrifice certain luxuries as a result.

At least you have a headboard. The very same that knocks against the wall when you shove her back onto the bed, springs creaking in protest. You stand between her spread thighs, hypnotized by the splay of her wet hair (and the black dye seeping into your sheets), her body painting the perfect, Vi-sized outline from the water neither of you bothered to dry off.

“I had the fattest crush on you when we were kids.”

You aren't sure why you say it. Too consumed by the dark freckle beside her belly button to filter your thoughts, but that one in particular? A fantastic way to ruin the mood. The era of your friendship might constitute the worst years of her life.

She exhales a laugh. “I liked you, too,” said all quiet and tender, and you lock your knees to keep from pouncing on her.

No, you have to take this slow, to savor everything that comes next.

You lower to your knees, the floor rock-solid and freezing, and scoot into her space when she spreads her legs for you, your fingers splayed over her thighs.

“You don't have to…” her sentence trails off, palm calloused and warm over your knuckles.

“I want to, though.” Tufts of coarse pink hair frame the puffy flesh of her clit, swollen and blush-red. As beautiful as the rest of her. Your mouth waters at the thought of her taste. “As long as you want me to.”

“Fuck, I—” her head collapses back against the bed, hips tilting up toward your face, “please.”

How could you ever say no to that?

You start by ghosting wet kisses over the sensitive skin inside her knee, soft pecks that trail up to the crook between thigh and pelvis, the downy hairs on her leg tickling your nose. So warm and soft against your mouth, muscles tightening in anticipation.

Just when she reaches for you with a trembling sigh, you switch to the other side, lips twitching into a smile at her frustrated groan. Can't spend too long away from her pretty cunt, though. You spread her puffy labia to find her already wet, clenching and empty.

“So pretty,” you coo, thumb circling over her hole, mouth puckering around her clit in a tender kiss.

Her thighs close on either side of your head, effectively muffling your hearing. She says something that you can’t make out, and you suckle on that little bundle of nerves until she’s grinding into your face, hard enough to bloody your nose. But it excites you—the enthusiasm in her reaction, the salt-musk taste of her cunt, the slick that smears over your cheeks and chin. A hand finds the back of your head, the other curling over your fingers that squeeze the fat of her thigh.

You slide two free fingers into her, groaning at the tight, wet heat—a burning sun—that engulfs them. Soft as silk, perfect juxtaposition to the wiry hairs that tickle your knuckles. Every part of her is perfect. Breathtaking in that rare, once-in-a-lifetime way.

She spreads her legs, feet flat on the bed, and arches up into your mouth. A shudder flows through her like spitting water, muscles tensing beneath your hand each time your fingers bottom out, noisy and slick. You're in ecstasy, floating somewhere thoughtless and warm and wonderful. The needy pulse between your legs means little when you have her taste on your tongue and her cunt milking your fingers.

She comes with a broken gasp, back arching off the bed, pretty tits bouncing as she paws at your hand and head, grip so tight you fear her breaking a bone. For a moment, you struggle to breathe, nose buried in the curls on her mound, lips suckling quick and rhythmic on her clit.

Fuck, you like being used for her pleasure.

When the afterglow fades, neither of you talk about what just happened. You fetch a wet washcloth to wipe her up then clean your hands and face in the bathroom sink. Nothing needs to be said when you both got what you wanted. Satiation blankets the room in a dense fog of fatigue, and you curl into each other beneath the sheets, naked bodies pressed together. She's warm, and soft, and smells like you.

(Distantly, like an itch at the back your brain, you think you could get used to this.)

The next morning, you wake to a cold, empty apartment. You go back to bed.

You're used to being alone.

—

A week later, the budding loneliness leads you to a nearby club. Your neighborhood likens to a ghost town of shadowed streets and poverty. Apartment buildings stalwart despite the foundational rot, landlords that deal in theft, broken windows on first floors—the stink of melancholy permeates this place.

Apex Eleven burns bright with life, with sex and shimmer and the sweat of drunken bodies. In a nearby corner, a woman stands bent over, hands pressed to the wall, a man rutting against her. Shameless beneath the neon lights. The sight does nothing for you, and you quickly search for something else to occupy your curiosity. You press into the crowd, through a fog of smoke and grinding couples, the floor beneath your shoes sticky from spilled alcohol. Your destination is the bar, and beyond that, the bed of a pretty woman. Anything to wash the taste of Vi from your mouth.

But Janna's grace is a fickle thing, and the sight of Vi sat at the bar leaves you begging for mercy. While you had a great time, and, sure, your stomach flips at the sight of her again, the problem with her presence lies in your own tangle of hang-ups—one such issue being insecurity. Better to leave your relationships as one-night stands and acquaintances than to cope with the inevitable. At an early age, you learned that losing people hurts. The Undercity only nurtured that pain over the years, proved to you that attachments just aren’t worth it.

She's talking with a pretty woman stood to her right, elbow balanced atop the table, head cradled in her hand. A pile of glasses surround her, stacked haphazardly in groups of twos and threes. It shouldn’t matter. You had your night, and you’ve gone your separate ways. What she does or who she talks to is none of your business, loaded-gun history or otherwise.

So you choose a spot a few chairs down from her left, shielded by two rowdy men seated between you. All you need is a drink or five, the kind that burns something awful on the way down. Maybe a pretty girl to dance with, if you're really lucky.

To that wish, Janna laughs in your face. She whisks Vi over with an invisible tug to her shirt and deposits the woman of your long-held fantasies right beside you.

“Need a drink?” Vi asks, waving the bartender over with a suspiciously sober call of his name.

With all the empty glasses that surrounded her, there’s no conceivable way she could even form words, let alone stroll over to your seat as if she’s conquered the world. Maybe she has. This is Vi, after all.

“What's the occasion?”

She rests her forearms on the bar, raising two fingers at the bartender. “Beat the champion tonight. I thought I should celebrate.”

“By buying drinks for pretty girls?”

A tired shrug. “That's the idea.”

Her head swivels to face you before her eyes do, and during that split-second blip of time, woven in the subtle knot of her brow, you see it. Pain. Regret, maybe. You're unsure of the source, but it cloaks her like a second skin.

The man slides two drinks across the counter with a nod of his head, and before you can thank him, Vi gulps down the liquid inside her glass. Sucks a breath through grit teeth and shakes the shock from her brain.

Once again, you witness the slip of her bravado. All bite; canine teeth and bruised knuckles. A dog attacking out of fear.

But why?

“Dance with me.” Her clammy hand wraps around your fingers, tugging you toward the packed crowd on the dance floor.

She glances back at you with a teasing grin, beautiful beneath the neon lights as bass-filled music thrums and vibrates your ribs. You find a good spot nearby, but the dancers surrounding you push your bodies together. Chest-to-chest, she leans forward, hands steady on your waist.

“You look nice,” she says, lips pressed to your ear.

Already, a hunger gnaws deep in the pit of your belly. Despite the heat, her leather jacket remains cool beneath your fingers as you tug her closer. Then you kiss her. Bottom lip split at the center, vodka and metal on your tongue, and you collapse against her. Weak, eager, running on impulse.

You never get the chance to actually dance. What starts out as kissing eventually escalates to her groping your ass right there on the floor, which escalates to you tugging her toward the bathroom with its dingy lighting and graffiti-covered walls. She chooses a stall furthest away from the door and shoves you back against the flimsy wall. The lock clicks with a solid thud. She drops to her knees.

“I never got to pay you back for last week,” she says, yanking your pants then underwear down.

You step out of one leg, then hook your knee over her shoulder.

Vi makes you stupid. You know this, you understand this, and yet you're weak to fight her gravitational pull. Really, you don’t even want to. You can’t even blame your impulsivity on the alcohol. Barely have a buzz.

All the second-guessing fizzles out as soon as her lips meet your cunt. She eats you out like it's all she's been thinking about. Messy and reverent. Loud with her muffled moans, gaze low-lidded and cloudy each time she pulls back to look at you all spread out for her.

It's the hottest thing you've ever seen, and despite her sloppy technique, you can't bring yourself to care when she looks up at you with crystalline eyes. Your fingers comb through her hair, the strands soft, hairline slick with sweat.

She circles your clit with her tongue and the leg holding you upright almost collapses. The back of your head smacks against the wall as the muscles of your abdomen clench. Her hands rise to cup your tits through your shirt, lips wrapping around your swollen clit. When she starts to hum, the vibration settles deep in your bones and turns your insides to putty.

You come with a bitten-off groan, breath catching in your throat, chest curling toward the top of her head. If not for her steadfast grip around your waist, your ass would hit the floor from how hard and fast the pleasure slams into you. For a long few moments, you're swept away, floating somewhere thoughtless and euphoric.

When you come back to your body, she kisses you. Soft and lazy. Tender. Splays her hands over your back and holds you like you're something precious. Like you're worthy enough to keep. Her tongue sweeps slow over your own and your arms curl around her neck, trapping her in place.

You’ve never been kissed like this, held like this before. Sharing intimacy likens to scratching an instinctual itch. You fuck for pleasure, you kiss for pleasure, you cuddle to burn the chill from your skin.

But this? This means something. The closest thing to love you'll most likely ever get. Might as well savor it while you can.

You bring her back to your apartment. Follow the same routine as last time (though a lot easier without her drunken stumbling): sharing a shower, eating her out, cleaning the both of you up afterward. You fetch a snack from the kitchen to share in bed, and your concern for her well-being only grows when she inhales her portion. Like she hasn't eaten in days.

“You can stay here whenever you want, ya know.” Said after another snack, both of you tucked in beneath the sheets.

Her fingers stop their back-and-forth stroking of your arm. “Yeah. I know.”

“It's just me here, so…”

“I appreciate it, but I'm okay.”

You try to brush off the declined invitation, but it stings regardless. An emotion that pings around inside your ribs, that you swallow down with a smile.

“Okay.”

—

There's blood on your bathroom floor and an injured Vi curled up naked in the tub. A bar fight, she said when she showed up at your door, teeth chattering from leftover adrenaline.

You don't get it. What she keeps fighting against. Why the blood doesn't matter to her.

The pool of water in the sink turned red a while ago as her clothes sit in some homemade mixture taught by your mom to help remove stains. You pick glass out of her scalp with a pair of shitty tweezers that don't even close all the way, cooped up in the pathetically small bathroom by a spread of every first-aid item found inside the apartment.

She makes you angry, makes you wanna cry sometimes when you think too hard about her pain.

“Why'd you do it?” you ask, voice whispered and wavering.

She hasn't looked at you since you opened the front door.

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does to me.”

She offers up one of her signature shrugs in explanation, and you want to scream. “It's funny. The whole time, I thought I was doing what's right, and it still cost me everything.”

You don't understand what she means, but you don't think she's in the mood for explanations. So you dab the blood from her hair and listen.

“At least I have you, right?”

Your heart tenders like a fresh bruise at the rasp in her voice and the empty look in her eyes. You want to pull her to your chest and say tell me all your troubles so I can help carry them.

You're in too deep. She gazes at you like you’re the only person left in the world, and you’re in too deep. Her blood is on your hands, beneath your fingernails, staining your floor. You'll never wash her out of this place.

“Always, Skipper.”

You're fucked. You're fucked.

“I can't protect you. Can't protect anybody anymore.”

“That's not your job. Besides, I have a gun for a reason.” You pause, washcloth pressed to where the blood still seeps. “Don't tell anybody I said that.”

Her first laugh of the night exhales soft out of her mouth. A lovely sound given her current condition. You could listen to it every day for the rest of your life.

“Do you think I could stay here a few days? At least until I heal up a bit.”

“Stay as long as you need, Vi. To be honest, I’d appreciate the company.”

“My company, or—”

“Specifically yours.”

She remains quiet for a moment, lips twitching at the corners, before she mutters, “Huh. Good to know.”

After you patch her up then help her to bed, she passes out. Stretched across the mattress, halfway under the sheets, drooling a wet spot in the pillow. You decide to leave her be and resign yourself to a night on the couch.

The rest of the week is eventless. You both talk a lot, mostly about your shared childhood and what happened in the years you were separated. Having someone to warm your bed, to fill the empty space of your lonely apartment is… nice. Once again, you find yourself slipping into the unnatural realm of domestication. The routine of waking up next to her, then fixing breakfast, then going to work, then coming home to her sprawled out on the couch.

Toward the end of the week, she finally tells you about her ex. The betrayal, losing Powder (Jinx), losing everything she had left in one fell swoop. You get it now—the drinking, the violence, the Pit, all her pain. Would no doubt do the same if you experienced even half the suffering she's been through.

The conversation happens when your dreams start bleeding through to your consciousness, in that odd state of pseudo-sleep brought on by exhaustion. A good time to bear her heart, when her words filter through the cotton of your ears. Still, you catch all of them.

When you wake the next morning to find all proof of her gone from your apartment, you aren't even surprised. She isn't ready to face the things chasing her, and you can't fix this on your own (no matter how badly you wish you could).

But you can go to the club and find solace in a pretty woman's bed.

—

You don't see her again until the battle against Noxus. Stood beside the infamous Commander Kiramman, speaking in intimate whispers, familiar in a way that settles betrayal in the pit of your stomach—maybe a bit more jealousy than you'd like to admit.

All the breath drains from your lungs when the woman circles a hand around her arm and the realization hits you. She's the ex Vi talked about, and despite the very important details Vi chose to leave out, there’s no mistaking blue eyes and deep blue hair and tall and thin and pretty.

(You were doomed from the fucking start. How could you ever compete with a piltie? One of the richest, most influential of them all?)

Vi gazes out at the crowd with thick arms crossed over her chest, and you hope she skips over your unremarkable form in a sea of unremarkable people. The time you spent together meant nothing—less than nothing. It's your own fault for betraying all you learned over the years. The only person you can blame is yourself.

Her gaze meets yours, and your heart skitters to a stop. Those pretty eyes widen. Time stills. Anger burns a hole through your chest. You shake your head at her when she takes a step forward, and spin on your heel to flee into the crowd.

Until you hear the familiar call of your name.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

The First Meet - Self-Aware!Zayne

You fell asleep to the sound of Zaynes rapid typing as usual. Don’t worry though he’ll see you in the morning.

↢ previous ... continue ↣

Self-Aware!Zayne who is so in love with you that he can tell you’re getting sleepy just by the way you’re breathing changes. “If you’re tired you can rest I'll be here” “I’m not asleep” “You will be soon I'll see you in the morning just get some rest” You smiled at the thought of actually waking up next to him “Can you imagine” a deep yawn escaped you “actually waking up next to me?” Self-Aware!Zayne who knew you’d already drifted off to sleep when he said “I won’t have to imagine soon” he finished out his paper work while listening to your soft snores which were like music to his ears

That night you dreamt of snow covered fields stretching far into the distance. You looked down to see yourself in just the t-shirt you went to bed in “Am I lucid dreaming?” suddenly the wind picked up and snow began to whip past your face burning your cheeks and bare legs with the stinging cold as it went by. “It's …. so … cold” you thought to yourself as you looked around trying to see anything in the distance. If you’re dreaming why did this feel so real?

Just then you saw it, a small house off in the distance. You had no choice you were going to freeze to death if you stayed out here any longer. You started running towards the house, but no matter how many steps you took it was as if you weren’t moving from the spot you were standing in.

Your feet were swept from underneath you as you fell face first into the icy snow. You tried to stand, but the snow seemed to hold onto you. You yanked at the phantom hands holding you down. Panic soon set in as your fighting attempts were seemingly in vain “HELP! PLEASE! ANYONE!” the snow muffled your final scream as your entire body was covered in heaps of snow.

You awoke with a sharp gasp and your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest. Once your heart rate finally went back to normal you looked around and noticed this …… wasn’t your room. You’re so disoriented after that dream that you really hope this isn’t one of those dreams where you woke up in another dream. “Fuck where’s my phone?”

“It’s back in your world” You froze mid search as fear set-in at the mere fact you weren’t alone. You slowly turned your head in the direction of the very familiar voice. It was him. Zayne stood in the doorway holding a mug in his hand. You stared at him wide eyed and confused “Im dreaming I have to be dreaming” You slapped the absolute shit out of yourself and fell back on the bed screaming in pain and you realized you were in fact awake.

“Are you okay?” Zayne rushed to you grabbing your face to inspect your self-inflicted wound “Why on earth would you do that?”

“HOW ARE YOU HERE!?” You screamed in his face. Oh hell you’re starting to hyperventilate “This isn’t real this isn't real I was….in my room how could I…..” Your voice trailed off as you passed out in Zayne’s arms. He stared down at you with a smile on his face. “I told you I would see you in the morning” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and held you until you woke up.

Hours later….

Once Zayne got you to calm down enough to sit and have a conversation he explained how you are indeed in his world now.

Y/N: So you mean to tell me by you speaking to me we made all of this real?!

You waved your hand around to emphasize the fact that you are currently sitting in the living room of a fucking game. Everything looks so real it almost felt like you really were in another world and not just a developed game.

Zayne: I'm not sure exactly how it works but yes together we both made my world as real as yours Y/N: I can’t stay here forever Zayne I have a life back in my world my friends and family will be worried sick Zayne: You can come and go here whenever you please Y/N: How exactly am I supposed to do that? Zayne: With my evol … I can transport you to and from your world that’s how I got you here Y/N: In that frozen deserted waste-land!? I thought I died! Zayne: Im sorry my love but that’s the only way it works until we can figure out something else

You froze at hearing him call you his love. Your heart was racing just from those two simple words. You tried to speak, but no words were coming out. Zayne seemed to notice that he had you speechless and he took this moment to pull you closer and hook a finger under your chin. “Don’t hate me I’ve been waiting so long to do this” He pressed the softest lingering kiss on your lips and you couldn’t help the way you melted into him. “You feel so real” You whispered against his lips.

“I am real” You stared deep into those endless green eyes. You dreamed of looking into these eyes and here you were. You caressed his cheek then gently pushed him back by his chest. You needed some kind of distance so you could process what was going on. "We're not done talking"

"I figured you would have more questions" He said as he draped an arm over the couch behind you. "Ask me anything"

↢ previous ... continue ↣

[suiana]

yandere! party baddie and yandere! stoner threeway relationship guys...

you're just a guy, literally just some guy. like yeah.

and you have two of the hottest people in the entire university pining after you, desperate for your attention. the guy who goes to all the parties and shakes his non-existent ass for everyone to see and the hot stoner who smokes on campus even after getting chased out by a dog. and yeah, you called it. they're best friends too.

you still don't know how it came to be like this but you decide to just ignore them because... why the hell not. you barely talk to them anyway and they just cling to you like you're a drug. you shouldn't give into what they want.

anyway, you decide to go to one of the parties hosted by mr party guy over here and holy shit when i tell you it just changed the trajectory of your life...

"baby you're here!"

"come smoke a blunt with me."

you were immediately dragged away from everyone else, made to sit far away from the main crowd as you get coddled by two... clearly not lucid people.

"hey, give them something to drink."

"why don't you do it? i'm smoking right now."

"erm... guys i don't want anything-"

yeah that didn't happen.

you ended up sharing a blunt with these two idiots over here, ignoring how the loud party man keeps yapping about how this was his dream blunt rotation and how you were so hot. you swear you could feel a headache coming up with how much he babbles into your ear.

at least his stoner bestie was quiet, right?

wrong, if anything he was worse. he was lighting a bong, getting all sorts of high as he leaves a hand on your body. this hand was very touchy too, might you add. gripping and groping your hip, massaging the flesh under his long and slender fingers...

you just wanted to let loose damnit! exams were exhausting and now you couldn't even party?! why the hell were you surrounded by these two people?!

"can you guys let me go?"

"hahahah! let go? why would we let you go? i mean, i don't want to share you with anyone. i mean.... this guy over here is fine but why would i let you dance with those losers there?"

"mn... filthy pests don't deserve you... yeah.. yeah...."

gyatt damn the stoner was completely BAKED. and this... this party loser is not helping at all.

"uh... i need to pee-"

"pee into my mouth please babe!"

"piss... piss? yeah? yeah."

you guys ended up cuddling on the couch getting high and making out because that's what they wanted and you ended up wanting it too because you were high and it sounded good.

oh and they also... kind of... ahem, announced that you belonged to them but it doesn't really matter, right?

it's just a small little detail that you definitely won't get mad at them for when you sober up later. surely! ahaha...

yeah you should've just stayed at home.

[waitineedaname]

i was thinking my little thoughts while falling asleep last night, and a concept occurred to me: what if binghe learned about the system not from shen qingqiu, but from shang qinghua

look, he likes shang qinghua alright. he's pretty disinterested in p much anyone who isn't shen qingqiu, but on the list of People Luo Binghe Tolerates, shang qinghua is relatively high. he gave him advice on wooing sqq, after all, and sqq likes his company, so binghe tolerates his shang-shishu

but the thing is, shang qinghua is a spy. has been for decades. binghe knows this. really, everyone knows this at this point, which isn't a great look for a spy, but still. and since shang qinghua is a spy for mobei-jun, who is a subordinate for luo binghe, then technically shang qinghua is also working for him, but you don't get to the position of demon emperor without a healthy amount of suspicion for everyone in your court

so he decides to test shang qinghua a little bit. nothing major, just a little poking around in his dreams. he starts out with a subtle touch, just sifting through his memories. most of it is what he expected. he sees his time on an ding as a disciple and then later as peak lord, he sees him working for mobei-jun. he sees mobei-jun in some compromising situations, which he files away for later, and then sees him in an entirely different flavor of compromising situations, and binghe immediately decides to act like he never saw that

then he decides to take a more direct approach and starts nudging the dreams in other directions, to see how he might react to certain scenarios, test his loyalty. he expects shang qinghua to act cowardly, or bluff his way through a situaton, maybe even draw his sword if pushed far enough

what he doesn't expect is for shang qinghua to frown at the changes luo binghe made and go "I didn't write it like this"

what

binghe is so bewildered by that response that he loses his grip on the dream for a second, and before he knows it, shang qinghua has spun the dream scenario back into the way the scene originally played out. he steps back and looks satisfied. "there we go," he says. "that's how it went. you know, if I'd known I'd be dealing with this scene myself, I would've written it differently"

what the hell does that mean?

fascinated, luo binghe continues to test him. most of the time, when he toys with someone's dream, they're completely unaware of the changes. shang qinghua, despite not seeming aware that he's lucid dreaming, seems very aware of how each scene should go. except for, strangely, many of the scenes that binghe himself was in. binghe pulls up one from his disciple days, one of the times he remembered shang qinghua coming to qing jing on some errand. he hadn't even changed anything yet, had just let the dream version of his younger self launch himself at shizun in a tacklehug, but shang qinghua tsks and takes the reins from him before he can make any edits. "sorry bing-ge, but that was just way too out of character," shang qinghua says. the dream copy of luo binghe's younger self is sent further away, watching the peak lords with a sullen gaze. he's skinnier than binghe remembers being at this age, and one of his eyes is swollen with a purple bruise. that doesn't make any sense, luo binghe thinks. he hadn't been beaten on qing jing peak for years at this point.

the shen qingqiu beside shang qinghua in the dream stands with his back straight as a ruler, and when his gaze lands on luo binghe, he sneers behind his fan. shang qinghua sighs. "cucumber-bro really wasn't as good of an actor as he thought he was. he's way too soft to ever seem like the original goods."

alarmed, luo binghe dispels the dream and steps out of it entirely. sure, he knows shen qingqiu's personality changed almost overnight when he had that qi deviation. everyone knew that. he avoided questioning it much, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth when it meant having a shizun that cared for him

but shang qinghua. shang qinghua seems to know something more about shen qingqiu's personality change. something he's not sharing. luo binghe didn't like the idea that one of his subordinates could be hiding something as vital as this from him

well, this had been a test of his spy's loyalties, hadn't it? perhaps he should make a visit to an ding. he had some questions.

[anten-na]

Hi Hi hiii! Can we please get some mr. Tenna x reader that likes to collect old electronics, gadgets, tvs, etc. (doesn't really matter of the reader is fron the Dark or Light world)

Pretty pleeeeeease with the cherry on top 👉👈 🙏

📺: out with the new, in with the old!

hiii hiiii...!!! here’s some tenna content for all you hungry souls out there. special thanks 2 you for being ma first ask… hope this is what ya wanted! ^_^

you stopped by the dreemurrs’ place real quick just to get your game boy back, the same one kris borrowed just to play pokémon with, which they had practically begged you for. you didn’t even intend on lingering for too long, but dawn turned to dusk fairly quickly and you couldn’t exactly turn down toriel’s warm invite to stay, especially once you heard about the movie marathon. who says no to free food and tv slop entertainment? sounds like a total win!

everyone soon fell asleep, save for kris, who for some unknown reason was staring at you very intensely. you simply shrugged it off and managed to doze off anyway, though your sleep didn’t last for long, and you woke up all nauseous and dizzy, vision a hazy blur. it faded away as you became aware of the unusually soft fabric of the large purple couch beneath you, an unfamiliar feeling. there was quite literally no one else around and everything was just so off, even the colors didn’t make any sense! where the hell were you?

pushing yourself off the couch and walking forward, you were unsure if this was a lucid dream or... possibly something more? either way, the feeling left you quite uneasy. everything around you was just so... purple. you didn’t even have anything on you to check the time, just an old game boy, so old it couldn’t even do a task as simple as that.

“OH! a NEW contestant?! how FUN! why aren’t you with your little FRIENDS? i must’ve missed you!” a booming voice erupted from behind you, nearly making you jump out of your own skin & drop the game boy. wait a minute. was that kris’ tv? ...why was he actually kind of cute?

the old tv stood before you, easily towering above you. it was honestly a little scary, but his smile was strangely warm, and you had a soft spot for his... ‘type’ anyway, so you allow a small smile to show on your face

“the name’s MR. ANT TENNA! but hey, since we’re introduced now, you can just call me MR. TENNA! sounds much more FRIENDLIER, don’t you think?!” tenna spoke a little too quickly, leaning down to your level and leaning in just a bit too close. he was definitely a friendly & enthusiastic host, wasn’t he?

tenna’s attention shifts to the game boy in your hand, his usual energy dying down for just a moment, staring as if in a trance. then he suddenly perks up, pointing in disbelief with a huge grin.

“WELL color me SURPRISED! i haven’t seen one of those in AGES! what was it called again? a GAME BOY, right!? OH, now that takes me BACK!” tenna let out an amused laugh, clutching his chest as it left him, wiping a fake tear.

you gave a shy smile and nod, holding it up for him to see, which only seemed to excite him even more. “i’ve got a lot more back home, a bunch of old electronics and stuff... just like you!” a playful giggle escapes your lips, watching tenna dramatically clutch his chest in response, feigning full offense.

“OLD!? how could you say THAT? i’m just... DELIGHTFULLY VINTAGE!” tenna pretended to fix his tie, momentarily forgetting about the other 3 contestants he’s left hanging... oh well, they could keep themselves entertained. the host let out a deep sigh, like the kind that comes after a good laugh, and spoke up. “it’s REFRESHING to know that vintage things… like myself, are still LOVED by some, because it TOTALLY feels like they’re not!” tenna crossed his arms, a hint of insecurity seeping through his words.

you awkwardly rub the back of your neck, feeling a bit sorry for him. “well don’t worry. no matter how old a model is, i think they’re all pretty neat and deserve at least some attention...” you mumble, unsure whether or not it was the proper thing to say. tenna paused, staring at you blankly for a small moment. then out of nowhere he suddenly hoists you up, hands beneath your arms.

“you are just SO SWEET, aren’t you? you MIGHT just be my FAVORITE contestant yet!” tenna beamed, setting you down after noticing your shocked expression. he let out a shy ‘hehe,’ screen comedically glowing a soft pink. “please do forgive me! i just can’t help it, with all the EXCITEMENT! you’re going to have so much FUN, i PROMISE!” tenna enthusiastically cheers, raising his hands up in the air for some extra emphasis.

you let out a soft chuckle, wondering what he really meant... and if you’re able to keep him.

[themoooooonhauntsyou]

Heyo! This is my first post, something I wasn't originally planning on doing on this app since I don't know how.

@magicalbunbun has a post where reader is some kind of security or night guard that works at the museum and I just so happened to write a little story snippet of something along those lines with reader being a shifter. (Someone who goes to another reality while sleeping.)

I have my own weird experience with shifting that I used for it but I am an amateur so don't expect much.

---

—No loving arms to hold him—

Y/N woke with a jolt, blinking hard against the soft blue light flooding the room. His head throbbed faintly as he sat up, groggy and disoriented. The hum of electronics filled the air, along with the faint scent of instant coffee and disinfectant. Around him, the glow of multiple monitors flickered across his face. The room was compact and dim, cluttered with mugs, paperwork, and a rack of security tapes that looked like they hadn’t been touched since 2005.

He looked down.

Navy-blue security uniform. Black boots. A utility belt with a flashlight, keys, and radio clipped to it. His name printed in block letters on a laminated ID badge hanging from his chest.

Y/N L/N – Night Security – National Art Gallery, London.

His heart stuttered. Then he let out a slow, slightly amused exhale.

“Ah...Another one of these, huh?”

He recognized the feeling—the surreal vividness, the unshakable realism of everything. He’d experienced it before. Lucid shifting dreams where he slipped into different worlds, usually fictional and rarely reality. And this one? The details were crisp. The textures were right. He could feel the cool vinyl of the chair beneath him. Hear the slight crackle of static from the monitors. Smell the stale air.

Definitely a dream. Just a very..very intense one.

He stood up and stretched, then began poking around the room for any hints. Papers. Sticky notes. Wall calendars. Anything to tell him where exactly he'd ended up this time. But nothing was obvious. Nothing screamed sci-fi or fantasy or apocalypse. It all just looked normal.

“Alright,” he mumbled. “So I’m a rent-a-cop in a museum in dreamland. Love that for me.”

Finally, he turned to the monitors.

Most showed quiet corridors filled with statues and ancient artifacts. One camera showed the Egyptian wing—dark and eerie even with the emergency lighting on. Everything seemed still…

Then something moved.

He leaned closer.

A dark shape lurched across one of the exhibits. Low to the ground. Four-legged. At first glance, it looked like a dog. Maybe a big stray? But the longer Y/N watched, the more wrong it looked.

Its limbs were too long and bony, the fur patchy and uneven. Its back was hunched like it had broken something important and never healed. The head was elongated, almost like a weird dog or what a jackal would look like if it crawled out of someone’s nightmares. Most likely his own nightmares.

“…What the hell is thaat??” Y/N whispered, grimacing.

He squinted, trying to make out the grainy figure, but the cameras weren’t doing him any favors. No audio, of course, and the video feed looked like it was recorded on a potato. The weird dog thing paced in a jerky, unnatural rhythm—then suddenly whipped its head to the side.

Another shape darted into frame—a man. Hard to see who it was, but he seemed terrified. He stumbled and nearly knocked over a vase then ran for the opposite end of the exhibit. The jackal didn’t hesitate to follow. It howled—at least, Y/N assumed it howled; he couldn’t hear a damn thing—and gave chase, disappearing offscreen like something from a found-footage horror film he would watch in YouTube.

Y/N stared at the blank feed in stunned silence.

“What the actual fuck is going on?”

He had no idea who the guy was—grainy cameras didn’t help with identification—but clearly, whoever he was, he’d just gotten himself into a bad situation. Y/N glanced toward the radio on the desk, briefly considered picking it up and then sighed as he remembered he has free will so it wasn't his problem at the moment. At least, not until it turned into a nightmare. He hates when that happens.

Despite his better judgment and thoughts on his own safety, he found his hand drifting toward the flashlight clipped at his waist. The museum was dark, and while this was 'just a dream', he still didn’t fancy running into something that looked like it could chew through bone.

He flicked on the flashlight, watching the beam slice through the shadows.

Something about the light—how steady and bright it was—made him feel safer. Even if it was all illusion. Even if he had no idea what he was doing or where he was going.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself once again, opening the door. “Let’s go explore. Quietly. Carefully. And away from whatever Scooby-Doo-from-hell situation that was.”

The hallway was silent. Cold.

He stepped out, flashlight leading the way, and started down the corridor, each footstep echoing off marble floors. Statues lined the walls, frozen and watchful. He told himself over and over again: it’s just a dream. But the pounding of his heart, the sweat on his palms, and the way the shadows seemed to move when he wasn’t looking?

They felt real.

Y/N wandered deeper into the museum’s labyrinthine halls, his flashlight sweeping over glass displays and ancient stone. As much as he told himself it was a dream, he couldn’t help the little flutter of awe that stirred in his chest.

His dreams had never felt this real before.

The cold floor beneath his boots. The subtle echo of his steps bouncing off the marble and glass. The faint scent of aged parchment and polished wood in the air. He could even feel the weight of the flashlight in his hand like it belonged there.

Usually, things blurred around the edges in shift-dreams. Places melted into one another. Faces were fuzzy.

But here? Every little detail—the sand-worn edges of a sarcophagus, the faded reds and golds of ceremonial masks, even the old security camera silently panning above him—was painfully crisp.

He found himself drawn to a particular hallway, one lined with relics of the sun god Ra. The golden iconography gleamed faintly under the emergency lights, casting long, eerily beautiful shadows across the floor. Panels on the wall depicted Ra in his falcon-headed form, soaring across the sky on a solar barque, eternally battling darkness.

Y/N slowed, intrigued. “Damn…This is really detailed. Shout-out to my subconscious.”

He moved to read a placard near an elaborately carved bust of Ra when he accidentally bumped into a display stand behind him. The sudden clunk startled him enough that he flinched—and in doing so, fumbled his flashlight.

“oh sHIT!”

It clattered to the floor, skidding a short distance before coming to a stop—right next to a carved statue’s feet. The battery popped loose, rolling off and disappearing under a nearby bench.

Groaning, Y/N crouched down, reaching beneath the bench. “In a dream and still dropping things like a dumbass.”

He retrieved the battery, snapped it back into place, and flicked the flashlight on again.

The light shot directly into the face of a bust of Ra, casting harsh shadows across its falcon features.

Y/N jumped back with a startled yelp.

“GAH—!”

He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, then let out a laugh. “Oh, okay. Wow. Yeah. You got me. That’s fair.”

“Oh my god—I mean—Ra! Jeez—dude!” He exhaled, heart hammering. “Okay, okay. That was cheap but fair. You got me...almost kicked you to the next exhibit though.”

After a moment, he looked up at the statue again.

“Sorry for bumping into you, though. Didn’t mean to disrespect your…big bird energy. Whatever you call it.”

Heart still racing, he slowly stepped back toward the statue and gave it a sheepish glance.

“Sorry for bumping into you, my guy. Didn’t mean to be disrespectful. You look good though. Very, uh…regal.”

He kept walking, chuckling softly to himself. “God, I’m apologizing to a statue. What’s next—having tea with Anubis?”

The museum remained quiet—almost too quiet. But the more Y/N explored, the more his curiosity outweighed his nerves. Everything about the dream was stunning. Immersive. Uncanny.

Eventually, he found himself near a tiled corridor with a faded "RESTROOMS" sign overhead. A sense of mundane comfort filled him—bathrooms meant normalcy, even in a dream.

But as he stepped toward the door, something odd happened.

The flashlight in his hand began to grow strangely warm.

He paused, frowning down at it. The plastic casing was heating up—not burning, but definitely warmer than it should’ve been. The beam of light, too, was brighter now. Whiter. As if it had been infused with something more than just electricity.

“…Okay. That’s not normal.” Y/N muttered, narrowing his eyes.

He stopped in front of the restroom, staring down at the flashlight as it buzzed faintly in his palm, confused and a little unsettled.

Y/N continued staring at his flashlight, now pulsing softly with unnatural warmth, when the sound of frantic footsteps shattered the quiet.

He snapped his head up.

A blur of motion flew past him.

A man—disheveled, panicked, and unmistakably British—bolted around the corner and ran straight into the men’s bathroom.

“…Was that—?”

Before Y/N could finish the thought, another shape skidded into view behind the man. Long limbs. Twisted joints. That grotesque, jackal-dog-thing from the camera feed.

It snarled.

Y/N didn’t think—he ran straight into the bathroom after the man, just as the jackal lunged.

He slammed the door shut and threw all his weight against it.

BANG.

The jackal hit the door like a truck.

Y/N swore, bracing his feet as the entire frame buckled under the impact. The creature scratched and clawed, snarling low and guttural on the other side, as if it was peeling the metal like a tin can.

“Jesus Christ,” Y/N hissed, straining. “That thing is gonna rip this door off the hinges!”

Inside the bathroom, the other man was panicking—pacing, gasping, muttering to himself. His voice trembled, caught between terror and confusion.

“No no no—this isn't real, this isn’t happening, I can’t—”

Y/N glanced back—and froze.

He recognized that voice.

That curly hair. That accent. That panicked mumbling.

Steven Grant.

Y/N blinked, groaning internally as the full realization hit him like a truck. This isn’t just some dream. This is one of his favorite shows, Moon Knight.

Out of all the worlds he could’ve shifted into—this had to be the one with ancient gods, scary jackal monsters, and a guy with multiple personalities fighting for control through mirrors.

Don’t get him wrong—he loved the show. But watching it and living it? Two very different things. One had popcorn. The other had razor claws trying to gut him through a bathroom door.

Steven gripped his hair as he talked to marc, backing away. “I’m not letting you take over again! I can’t—please!”

Y/N turned his attention back to the door as it rattled violently in its frame. The jackal was still trying to force its way in. He reached down, fumbling with the manual lock on the door, trying to buy them any more time.

Click!

The lock slid into place.

A beat of silence—then CRASH.

A twisted claw slammed through the metal panel, swiping blindly.

One of the talons caught Y/N’s arm.

He cried out as the pain flared sharp and white-hot, stumbling backward as the jackal retracted its claw. Blood trickled down his arm in quick, hot lines, staining his sleeve.

He hit the tile floor hard, breathing raggedly.

Y/N let out a sharp, involuntary yelp as the jackal’s claw tore through the metal and raked across his arm. The impact knocked him back, and he crashed to the cold bathroom floor with a grunt.

The pain hit immediately—hot, searing, real. A white flash pulsed behind his eyes as he clutched his arm.

“Ah—damn it—!”

The wound stung, worse than anything he’d ever felt in a dream before. His fingers pressed down on the torn fabric of his uniform sleeve, now dark and sticky with blood. The pain throbbed in his muscles, sharp and insistent.

Y/N sat up slowly, back against the wall, his breath catching in his throat. He glanced down at his hand—and froze.

His palm was slick with blood. His own blood.

It stained his fingertips, his sleeve, the floor.

His heart skipped a beat.

That’s not supposed to happen.

Pain was one thing in his dreams that didn't last long, he usually woke up seconds after getting hurt in any sort of way—but seeing his own blood, thick and warm, spilling in a place that was supposed to be a dream? That was something else entirely.

A look of horror settled on his face as the realization sank in, slow and cold: this wasn’t like the other shifting dreams. Not even close.

This was real.

Too real.

Across the room, Steven spun around at the sound, eyes wide in shock.

“You’re hurt—? Oh God—!”

His gaze dropped to the blood trailing down Y/N’s forearm, and panic set in fast. “Bloody hell, you’re bleeding—you’re really—” He staggered back a step, bumping into the sinks, hands trembling.

Behind him, the mirror caught his reflection—except it wasn’t mirroring him at all.

“Steven.”

The voice was calm. Controlled. Not Steven, but Marc.

Steven’s reflection leaned forward in the glass, though Steven himself hadn’t moved. Marc’s expression was hard, focused.

“If you don’t let me take control right now, we're going to die, Steven.”

Steven’s eyes flicked to the mirror, frantic. “No—I can’t—”

Marc cut him off, voice sharp. “He'll die too.”

Steven glanced over at Y/N again, who was sitting slumped against the wall, pale, his free hand gripping the flashlight like a lifeline. Blood smeared the floor beside him.

“A civilian, Steven,” Marc pressed. “You okay with letting someone die because you were too scared?”

Steven’s breath caught. His eyes filled with conflict, horror, guilt. “But I—he’s not supposed to be here—I don’t even know who he is—”

“That doesn’t matter. He’s here. And you can’t protect him like this.”

Steven swallowed hard, hands clenched at his sides. He looked from Y/N—bleeding, confused, still bracing for another strike—to the mirror, where Marc stared back at him with grim determination.

“…You’ll stop it?” he whispered.

“I swear.”

A tense silence stretched, broken only by the snarls and pounding claws against the nearly broken door.

Finally, Steven gave a tiny, trembling nod.

“...Alright, Just don’t let him die.”

---

Hope ya liked my garbage 😍

[thechurchoftheradiodemon]

Good evening, denizens of Radioapple nation!

I think it's time for a new fic recommendation list. I have been reading some series you recommended and some others that I found on tmblr. My tbr is still shamefully long, you people need to stop being so talented, I can't keep up with all the content.

In any case, here goes my rec list for anyone that is interested. These fics are 100% unadultered radioapple, some sfw, some nsfw, but all of them with good aroace-spec representation and fantastic characterizations.

Without further ado, here we go:

• OSaS, by @morningstarwrites: no need for introductions. This is, I believe, the most famous fic of the fandom. So many hijinks, so much fluff, such character development, and a lot of lovely bickering. It's still going, and we are now entering the 6th arch, with promises of turning up the heat (so far, very much sfw and cute).

• De santos y pecadores, by Sun_Haworth: this is the Spanish version of Of Saints and Sinners (yes, the fic is this famous, it has translations). Very good translation work, I have to say, so check it out if you are a Spanish speaker or if you want to practice your Spanish!

• Lucid Dreams of New Orleans, by @radiaurapple: a "finished" one, with promises of more epilogues and some snippets to come. This is one of the loveliest, most heartwrenching fics I've read of the fandom. Pseudo-human Alastor AU, beautifully written, it will entrance you. You will long for New Orleans like you never knew you could. A must read, for sure. Sfw with the exception of this (highly recommended) snippet, 3 a.m. (Bonus track). I'd also recommend reading A LULLABY FOR MR SHINGLES of you are looking to be creeped out and for a good laugh.

• We should've been enemies, by @soot-and-salt: the gothic horror romance fic you didn't know you needed. It's almost finished, and it captures the creepy dark atmosphere so well. This one is nsfw and very sexy, if I may say so. The writing flows really good, and you can't miss their one-shots: I shine only with the light you gave me, such gorgeous premise and prose, it's a human Alastor AU; and Transubstantiation, based on a fabulous CMV, very gorey and ethereal, it bewitched me.

• All changed, changed utterly, by @tollingreminiscentbells: a finished one, nsfw. Human Alastor AU at the beginning, we follow an alternative narrative in which Lucifer and Alastor met each other before Hell. It is SUCH a gorgeous fic, very nicely written, with so much fluff and angst and character development. Domestic and romantic, without losing each characters essence. I binged it in a couple of days. A must read for any radioapple fan, for sure.

• Lucifer and his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad relationship, by @keelywolfe: this is another radioapple stapple, and rightfully so. Nsfw and still on going, a long read that's very worth it. The writing? Incredible. The evolution of every character? Astounding. The plot? THICK. An amazingly hooking fic, with so much fluff, hurt, confort, love, hate, secrets, drama and smut. A MUST, no doubt. You can also read the short Radioapple Standalones, they are a cute, dramaless and sexy read to rest from the chaos of the main series.

• Bedtime rituals to try out before the next angelic war, by @miribalis: finished and sfw. In this one, we find ourselves with a tricky hotel room and many sheanigans involving insomnia, managerial duties and feelings. Very very cute, writing on point and captures a cozy atmosphere that few do. Another binge-read for me, I just couldn't get enough domesticity from them.

• Blood, water and other bonds, by Minimalistless: nsfw two-shot. If you are looking for some self-indulgent radioapple smut, here is your fic. This one is really well written and fun. Worth giving it a shot.

• loml, by @radioapple-heathen: sfw and still going. A very cute fic, with some really angsty moments and pet snake sheanigans. Alastor and Lucifer discover they have many things in common, but their rivalry never fades... for now.

• Stolen Moments, by @mothballmilkshake: I'm still going through this series, but so far so very good. Nsfw and another very worthy long read. It's fun, it's cute, we see the development of their characters and their relationship, and so far it's becoming another favourite! Definitelly worth seeing how this continues unfolding.

• Strange Appetites, by Gotllphi: Nsfw, gorey (diegetic gore, I believe they described it) and still going. Currently on hiatus, but the author has the story all planned out and will resume writing as soon as they can! My first radioapple read and still on my top list. Human Alastor AU, with some very cute teen Charlie included here and there. The plot is highly adicting, the development of their relationship so much so, and the writing is fantastic. Give it a shot to encourage your local fic writers not to give up!

• Unhealthy Competition, by @theaffablescamp: I have to catch up with this one too, but it is, overall, fun, sexy and intriguing. Nsfw, still going, SO many hooking plot points, SO many hijinks. The radioapples navigate their personal issues while trying to understand each other. A good, entertaining read.

• Eat your heart out, by @seducipher: modern human Alastor AU, nsfw, gorey and unfinished. Very cool atmosphere and premise, good writing and tantalizing. I also binge read this one. Sexy and intriguing, can't wait to see how this one continues.

• @notherpuppet 's AUs: I usually put this one at the end bc it's not a fic per se, but the My Deer Nanny AU is another fandom classic, rightfully so. Fun, cute, fun, domestic, fun, heartmelting... it has everything a radioapple fan needs! They are also in a queer-platonic relationship, which I think is really refreshing and good for their characters. Don't miss their other AUs, art and short-comics. They are pure GOLD.

Also, as I should, have your read Primavera en Nueva Orleans? A great fic in Spanish about Alastor's last Mardi Gras, you should take a look, it's nice 👀

But, anyway, this is all folks! I'll post new fic recs in a while when I continue with my tbr. Thank you for listening and reading, and stay tuned!

[brandwhorestarscream]

Megatronus talking to Megatron fic please?

Hell yeah lets go. Mostly just transcribed from my rambling in discord, but nyeh

Consider: the cogs they've been given influence their host a bit. Like how, donated organs sometimes have "memories" from their old bodies that they had before. Giving the host physical sensations and habits they didn't have before (it's a real thing, look it up)

We know that Liege Maximo wasn't responsible for orchestrating Solus's death in this universe, but it's still very possible he's still got a very dark and twisted streak inside him. What if D-16's sudden, violent resolve to kill Sentinel came from Liege Maximo? He 100000% wants Sentinel dead because he's a traitor and doesn't deserve to live, and his influence still on his cog combined with D-16's righteous anger came together into the drive to rip that mech apart, with his bare hands.

What I'm getting at is, the cogs have "memory" and influence, to a point. Optimus got Prima's cog, so naturally he stepped into a more rigid leadership position that was staunchly against purposefully extinguishing sparks. So, when D-16 takes Megatronus Prime's cog from Sentinel's chest, he gets hit with a blast of Presence from the God of War himself, and already riled up and angry he kinda. Spirals out of control.

The Spirit of War drives him to fight, protect, destroy. Raze that evil mech's influence to the ground so not a single shred of him remains. Unless his presence is completely annihilated, there's a chance it could seep into the cracks and take up root again, and slowly sink it's insidious fingers into their people once more. He cannot allow that!

Fast forward to that night and newly christened Megatron is still angry, angry, angry… until he falls asleep and his processor can get a much-needed rest and defrag. He dreams about- about Orion, about… the surface, about Sentinel, about everything. He sees Sentinel taking Orion away, sees Orion bloodied and lifeless falling into a pit of despair. He sees himself, out of his body, trying to save him but he can't. He sees his best friend looking at him in sadness and disgust and, finally, feels the sadness and misery he'd been stubbornly choking down suddenly force it's way into his throat.

...Is he awake? Is he asleep? It hits him so intensely he can't tell, and just. Plops down on the ground, arms wrapping around himself and beginning to sob with all the force of his broken spark. It's not fair. Everything… everything has changed, he's lost everything and everyone and- and he's still angry! Why does he feel like this? How does he make it stop? He doesn't want to be angry anymore, he doesn't want… whatever this is that he can feel slowly creeping toward him. This isn't over. Something bad is coming. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want this, he doesn't want this-!

He about jumps out of his plating when someone suddenly touches his helm, and nearly falls over when he looks up and finds a hulking, huge mech had settled down next to him. Thrice his size, at least, and before, that wouldn't have been strange. Expected, even. But now he has his cog, his alt mode, he's much bigger now. Even so, he feels puny in this mech's shadow, but his size alone isn't the surprising part.

Painted purple and black with a face that Megatron knows extremely well. He rubs his optics and shakes his helm, but he's still there. His vocalizer squeaks when he utters the name, "M- Muh-! Megatronus Prime?!"

He's definitely still dreaming. He has to be. But- But everything feels so grounded and lucid and real- but-

Megatronus Prime chuckles softly. "Sorry to frighten you, little one," he lats the ground next to him. "Sit with me?"

"I- um," he blinks. "Y-Yes sir?"

Megatron has no idea what to say. He sits a respectful distance away, hugging his knees and just o.o staring at him shellshocked the whole time. It- It has to be a dream but it feels real. Is… Is Megatronus actually here with him? Surely he can't be, but…

The Prime waves his servo out in front of them, and warm, gently burning orange fire materializes from nowhere. It floats in a ball before them, lighting the dark, shadowy night. Megatron can feel the heat on his cheeks, and the sensation is too real to be anything but.

"You… y-you're really here-!" He gasps and wipes clumsily at his still-wet face. "Oh- Oh my Primes, you're really-" Promptly slaps a servo over his mouth, optics wide. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear, I know we shouldn't use the Primes names in vain I just- y-you're here and- and-"

Megatronus laughs and shakes his helm fondly, reaching over to gently pat his helm. "Peace, youngling, peace. I take no offense." Prima, on the other hand… ooh, how he hated hearing their children swear. It amused the god of war, more than anything. He gave the little silver mech a thoughtful once over. "You have my cog." It's not a question.

Megatron flinches and brings both servos to to his chest. "I- I'm sorry!" He means it too, hanging his helm and looking ashamed. "I- I was just- he took it, he killed you and he took and I- I couldn't just let him keep it," it was impulsive, he would admit, swapping it for the cog already in his own chassis. His voice lowers to a shameful whisper. "D'you… w-want it back?" He doesn't want to go back to being cogless, but…

Luckily, Megatronus shakes his helm. "No, no, keep it. I've no use for it anymore. Heh," a humorless sound that could almost pass as a sarcastic laugh. "Though, I should ask. Wouldn't you rather have yours?"

"What do you mean?"

He holds out one huge servo, palm flat, and an image flickers to life, misty and glowing blue similar to the visions Alpha Trion had shown them. It's simple this time, just a standard transformation cog. But… Megatron chokes. "You mean-?! Th-This one is-?"

"Yours," the Prime nods. "We keep track. We've kept track of every cog he stole, and whom it belongs to. If you want yours, I'll grant it to you."

He's stunned silent, mouth hanging open and entranced by the vision. He… he could have it back? He'd come to accept that his cog was gone, that that monster had molested his newborn body and plucked it right from his chassis, that a part of him had been stolen and desecrated before he even opened his optics for the first time. A hurt that could never heal… a wound he'd carry til the day he died.

But now, Megatronus Prime, his greatest hero and idol, is talking to him and offering it back. All he can do is sit there with his jaw slack.

The god of war seems amused, laughing for real this time and reclining back against the solid metal behind him. He reaches out and wraps one arm around the youngling, who squeaks in surprise, and pulls him close against his side. "You don't have to decide now," he promises. "You can keep mine, if you like the way it feels. And if you change your mind someday, that's fine too."

He's not at all expecting the sudden sob that bubbles up from his side, and looks down in surprise. Little namesake suddenly curls against him, shaken by the first positive physical contact he's had in multiple days, beginning to weep with earnest against his hero's side.

"Wh-"

"I'm sorry!" The words burst out of him in a rasping voice heavily laden with sorrow and wet sobs. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so so sorry! I- I didn't mean to, it wasn't supposed to happen like that, I didn't wanna hurt him, I- I didn't mean to I was just so mad-"

This… really isn't Megatronus's forte. He doesn't know what to say, so opts not to say much at all, instead gently draping his arm around the young, miserable bot and just letting him huddle beneath him, weeping brokenly.

"I know, little one… I know. It's alright-"

"It's NOT alright!" He wails. "Nothing is alright! I wanna go home but I don't have a home anymore, and- and Orion hates me and everyone probably hates me and- and I killed my best friend and I took your cog without asking and," he takes a great, heaving, wheezing invent. "And I'm just like Sentinel!"

Megatronus goes from awkward to actively panicking in about 2 seconds. Ok, tears he can deal with. Let them cry it out and release all the stress and they'll be fine afterwards. That's how it goes. But… super deep seated self doubt and worry you've turned into the monster you just defeated? That's- That's really not something he knows how to deal with. Megatronus Prime does not know how to deal with kids.

"...wait, no-" he gives the little one a gentle shake. "No, no, that isn't true-" he continued to wail and cry like the world is ending, like his spark really has shattered into pieces. "You're not- you didn't intend to hurt your friend and wouldn't have if it was up to you, and--forgive me, Mother--Sentinel needed to be dealt with. "You've nothing in common with that mech aside from the cog you both hosted in your chest-"

That just seems to make him cry harder, and Megatronus flounders. What to do, what to do?! Um, uh-

"Oh!" He reaches up with both hands, undoing clasps and deactivating invisible magnets. "Here! Do you want to try on my mask?"

That gets him. Megatron raises his helm suddenly, still hiccupping, tears still streaming down his cheeks. His mouth is still trembling, but he's no longer wailing.

"Wh-" he whimpers softly. "What….?"

Megatronus undoes the last clasp and removes his giant purple mask, lowering it slowly and giving the little silver mech a somewhat sheepish look, red optics peering over the rim. "Do you… want to try it on?"

Megatron blinks twice, then thrice. "That's a mask?"

The god of war nods, lowering it further. He has an unexpectedly pretty, almost delicate face. "My Solus made it for me," he admits, sounding almost shy. "To tell the truth, I… ahem, I get… rather anxious when people see my face. Solus made this for me, quite a long time ago." it's huge when he reaches to offer it to Megatron, nearly the size and width of a small table.

Megatron's hands are still shaking as it's laid across his lap, pinning him to the ground end eliciting an "oof!" of surprise. It's heavy! It weighs more than the miners did when they were cogless! Probably still weighs more than some of them! He runs his hands over the smooth, tempered metal, awed by its quality and sheer size.

"You wear this all the time?" He asks, starstruck.

"Indeed. I never take it off, in fact." this was a special occasion, though.

"I… we thought this was your face," Megatron admits, nearly sheepish. He reaches up to touch his chassis, where the likeness of the god's mask is still etched painfully into the metal there, thanks to Sentinel. He steals a glance up at Megatronus, unable to quite believe what he's seeing. "Everything in the datafiles and history stuff, you're always wearing it. We- We thought you didn't have a mouth!"

Megatronus smiles at him, amused, and for the first time in days Megatron manages to smile, too.

"…can I really, uh…?"

The god of war snaps his fingers and the mask shrinks obediently, til it's just the right size. "Go ahead, youngling."

He exhales nervously and slips it on, fumbling unsurely with the clasps. It smells like sulfur and high quality energon, and something about it makes his whole body prickle.

After he's got it on, he looks up at Megatronus shyly, fidgeting. The world looks different from in here: his peripheral vision is cut off, and everything is framed with the shape of the optical slits. "Well…?" He wrings his servos nervously. "How do I look…?"

"…heh," Megatronus lays one servo on his helm, jostling him gently. "Like a little champion of war." He may be called Megatron now but he's still a child at spark, right now. He's painfully young, and Megatronus Prime is worried for him.

When Megatron wishes he had a mirror so he could see what he looks like with the mask on, and Megatronus is all too glad to grant that wish. It's good to see him less emotionally devastated, but soon after the little silver mechling settles back against his side. "I don't… wanna go to war," he admits forlornly, hugging his knees. "I… I wanna go home. I don't want a war."

"That means you're smart," Megatronus tells him seriously, which earns him a confused look. "I preside over war and reap power from it, but only a fool hopes for war. War incurs heavy loss no matter who you are, and those who actively seek it seek their own destruction in turn. Tis my duty to govern that domain and stand as a guardian over those who must do battle." The Patron Deity of Warriors, Megatron recalls easily. The Guardian Prime of all who take up arms.

If the god of war himself encourages not to seek his domain, it's probably best to listen, no? He sags helplessly against the divine mech's side, feeling helpless.

"You said you want to go home?" Megatronus asks, and Megatron nods wordlessly. "Then… perhaps you should."

"I can't! Orion said- he's a Prime now, and he doesn't want me there, and- and I said I'd never trust another leader again-"

"You trust me, don't you?"

It's plain to see how much the kid idolizes him, and trusts him enough to, at the very least, cry his spark out and air his grievances. That certainly speaks of trust.

"Well- yes but, that's different!" Megatronus Prime isn't just some leader, he's one of the 13! One of the gods! Trusting him is different than trusting some uppity mortal that thinks they're better than everyone else and is willing to suck their lives away for their own benefit! Megatronus Prime isn't like that-

"Do you think your friend Orion is like that?"

"No!" The reflexive leap to defend his friend comes before he can really process it. "No of course not, he's-"

Megatron covers his mouth. Oh. Slag.

"Perhaps," the Prime reaches down and gently removes his mask from Megatron's face, gently lifting his chin with one finger. "A better vow would be to no longer place blind trust in those who lead. Don't deny yourself faith or hope, little one. Both are important in order for you or anyone to have a future."

A future. Right. He sighs, shoulders falling to their lowest point and averting his optics. What future? He's stranded on the treacherous surface with a bunch of bloodthirsty strangers, and if he shows even an ounce of weakness that screechy seeker is going to be jumping for his throat. If not him, then one of the others, surely. He couldn't have any sort of comfortable or trustworthy future with people like that surrounding him. Every friend he's ever had, all of his batchmates, his siblings, his family, they're all back in Iacon. The mecha in the high guard hold no love for him, nor do the ones he's left behind. None of them ever will again. Even Orion, his... his everything, even he surely hates him now.

"Do you truly believe that, little one?"

"Yes! Wouldn't you?! I- I killed him!" Accidentally, and because Orion threw himself in front of his weapon, but still. "Sentinel Prime killed you, don't you hate him?" internally, Dee hates himself for hurting Orion. Surely Orion must hate him as much as he hates him, right?

"Sentinel," Megatronus spits the name in a vengeful rasp. "Murdered me in cold blood, as he did several of my siblings. We're still deciding what to do with him. Orion Pax threw himself in front of your weapon and was caught in the crossfire. You did not seek to murder him, nor did you seek to harm him. Twas an accident, nothing more, and not deserving of hatred. Not the hatred you hold for yourself, nor the hatred you presume he holds for you."

"But..." Megatron shrinks in his shadow, tears beading along the bottom lid of his optics. "But..."

"Hush," the Prime's command is firm but still very gentle. "You want to go home. You don't wish for war. Then I ask you, little one: what must you do to achieve those goals?"

[nmr0709]

Lucid dreaming

Aka Caleb's standard myth

Spoilers:

First off- why did every myth not have a satisfactory ending?! Infold, you'll put every single girl in depression. I wasn't over Sylus's dragon myth and then this?

Onto main-

MC visits Skyhaven, for a mission with Farspace fleet .

Caleb is super smart. Hell, he'll give even Dr.Zayne a run for his money. Fucking sly fox this guy is.

He guesses her purpose, invites him over to his place.

Beautiful house. Beautiful place.

Long story short, he's nominated as a new Commander of Tuum fleet, with the previous commander and soldiers being placed under him. MC is there to investigate this and he gives her the files for clearance.

MC notices that things ain't adding up. People who were hostile, after medical examination are now docile. Before she can catch one person, Caleb comes in with food and tells her he has a meeting.

Caleb- knows MC better than she knows herself. And has planned down 20 steps ahead of her. Never give this man chess to play. He'll wreck everyone hands down.

Cue MC snooping around( again) and getting caught( again). Really girl? Really? Why the hell .... There's a reason you're on field and never in covert ops..but Pls Learn Subtlety

She manages to steal a chip and access his files before being revoked access and Caleb confronts her. Says either you be happy and stay out of this mess or I'll be dragged to HQ and questioned.

At this point- Caleb is shady af. Like so shady he makes Sylus pale in comparison.

Next up mega banquet to celebrate Caleb's promotion.

Caleb is attacked by the previously demoted colonel and company, he sends MC away to safety while he deals with them.

Guy has no qualms about manipulating her just so she can stay safe?! Like red flag but also green?

MC waiting for him realises she's been duped, and self implants a chip without him knowing.

The man that he is- goes to her- tells her she is his forever- and faints in her arms.

Guy is scary fine but absolutely down for her. Like yandere tendencies and controlling and possesive...gurl you down bad for him? It's toxic but...idk at this point. She enables him a lot ngl

Next- Caleb faints, has a seizure, and loses all his memories thanks to his chip

MC- she plays him and tells him he is hers. Gives no in lination of telling him anything about his lost memories. ( GURLL WHATT?!!)

They go to an amusement park- she faints thanks to her chip- turns out Caleb had all his memories and was playing her.

What in the 5D chess is this??!! Caleb my man. My amazing hunk of revived corpse and flesh. Wut. I'm shook. But very very impressed with your tactics ngl. Extremely well played.

MC is taken to infirmary to get her chip removed forcefully - she will lose her memories but will retain some recall of it.

cue her throwing a fit- refusing it- Caleb somehow convincing her ( slight gaslighting?)

She's done with him. Removes his tie and coat.

Those bite marks on his hand? Hers. Apparently he gives her his hand everytime she's sick so that she doesn't accidently bite her own tongue off. ( So sweet man but don't distract me)

MC is ultimately forced to have the chip removed. Has little recollection of ehatvexactly happened on Skyhaven. And goes back.

End note-

Infold I will curate every single myth and play it on loop till you cry.

Point is- amazing amazing portrayal of Caleb and backstory. Human experimentation for the ultimate weapon, Caleb being chosen and put through it( not all details revealed yet in myth) , him being forced to give up his emotions and humanity and yet, he never forgets MC.

Caleb is the walking red flag of LADS but.. idk even at this point. Guy's like the morally grey character with a solid backstory and reasoning for it. Can't wait for more.

To the fans thinking Sylus is a red flag? Brothers and sisters, compared to this Bucky Barnes inspired persona, he's a green forest.

More on analysis and emo dump later.

Toodaloo!! And thanks for reading this monster of a post.

[the-effect-of-chaos]

So I have been reading "My Loneliness is Killin Me (Baby)" and it has been stirring up my desire to write an Omegaverse cannon Divergence Steddie fic like gasoline thrown on a already lit bonfire.

So OF COURSE that means I have to brainstorm this fucker somewhere so I am taking you along for the ride.

We are making Omegaverse weird again and going back to the foundations of the genre. Slick butts. I love the new (I know not really new but still) take on Omegas and Alphas being intersex, and I certainly enjoy reading them but I have a craving that will not be denied so back to slick butts and butt babies we go. I have my reasons for this and it also relates to female alphas not having a Knot but a Lock (this comes from a conversation with my dearest friend Fishie a good few years ago about a series of books that use this concept that has never left my head)

Steve is a late bloomer, he has been unpresented through nearly all of high school and while he was with Nancy. Everyone is adamant his body is just biding its time before flooring him with a presentation rut the size of America because they are so certain he will be an Alpha.

Cue them all being wrong.

Post Season 2's week from hell for Steve, between his heart getting shattered, meeting and bonding the Party (his puppies), dealing with the Demodogs, followed by the plate to the head concussion and protecting the pups in their hairbrained plans for the tunnels. It should come as no surprise when he is thrown into the most painful presentation heat of the fucking century.

Following a second week from hell for Steve that was his heat, once he is lucid enough to breathe, think, and not just be trapped in heat and dreams (nightmares so many goddamn nightmares) his goes hunting for a solution to the nightmares.

Obviously that is going to inevitably lead him to Eddie. Eddie who is parked up after school off road in the woods on the trail towards Skull Rock and Lovers Lake.

I feel what is most natural to happen is something akin to Hidden in the Woods by @thepossummoldypasta EXCEPT as fairytale and incredibly cute as that fic is and you should absolutely go read the fuck out of it!!! my take will be different but the scenario similar.

Cue Eddie unintentionally getted dragged into Steve Harrington's life and the aftermath of UD shenanigans well before Spring 86.

I am considering the following possibilities as well for shits and giggles (I say considering like the liar I am all of the below will be appear):

Accidental temporary bonding (likely through being scent mates and getting scent drunk on a newly presented Omega/ the first Alpha scented post presentation heat)

The revelation of Steve's no good very bad never around Parents. And a whole lot of their treatment leading Steve to have issues with following his instincts. Because he was never taught, he never learned and now he is the complete opposite designation everyone and their dog seemed to be manifesting for him. Despite that he loves being Omega solely for the knowledge he can now have and build that family he's always dreamed of and he doesn't actually need anyone else to make it happen if need be (he will have pups with or without a mate social expectations be fucking damned, he was raised to be an Alpha so is very much aware of all he needs to protect himself and any puppies he has and not to mention raise any alphan pups on his own).

Since this is pre Robin the equally as heartbreaking revelation that Steve Harrington has no Pack besides the 3 puppies he adopted on sight during his first week from hell in 84. (Don't worry the other 3 puppies come later they are not safe from adoption).

Non-sterotypical A/B/O actions from Steve as an Omega*. I personally headcannon that Omegas are prone to going absolutely feral in the protection of their loved ones or pups. Like put an Omega’s pups into danger and they will rip, tear, scratch, spit and bite. They will fight as dirty and as scrappily as they need to in the defence of those they consider their own. * Additionally I like to hc that Omega’s obviously do not always come as the more petite or fragile even if that may be what is considered the most conventionally attractive socially. So let your omegas be built heavier, they are the capable of carrying pups after all, so they can have wider hips and thicker thighs but also broader shoulders for being able to physically carry the pups too. Let them be strong and capable.

Now with the above that means I also am considering to have bumbling over the top mother henning Steve while he gets used to his more over powering instincts. This means none of the pups are safe from forced grooming sessions and constant scenting and sometimes when required cuddle piling. Stevie boy is going to be completely succumbed to feeding and providing for all the kids much to the amusement of most of their parents (Ted Wheeler can go jump).

Dustin is going to cop it the worst, enter Claudia Henderson who takes one look at Steve and just force adopts him. They have a guest room that sits vacant and is more a storage space then anything, she starts cleaning it out the minute he leaves her place for the first time since she met him. Dustin both loves this idea and hates it because his mom is just as bad as Steve is without the instinctual driving force, so the idea of them all living together is both incredibly warm and cosy but also startlingly smothering (don't worry Dustin, Steve will get better once his new instincts and hormones settle down.)

Upside down fam wise I am adding Claudia and Wayne to the mix of genuine adults in the know. FIRSTLY In this fic-to-be Claudia is a former ER Doctor turned ObGyn, turned NICU nurse because the stress of the job got to her especially with all of Dustin's health scares as a kid. Therefore my reasoning is the UD fam need an on call medic who actually knows what the fuck they are doing. SECONDLY Wayne is potentially a Korean (will have to check dates and do some age calculations) AND Vietnam War Vet, he knows his fucking shit about war, about fighting in unfamiliar territory etc. Also I just want more adults who care about Steve in the know and able to support him. Don't get me wrong I Fucking ADORE Hop as Steve's Dad and I may have plans to include that too, but my boy needs all the adults love and guidance he can get.

And because I am an absolute WHORE for angst with a happy ending and hurt/comfort there will be plenty of emotional turmoil, physical Steve whump (he looks soo pretty covered in blood), mental and emotional torture followed by so much love - platonic, romantic, familial you name it.

It will probably be mid to slow burn Steddie if I am honest even with the accidental bonding. That is just going to force them into constant close proximity. They will dance around each others feelings for a while all whole procrastinating breaking the bond because if they are honest neither of them wants to. But I am too impatient to drag that shit out to season 4 events, so Eddie will likely lose his shit while Starcourt is happening and when he finds Steve probably while they are throwing fucking fireworks at the Mind Flayer, is going to stop the dancing real fucking quick when they are outside with the EMTs.

E:"I almost lost you tonight"

S: "I mean yeah but I'm fine?"

E: "Like hell you're fine Princess! You were fucking trapped and tortured by Russians and I would never have known what happened."

S "is this about the bond nearly breaking?"

E: "Yes this is about the bond nearly breaking sugar!"

S: "Sorry, I know they said it would hurt a bit but I figured it would be worth it for the freedom it would give-"

E: "and what if I don't want that hmm? What if I am happy with the way things are going?

[Cue Eddie's rambling fired up angry flustered confession that leaves Steve winded but warm. He never thought Eddie could ever really want him as a proper bondmate after they accidentally trapped themselves into a scent induced bonding. There will be confessions on both sides of long distance interest, yearning and pining since like they were puppies themselves because I can't help myself so I shall indulge myself decadently with all my favourite headcanons and tropes.]

And to finish off this 2 hour fucking ramble in the early hours of the morning, it will be titled Red Strings.

Because I am a romantic and live for soulmate content so I will be absolutely indulging in that too.

And if they end up with little red tattoo like marks that are two halves of a whole that appear when they accidentally bond well that's for me to know and you to find out.

UNTIL THEN I NEED FUCKING SLEEP!

[madebynarii]

Hola!

Not trying to be rude or something but is reality shifting real or is it just some other name for Maladaptive Daydreaming? Because there are way too many people out there that criticize Reality shifting and play with the belief of others who do believe in reality shifting

A lot of bloggers have been exposed because they lied about having their dream lives, they lied about everything and got away with it.

If anybody asks for proof, which they would, every blogger says the same, You just want validation etc etc.

Many people are done, and some are on the verge of giving up, we can try LOA/Shifting ourselves but if there was some sort of proof then they would actually know it if is worth their time or not.

I don't mean on hating or offending any blogger but most people lie about Void State/LOA etc just for the sake of followers or likes.

It is really heartbreaking to see people waste their time without seeing if it really makes sense or not

And about the reality shifting thing, the ones who believe that shifting = daydreaming have really really strong and convincing arguments.

NO HATE OR OFFENSE TO ANY BLOGGER THO

Thank you.

hii hello love :]] i’d like to start by saying you aren’t offending, and that your questions are 100% valid. I’ll break down your ask in a few distinct points to make this easier to read

i. is reality shifting real? is it maladaptive daydreaming?

this is a simple question with an easy answer. yes, shifting is real. no, maladaptive daydreaming is NOT the same as reality shifting. here’s why:

as a VERY active maladaptive daydreamer, i can most definitely say it’s not the same as shifting, let alone lucid dreaming. I’ve done all three (lucid dreaming MULTIPLE times as well) and i can very well say that these two are far from the same

the first time i minishifted was to a random reality where it was like apocalyptic?? this was back in 2022 so this was a while back and i haven’t actively attempted shifting, because my main focus is manifesting my dream like :]

when i minishifted, i noticed right away something just wasn’t right. it felt too vivid, too real to be a lucid dream, or just simple daydreaming. i literally pinched myself multiple times telling myself to wake up and it didn’t work LMAO

i could see everything clearly, and even interacted with a person that was near me and helping me out. i don’t remember much about who they were or what they looked like, but it was definitely an experience i’ll never forget.

now, i typically shift randomly on occasion to parallel realities with changes i don’t typically notice right away. i think i shift more often now that i learned about law of assumption and rely on the fact that everything and anything is possible; including shifting to any reality i want.

i suggest reading this :]

ii. bloggers and their all-too-perfect success stories. are they really true?

i think we’ve all fallen victim at least once to the numerous success stories and the perfect bloggers who seem to do everything right; only to find out it was all fake. it’s demotivating, isn’t it? makes you feel like it’s all fake

i think it affects more people who haven’t been able to experience shifting and manifestation first hand than those who already have done one or the other. let me elaborate:

when i first joined loablr, i already had a pretty good idea of what law of assumption was, hell, i already had my own success stories and was eager to help anyone who asked

but the more i overconsumed, the more i saw how people over complicated the law. that’s where the doubts come in. that’s where the lies come in.

it really is easy, a lot easier than people think or say. but in come the doubts and out go the lies; the desperation to have your own success and be admired, to be searched for advice, that it’s soon outed to be fake.

why? I’ll never know. I’m not responsible for the actions of other people in this community. neither are you, or those who doubt, or those who truly did experience their stories that they share.

now, to you saying that people are wasting their time to figure out if this makes sense or not, that’s the point. its not supposed to make sense, its simply just a law.

the law of assumption is simple; what you assume, is what you create. it becomes your reality. whether it be logical or not, let me repeat myself. it is a law. it has to happen.

so, don’t let yourself be fooled by those who lied about their experiences. be your own proof, your own success story. that’s what i did, and that’s why my belief in the law only gets stronger by the day.

in order to be your own proof, to start over, go down to the basics of loa. forget all terms, everything you learned, and let your assumption be your OWN opinions. not just from some popular blogger that was on here and said what they assumed. the law is subjective, if it doesn’t align with you, it doesn’t have to.

i hope this is more than enough to answer your questions and doubts, and i apologize if I didn’t answer something clearly or correctly.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"Love and Brat Taming"

How I imagine the LADS Men brat tame and the type of dom that they are. Artwork @/osk_purinnumee on twitter ‼️ MDNI ‼️ This for the freak nasty mfs in my inbox … I love y’all hope you can lucid dream about this 😘

Zayne

Type: Edging | Voyeurism | Restraints | Temperature play??

Sweet stoic Zayne....Mr. "watch your hands" in public but completely different behind closed doors. Now let's say you decided to spend all afternoon being very handsy. He would warn you multiple times and of course you'd keep going even when he glared at you.

I feel like Zayne is definitely the type to .... watch. He would one thow-wow percent sit you on his lap with your hands tied in front of you and make you play with yourself while he watched.

What did he use to tie your hands? The tie that you kept yanking on all day in public to whisper in his ear.

"Since you can't control your hands I'll control them for you" He would watch you play and squirm on his lap and the minute he sees you're on the brink of climax he'd whisper a stern "Stop." snatching your wrists away, holding them above your head in one hand, making you whine. "Deep breaths ... there you go ... now start again"

He would do this again ... and again ... and again until you're spouting apologies and begging him to let you cum. He's not rough as a matter of fact he's so gentle it almost makes this punishment that much hotter, I mean worse.

Don't forget he's touch starved so while you're playing he's busy having his fun exploring your body stimulating every part of you. He'd go back and forth from just watching you to devouring your neck and pinching your nipples using his evol make them pebble faster and then taking them into his warm mouth.

By the time he lets you cum you're a sweaty puddle of pure bliss. He'd definitely talk you through it and end it with "next time heed when you've been warned"

Now next time he tells you to watch your hands you're torn between wanting this punishment again or wanting the sweet Zayne that gives you what you want without making you beg.

Sir?! Wtf you mean heed when I've been warned I'm acting up on your next day off fym

Rafayel

Type: Sense Deprivation | Overstimulation | Manhandling | Breeding Kink

Raf is the type of tamer who makes sure you can't walk and you're sore as hell the next day. He's merciless. He takes you how he wants you.

For example...

"Will you like me no matter what I become?" You promised. Such an innocent question. No.

You should have read the fine print because you had no idea it included the dominant powerhouse he'd become when you decided to ignore him after you went to bed mad at him and proceeded to ignore him for a full day.

"Don't play with me we don't do that we don't go to bed upset with each other because shit like this happens" He doesn't give more than half of a warning. He gives just one and that's it and its hardly a warning.

Raf doesn't get upset with you often but he's a whole different person when he does. He is definitely the type to blindfold you and tells you to be a good girl and no touching. "Keep your hands above your head"

He'd flip you back and forth between being sprawled out on your back and being flat on your stomach with a pillow tucked under your hips and much more. You're getting fucking rag dolled so hold on tight.

To start he would touch you everywhere except where you wanted most however he still would have you dripping wet and I mean dripping. I imagine once he gets you to that point he's the type to eat you out while making you explain why you decided to ignore him when you know he hates it. He'd edge you a little every time your hands strayed too close.

You would have absolutely no good reason for ignoring him for a whole day on purpose so he'd keep going snatching orgasm after orgasm from you until you're pushing his head away. Big mistake because he said no touching and keep your hands above your head. Be ready to get pounded into the mattress until dawn. For sure the type to fill you up over and over again just to watch it drip out so he can push it back in with his fingers.

"Raf I can't- " he'd cut you off "You can take it ... gimme one more I know you can do it" he would make sure you can't walk the next day so you have to spend the entire day with him to make up for lost time.

I need this man to take a sip of wine and let it flow into my mouth through a kiss and bite my lip after.

Xavier

Type: Edging | Bondage | Spanking | Dacryphilia | Sadism

Alright I know you just read sadism and you wanna jump me now let me explain hold on HOLD ON! Relax! Put the bricks and tomatoes down let me explain. I can feel it in my BONE MARROW that Xavier knows how to perfectly mix pleasure and pain. He's literally likes it rough talking about some "You'll have to do it harder" bro imagine him being able to do it harder to his girl? HES ON THAT ! Man I kinda just wanna yap about him.

He would give you a safe word he would immediately stop if you use it don't worry. He's a calm cool collected Prince that fucks you like you're a slut. He doesn't give you a warning because he knows that you know better.

If you decided to test his patience and be a brat ALL DAY he's throwing you over his lap and spanking your ass until it's red while he's two knuckles deep inside of you and that's not even the main course.

He would tie your hands together (Just like he's threatened multiple times). He would definitely tie them to the headboard and he'd eat you until you're crying from pleasure, but no you're not allowed to cum yet. "You're so pretty like this" as he wipes your tears before going back to nip and bite at your thighs.

He would rag doll you as well untying you and flipping you over into doggy style and just teases you by rubbing his tip against your folds and just slightly pushing in before backing out and continuing his teasing giving your ass solid slaps when you push your hips back at him.

He would edge your soul out of you for hours and he's gonna wake you up a few hours later with his tongue after you fall asleep.

I need Xavier to rag doll me expeditiously.

Sylus

Type: Bondage | Spanking | Dacryphilia | Overstimulation | Breath Play

I know y'all have seen that one picture pose called "Dancing with you" and Sylus has his hand around your throat?????? What are we dancing to???? Are we naked????

Anyway....

Now maybe this is self indulgent but he's definitely using his evol to hold you in whatever position he wants you in. Since you couldn't listen to him we won't listen to you. He's two knuckles deep in you and is making you do all the work. He would have you ride his hand and make you work for it while he has the other wrapped around your throat cutting off your air and right when you cum he'd let go making you see stars.

Did he just make you experience euphoria?? You bet your ass he did.

He's not done with you though don't forget you were a brat throwing a fit in the middle of his meeting and couldn't keep your hands to yourself. He would eat you out till you're in tears "Keep your eyes on me" the second your head fell back in bliss he would stop causing you to snap your head up. "I gave you simple instructions sweetie" When you hit that point where you start trying to run from him he would stand up and tell you to "Keep it wet you know what to do" (Shout out Professor Cal) releasing only one of your hands and leaving to go finish his meeting.

YES! He would definitely tell his business call or whatever to give him a minute and he'd handle you then head back. Once he's done he's coming back and teasing you with his tip with his hand around your throat again. He doesn't mind spending the whole night taming you.

Side note: Sylus hates to see you cry .... unless you're crying from pleasure. "Fuck you're beautiful like this" he'd say and he'd kiss your tears as they run down your cheeks. Something about that dazed-euphoric look in your watery eyes and your wet cheeks gets his Ca-Cawk jumpin'!

I need Sylus to wrap those big ol hands around my throat and tell me "Relax you can take it princess"

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: It's finally done, babes. This whole fic is so silly though, it's just Epel and reader bickering the entire time before their parents appear lol. Mind you the ending was going to be very different but like I've had so many ideas and so much time had already passed. I might write the alternative ending later though. Vil's nickname meaning btw: hase = bunny, Liebling = dear/darling & Sonnenschein = sunshine. Read part one here. @kingofspadesdelusion @harukishiyo

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, platonic + soft yanderes, sibling fight, hypnosis, memory loss, around 7k, half proofread.

The first thing you feel upon regaining consciousness is pain. It's unbearable, exploding in your chest as if someone repeatedly stabbed you and slowly peeled away your skin until only your bones were exposed.

Flames shoot through your spine, and coldness seeps into your bones. It feels like you've been run over by a tractor for hours, or fallen from an airplane — that's how much it hurts. Moans of pain escape your open mouth, but you don't have enough energy to open your eyes, at least not immediately.

There's a buzzing noise, a humming breaking the silence. Everything around you spins; you can feel it even with your eyes closed. A gentle hand holds yours, someone wraps your body in soft covers, there are screams, and a thick liquid falls into your mouth. Then, it's over.

But now, it's different somehow.

You still can't move, can't talk, can't open your eyes. It's like experiencing sleep paralysis.

Lying there, you try to remember what happened. Your memory is foggy, and trying to recall only makes your head hurt more. You grit your teeth and try again, harder, ignoring the pain.

It's like swimming against the waves—almost impossible. You force every inch of your cells to work, your lungs to take in air. You're trying so hard. You wish desperately for something, anything, to work.

Then, a light bulb goes off in your mind.

You remember the vampire pinning you to the ground, glass cutting into your skin, sweat and tears mixing, and a scream of pain escaping your lips as he bit you. After that, darkness and pain.

For several days following your transformation - assuming that's what it was - you wake and sleep deliriously, feverish, thirsty for blood, a viscous liquid spilling onto your lips until you calm down and sleep again. The cycle repeats.

It wasn't a nightmare? You bitterly think.

Heat surrounds you, but what makes your body tense is the sensation of someone behind you. Paying closer attention, you feel a faint, cold breath sending shivers down your back as you try to move your fingers and hands. But nothing happens; your limbs are too tired and weak from weeks of sleep.

Suppressing an angry noise, you slowly open your eyes to find yourself inside a transparent coffin on the ground — a glass coffin. It's dark, illuminated only by moonbeams through open windows. You hear laughter and soft music in the distance, the voices of two older vampires having fun. If you strain, you can even make out their conversation. But that's not what captures your attention; it's the fact that you can see in the dark, hear from such distances… You know what that means.

As minutes pass, you manage to move your fingers, then your hands, your entire torso, and finally your whole body. Your throat is dry as if you swallowed sand. You cough several times, waiting for enough saliva to swallow as you watch the creature resting beside you.

What lies there is proof that your torment was real, not just an incredibly lucid dream. Next to you sleeps the creature who turned you into a vampire because he wanted a sibling — a fragile figure with lilac hair falling into his eyes, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

He looks fragile, different. Hypothetically, you should be strong enough to kill him now, even if you're as hungry as hell. Your hands clench into fists.

The scent of blood still lingers, and even in the dark, you see small dry drops staining the corners of his shirt. This horrifying realization makes you move away, pressing your back against your side of the coffin as you stare at him.

At that moment, blood doesn't disgust you; instead, you feel the thirst returning, your fangs yearning to bite something. You want to rip and taste, need it, even your own wrists seem appetizing enough.

You knew it now — you were no longer human. The confirmation was painful. Humans couldn't see in the dark, hear sounds from kilometers away, or crave blood.

Yes, you were no longer human…

Memories of your former life flooded back — the fleeting joys, genuine tears. Those days were over. No more early mornings watching the sunrise, no more wrestling with friends, no warm hugs after a bad day. Your tongue would never taste your favorite foods and drinks again.

Eternity stretched before you like an abyss, closing in from all sides. You mourned the humanity you'd lost, wishing desperately to turn back time, to prevent your friends from entering that house. Your hand rested where your heart once beat, hoping in vain to feel its rhythm again, but all you felt was cold, the intense cold of a creature of the night, of an inhuman monster you had become.

Blood no longer flowed in your veins. You stared at your wrists for a while. You had been robbed.

You weren't one to cry easily in the face of adversity, always seeking solutions rather than succumbing to despair. But now, the weight of what had happened hit you fully, and thick tears rolled down your cheeks as you gazed at the boy peacefully asleep beside you.

Your friends were dead — all of them, food for the same assassins who had killed you to turn you into a beast like them.

Monster. You, him, them — all monsters.

Without hesitation, you forced the coffin lid open and leaped out. Your eyes distinguished different shades in the darkness surrounding you. It couldn't be real, you thought, not for you. You still had your whole life ahead, plans, dreams, it couldn't be happening…

But it was.

The voices faded, footsteps replaced by your brother's soft snore, the person responsible for your death, the culprit. Your hands clenched again, nails digging into flesh, but you ignored the pain. Closing the distance, you knew with his parents absent, the odds were in your favor.

After him, you'd plan to dispose of the other two, if it was the last thing you did. Brick by brick, breach by breach, you would destroy this mansion, decorate it with their guts and entrails.

Doubt flickered momentarily. Was this right? Was taking his life justified? You struggled with the realization of becoming a monster, yet hiding away in isolation wasn't living either. But returning home endangered those you cared for.

The hesitation evaporated. You had to do this, guilt or not. You weren't a murderer, but you'd be one soon enough. You'd stain your hands with his blood, with their blood.

Your movements were as light as the pillows you had rested on moments ago. Leaning over him, your trembling hands found his neck, cutting off his oxygen supply. It felt undeniably right.

Epel jolted awake, as if doused in ice water, eyes wide with terror, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he struggled. You tightened your grip, yearning to witness his life fade, to feel him weaken and falter, if only for a moment's respite.

He ended you on a whim. You would end him for your revenge.

"Not so smug now, are we?" you teased, your hands still shaking from the force of your grip, leaving crescent marks on his pale skin.

Panic painted his eyes, adrenaline surged through his veins, primal instinct urging him to fight for survival. As air escaped his lungs, his body reacted, muscles tensing.

"Look at me," You whispered to him, your voice sounding strange even to you. "I want to see the life leaving you when you die, as you had seen in mine when I died."

With a primal roar, Epel held onto your wrists, fingers digging into flesh as he fought to break free from the suffocating grasp. Every fiber of his being was focused on one singular goal: survival. Like a prey trapped in it's predator's maws.

Monster, human. Every species would always hope to survive. Or to run.

And sometimes... They fought back.

"You think you're so smart." He wheezed, an airy laugh leaving him. Its tone sounded so unnatural, so rough and dark, shivers went down your spine. You watched him closely, feeling like something was about to happen. Uncertainty dancing in your eyes as you tried to discern his next move.

With deliberate slowness, he straightened, his gaze piercing through the dim light with an intensity that made your heart race. "But cleverness alone won't save you," Epel murmured, his voice low and laden with a hint of menace.

Despite his bluff, sweat beaded on his skin, mingling with the scent of fear and his limps weakinging. A groan left him.

"Perhaps not," You replied evenly, refusing to show any sign of weakness. "But it certainly makes for an interesting challenge, wouldn't you agree?"

He wheezed again, trembling. He flexed his legs and used them to try to unbalance you or push you away in an attempt to escape. A futile attempt, you were unmoving. Unwilling to even give him a chance.

Die already! You wanted to scream, wanted to rip his head with your fangs.

Epel's muscles strained against your hold, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he struggled against the encroaching darkness. He was looking at you with his big lilac eyes, hoping for mercy or something else. But gradually, his movements grew weaker, more labored, until finally, they ceased altogether.

He lay there limp, his body cold and lifeless — a portrayal of a defeated monster.

In that moment, the roles were reversed, the hunter became the hunted. A surge of relief washed over you as you watched over Epel's unmoving body. Your heart raced with the realization that you had prevailed, that the threat had been neutralized.

As you took in the scene before you, a wave of relief washed over you. The danger had passed, at least for now. And as you caught your breath, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in your ability to withstand the ordeal. Though your chest was heavy with something you couldn't quite put into words. Guilty? Sadness? You didn't know what it was.

Tiny tears slipped from your eyes and fell on his face. Dead. You killed him. You thought about what you were feeling as you slowly stood up. It wasn't guilty.

It was something more primal. Something you didn't quite understood.

You turned around as you walked straight to the door, your hand frozen while you held the handle. There was two more to go. Whatever this thing you were feeling was, it could wait a bit. You looked back one last time, a gasp leaving you.

You stood there, baffled. His body had vanished. Why? How? You scanned the room, searching desperately, but he was nowhere to be found. Do vampire bodies just vanished after death? Were he pretending?

You opened the door and ran with reckless abandon. You raced through the halls, the truth sinking in like cold claws upon your heart, you hoped for any and all silly hypothesis to be the one instead of the real one. Epel had staged his death with such cunning that even your new instincts had failed you. Wherever he was, his laughter echoed with a bitter edge of amusement at your expense.

He sounded like he was having the time of his life.

As you ran, your senses caught every whisper of movement, every hint of shadow, every murmur he made. The sound of owls hooting far away punctuated the night. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you turned yet another hallway, the eerie shadows seemed to move of their own accord, trying to catch you, to hold prisoner just as much as you already is. The corridors twisted and turned in a confusing maze, never-ending, forever stretching far away.

Then, suddenly, the laughter stopped. The silence was deafening, making your heart race even faster. You slowed your pace, trying to listen, straining to hear any sign of movement. The stillness was oppressive, the darkness closing in around you.

"You were too confident," Epel's voice reached you, his tone dripping with amusement. "I'II let you know that vampires can't breathe, though we do move our shoulders and "breathe" because we were so used to after turning. So you would never be able to kill me with your teeny little hands. It was cute that you tried though. I did the same thing after I was turned, not to my father, it was a human. An elder man... I think. My first victim."

Your fists clenched at your sides, looking around. "And? If I couldn't kill you there, I'II kill you here. I have all the time to try."

With that, he appeared from the shadows, a smirk growing on his lips. Epel laughed. "You are but a baby right now, weak and easily tired, dear sibling. I'm not even teasing you as it is the truth."

Anger flared within you, but you fought to keep your composure. You needed a clean, calm mind for now. "Oh, I'm not helpless," You retorted, stepping closer. "You won't get away this time."

Epel chuckled, a low, mocking sound that grated on your nerves. "We'll see about that."

In an instant, he moved, a blur of motion as he darted to the side, anticipating what he was about to do you launched yourself after him trying to catch him before he turned into shadows again but it was futile, he was gone just like that.

Like sand falling through your hands, so easily. You bit your lower lip angrily.

Every whisper of movement, every flicker of shadow, anything around you could be him. The empty, endless corridors seeming to play tricks on your mind again as you ran after him without really knowing if you were following the right direction, having losing sight of him as soon as he turned the corner.

The manor was different from the other, you could tell. Its wall made of wooden instead of brick, the sound produced by your steps was loud too. There was some torch holders attached to walls, which was a bad idea. But this was not important, not now at least.

Though it was certainly something you kept in mind. You could always burn this manor with the trio inside of it.

"Pss, here!" He called.

Ahead, you caught a glimpse of him turning a corner. You pushed yourself harder, running without ever feeling tired, running as freely as you could knowing that you wouldn't bump into things, the darkness inviting you to see through her. As you rounded the corner, you found yourself in an empty section.

You heard his laugh, so joyful. As if he felt funny how you were chasing him around like a kicked puppy who wanted to bite him.

You stopped, he was more faster than you because of his little trick. But maybe you could also use the shadows like he so effortlessly did? Was that even possible?

Well, he was doing it so it was possible. But how? You thought for what felt like hours, steady and still, still hearing whatever what's happening in case he took that opportunity to hit you.

You weren't bound by human rules; maybe you really could do it. Focusing your mind, you reached out to the darkness around you, willing it to envelop you, to make you one with the shadows, as if you were but a swimmer trying to be one with the water, feeling around, searching for something, anything at all.

You felt a brief chill, a sensation like the brush of icy fingers, and for a moment, you thought you had succeeded. But as you tried to step into the shadows, to melt away as Epel had done, nothing happened. You remained solid and visible, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. Epel's laughter rang out louder than before, sharp and mocking.

"You're not ready for that yet," He said between giggles and wheezes, shaking his head. "It takes more than desire to command the shadows. You need understanding, control, and above all, experience. You're still just a fledgling."

"Shut up, this is all your fault" You insisted, trying to ignore the embarrassment burning within you. If anything, now you had to kill him for your honor too. "I'm going to find a stake and I'm going to fucking impale you with it."

He let out a low, mocking chuckle, the sound was as mischievious as he is. "Bold words for someone who can't even master the shadows," Epel teased, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think you can kill me? You're not even close to understanding what you're dealing with, so naive and self-assured, yapping endlessly about killing when I know damn well you can't stomach the thought of killing."

You heard something behind you and turned around immediately, ready to strike it with your bare hands and all anger bottled up on your chest. Nothing there, just another trick of his.

"But go ahead," He continued after being silent for a few minutes. "Try to find a stake, try to kill me. I'll enjoy watching you fail. Again."

His eyes glinted with a dangerous light, two lilac orbs glowing in the dark, promising chaos and pain, so unnatural to their usual sweet look. "And if you do manage to land a blow, remember this: I won't be so merciful next time. You're playing a dangerous game, sibling. One you can't win."

His form started dissolving into the darkness again when you surged forward, determined to not let him escape again, as the shadows swallowed both of you. You held onto his arm, wether because you were afraid of how fast you were moving or to ensure he wasn't going anywhere, you didn't know which was better. It was so strange, traveling through them, quick but unpleasant in a way you couldn't describe. You caught Epel staring at you, watching your expressions, before he regained control from the shadows and came to a stop, in a random room.

You were expelled from them with great force, hitting your back and shoulders against the wall, sending a few hanging pictures flying everywhere. While he landed perfectly fine on his own two feet.

"I hate you..." You groaned.

Epel's lips curled into a mocking smile, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "Hate me all you want, I don't care," He taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. He leaned in closer, his breath cold against your skin. "You're one of us now and the sooner you accept it, the better."

"I never wanted this," You spat, your voice trembling with a mix of rage and despair as you stood up. "You took my life on a stupid whim."

Epel's smile faded slightly, his expression growing more serious as he looked anywhere that wasn't your face. "I just... didn't want to be alone anymore," He admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his tone. "I love dad and father and they spoil me quite a lot but I miss having someone my age to talk to. We don't need to fight. We can be... Friends."

"Never," You snarled almost immediately, knowing well that you rather eat rocks and lava than be on amicable terms with him. Epel caught your wrist, his grip like iron.

"Maybe not today," He said softly, his eyes locking onto yours. "But one day, you'll see. We're connected now, bound by blood. You can't escape what you are, you can't escape me."

With a frustrated cry, You fought against him, kicking his shins and sinking your tiny, but sharp, fangs into his arms that held you, tearing at his flesh until it was a gruesome, bloody mess. Despite the blood trickling down your face, you refused to surrender, resolved to not go down without a fierce battle.

And Epel watched you with a mixture of pity and something that might have been hope. He truly hoped he could convince you through his words. He failed.

"Maybe when you wake up you'll be more receptive to seeing things from another point of view." He thought out loud , his voice almost gentle as he swiftly took hold of your hands, making impossible to escape from his grip even with you struggling and fighting. He simply didn't budge, almost as if he was made of iron, unmovable.

Epel's eyes bore into yours, a mixture of tranquility and determination burning brightly within them, as you felt your world swaying for as long as you stared at him.

"Sleep," Epel whispered, his hoarse voice echoing in the dimly lit room as dark spots started to dance upon your eyes. However, you refused to yield, turning your head defiantly to the other side so you couldn't be influenced by his hypnotic eyes.

You remembered reading once that vampires could influence people and you had no time to discover if this was real or not. Though without a doubt he was using hypnosis with you now but him himself wasn't strong, not in this at least. "Ah- stop, look at me. I command you to look at me."

Frustration and fear gnawed at you. He was playing a game and you were his unwilling participant. Again. You close your eyes instead. Your head swam but you fought against the pull of his hypnosis. Your mind was your own, and you refused to let him take that from you.

"What are you? A wizard?" You muttered back at him, holding back a laugh. "I command you to shut up."

Epel's eyes widened in annoyance, and he paused, his grip loosening just slightly. "Why do you resist? I'm trying to help you."

"Help me? Are you that dense?" You scoffed, breathing hard even though you didn't need it anymore. The motion was still too familiar, a reflex you hadn't yet forgotten even knowing well that was futile. You began counting to ten mentally, trying to calm yourself enough to think clearly. "You turned me into this... monster. I don't want your help. I didn't even wanted this. You just took my life without my permission."

Epel's expression hardened, a flash of hurt crossing his face before he masked it with anger, heavy accent dominating his tone. "You don't understand," He snapped. "I tried to be cool and gentle, yet ya ain't done a single thing if not grumple. I don't give a rat's ass if yer angry or sad, you're my kin now. An' we are your family, like it or not. You ain't goin' nowhere."

Epel's eyes darkened with a mix of rage and desperation, though his tone was filled more with frustration than regret. You felt uneasy for as long as he stared at you, feeling as if something was about to happen.

"I've played with you enough already," He growled.

Before you could react, Epel gripped your head with both hands and slammed it against the ground. Pain exploded in your skull, and your vision blurred. You tried to fight back, but your limbs felt heavy and uncooperative - probably due to his earlier hypnosis.

"Why can't you just see things my way?" Epel's voice sounded distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears. "I did this for us."

You groaned, struggling to move, but your body refused to obey. The edges of your vision darkened as you fought to stay conscious, anger and fear mingling in your chest.

Epel's grip tightened, his frustration palpable. "This could have been easier," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "But you had to make things difficult."

You felt yourself slipping away, the pain in your head overwhelming, tears of pain and hatred falling down your eyes. You failed again.

You repeated like a mantra, failure, failure, failure.

"Wait…" You tried to say, but the words came out as a weak, unintelligible murmur.

As world tilted and spun, a new presence made itself known. The heavy silence was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, each step echoing with authority and grace at the same time. Suddenly, the door creaked open, revealing the imposing figure of a tall, proud, beautiful vampire standing in the doorway, his gaze piercing and inscrutable. His partner stood behind him.

"Oh la la, the children are playing already." Rook mused, a smile founding way to his lips as he watched you struggling.

With a single glance, they took in the scene before them - the traces of blood staining the floor and all over your own shirt and lips, Epel hands still holding your head as the world continued to spin around. Vil's expression remained unreadable as he surveyed his children, his presence commanding attention.

"What is the meaning of this, Epel?" Vil demanded in a voice that brooked no argument, his tone a mix of concern and reproach. His eyes flickered between Epel and you, searching for answers in the depths of his conflicted gaze.

Epel stood rigidly, his expression a blend of defiance and regret. "I didn't mean for things to go this far, father, I swear." He muttered, avoiding Vil's piercing gaze. "I just wanted them to understand..."

Vil's eyes narrowed, his displeasure evident. "By force? By hurting them? You think this is how you build connections, Epel? By breaking them?"

Epel's shoulders slumped, the weight of father's words pressing down on him. "I didn't know what else to do," His voice barely audible. "I was desperate."

Desperate, indeed. You lay on the ground, still feeling the residual pain from the impact. Your body ached, but you forced yourself to sit up, wincing as you moved, feeling the blood trickling down your neck from how hard he was banging your head on the floor. Rook found it's way to your side quickly, supporting you even if you obviously didn't like the idea that much.

"Desperate or not, you had no right," You said, your voice trembling but firm. "You can't just force people into your life and expect them to like you."

Vil's expression softened slightly as he glanced at you, the newest family member, his concern evident. "Are you alright?" he asked, his tone gentler.

You nodded slowly, the throbbing in your head making it hard to speak. Though when you were capable, you made your option known. "I'll be fine, dear Epel was just trying to show me some family love, isn't that right, Epel? Such a caring brother."

Rook pressed down on your injured head, silecing you before you could come up with another sarcastic remark. His stare was the only warning you had that dealing with him or Vil was different than dealing with Epel.

That you needed to respect them. And truly you did, only for now, while you waited for a perfect to either take Epel's as hostage or ran away. You didn't decided yet.

Vil clicked his tongue in displeasure, turning back to his son, his eyes hardening once more. "That's not how I taugh you on how to do things, Epel. Look at them, they're shaking and scared."

Epel looked away, his jaw clenched and a large pout forming on his lips as he was scolded. "I just... I know, father. I apologize."

Rook appeared beside Vil, his presence a calming influence. "Don't be so harsh on him, mon couer. He just made a tiny little mistake."

Vil sighed, his demeanor softening as Rook's arms wrapped around his waist, resting his face on Vil's shoulder. They stared at each other for a few seconds, almost as if they could read each other minds and this made you uneasy.

Was that possible too? You hoped not.

You saw Rook's amused smile growing and Vil rolling his eyes at his lover. And the scene was kinda cute if it wasn't for the fact that they were your enemy's parents. The couple you would kill after you had killed their son. Though were you really capable in this state? You couldn't even pry yourself from Epel's hands.

You took to watch the couple interacting while Epel was till sulking in the corner, looking like a cockroach in the middle of the kitchen who freezed up because the light just turned on. In his lover's arms, Vil looked so relaxed, slicked hair falling over his face as he turned his neck to softly plant a kiss on Rook's lips.

You wouldn't be able to tell that they weren't humans just by the way they looked or acted, they were too normal and common for anyone to guess that truly they were something different. You wondered how many lifes had they taken? How much blood had they spilled?

You were afraid of it. Of this new life, of failing to kill them.

You were afraid of becoming detached and apathetic just like them. You blinked, next thing you know Rook was next to you again.

You gasped, surprised, taking a step back.

"Aw, why the long face, petit lapin?" He asked, his eyes studying you with a mix of compassion and curiosity. Like a hunter study his prey. You felt trapped under his stare, compelled to answer him, even when you tried to swallow your words.

"I... I'm just... trying to make sense of everything," Your voice left you, so vunerable and feeling so small, you noticed when Vil took his side, also looking at you. "I don't know what to do... I don't even know how to be like this."

Your voice trembles with uncertainty. Every word feels like a confession under Rook's hypnotic stare, drawing out truths you're not sure you're ready to confront. So much doubt, so much fear, so much everything.

You fell lost, exactly how you felt when you woke up hours ago. The world is overwhelming and too big, and too dangerous. You don't know how to navigate it now and you can only hold onto your revenge, because if you lost this too you may lost yourself.

And you're not ready to talk about it. Not here, not now.

Rook's expression softens ever so slightly, a rare tenderness breaking through his usual intensity. "You don't need to be afraid," He reassures you, his voice low and calm. "We're here to protect you, to guide you."

Your eyes dart nervously to Vil, who offers you a reassuring nod, your thoughts keep coming to your mind; the mansion, the deaths, the pain, the fear. Yet, there's a certain growing on your chest that hasn't there moments ago.

Vil's presence calming and inviting and Rook seems like the sun, so warm, so happy. You turned your head away, afraid that your thoughts aren't yours anymore and that they were only manipulating you.

Feeling overwhelmed, you hesitate, you rethink everything you said, every little syllable, not knowing if you told them that willing or not. There's still some sarcastic remarks and rude comments you want to say to stun them, but before you can do it you feel Vil's hand grabbing your jaw to make you look at him this time, his eyes shining a vibrant lilac.

"It's ok to be confused, mein liebling," He mutters sofly. "It's ok to be scared and overwhelmed but we're here for you. You're safe with us."

He was telling the truth, you could feel it inside of you. The conviction, the certainess, Vil and Rook shared a glance then, with a surprising synchrony, they both step closer to you and by instinct you took a step back before looking back at Vil, confused. Everything was starting to feel complicated somehow.

Vil's arms encircled you first, drawing you into a warm, protective embrace, your head - now healed and not aching at all - resting on his chest as he played with your hair. His touch was gentle yet firm.

"You're not alone," Vil murmurs softly, his voice a comforting whisper against your ear.

Rook follows suit, enveloping you in his embrace from the other side. His hold is oddly comforting, as if he's silently promising to shield you from whatever dangers lie ahead. "We'll take good care of you, we're going to have so much fun together," Rook murmurs, lost in his own little world, swaying from side to side and pulling you along, as if you two were dancing to strange song only he was capable of hearing. Epel joins in, his arms encircling the group, like a family.

Are you forgetting something? You feel like you're forgetting something.

"Everything's fine, my dear. Close your eyes." But you don't. Vil's voice is as soothing as velvet, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. His presence is familiar, grounding. You want to trust him, to obey, but something in his tone holds you back. You keep your eyes open, watching him intently.

You watch his lips stained blood, the unnatural lilac eyes, the sun slowly rising through the windows. Something was wrong, so terribly wrong and your throat was so dry so suddenly. As you try to pull away from that hug, you feel him placing his hands on either side of your head.

“Close your eyes,” He instructs in a serene, soft tone that made you giddy. It was like you could tell him anything and never feel afraid of judgment, like a child running to show their father a drawing they just made without knowing how silly it looked. "I'm doing this because is far more convenient than wait for you to come around."

"I don't want to close my eyes," You answered petulantly. "Tell Epel to close his eyes."

Epel laughed a little, for the expression that took hold of his father face was priceless. He was a man (vampire?) of science, always have been, whence why their path have crossed when Epel was younger. Though he was old as that manor and the trees planted on the garden, there was an explicit limit to his patience. Staling for time as you were doing was not going to work.

It could work on Rook though. Anything worked on him simply because he was reckless. Epel was never going to forgot how he flirted with a hunter when he and Vil had a bad argument, nor how Vil killed that hunter painfully and slowly.

"Trust me," He whispers, fingers hovering just inches from your temple. You feel a slight pressure, like the brush of a feather, and your vision blurs momentarily.

"Close your eyes, lapin!" Rook murmurs this time, his voice like a lullaby. Your eyelids grow heavy, and for a moment, you consider giving in. But you fight against the drowsiness, blinking rapidly to stay awake.

Vil's expression hardens. "It’s for your own good, sonnenschein."

His hand finally makes contact with your skin, a gentle touch that sends a ripple through your mind. You feel a strange warmth spreading from his fingertips, a comforting, almost hypnotic sensation. Though you fight back agaisnt it with all your forces. You repel each and every attempt without truly knowing why.

Why you feared him when his hug was so cozy and comfy? Weird. Still you couldn't help it.

Your thoughts become hazy, memories slipping through your grasp like sand through a sieve. You struggle to hold on, to remember why you were resisting in the first place. Vil's presence was overwhelming, his will intertwining with your own. As your eyes close on their own accord, you feel a strange warmth spreading from Vil’s hands into your mind.

His voice becomes a soothing murmur, a hypnotic rhythm that lulls you into a deep, peaceful state. “Forget the pain, forget the fear,” He whispers, his words wrapping around your consciousness like a comforting blanket. “Remember only the peace, the safety, the love. Remember us.”

"Everything will be fine," Rook assures you, his voice echoing in your mind. You feel a tug, a gentle pull as if something is being drawn out of you. The details of your conversation, the reasons for your mistrust, your friends, your old world, everything begin to fade. The warmth grows, enveloping you in a cocoon of tranquility.

Epel watched it from a far, having freed himself from the hug. He was conflicted about this about at the same he wasn't going to stop his father, he knew better after all. Everything he did, he did with purpose. Though he wanted to ask if you'd be the same as you were? Fierce, fearless and determined? He hope you would.

He wanted you to be. He had other sibling once but he didn't fit in. So Epel had to dispose of him but you, oh, he could see you fitting into his little family well with your atitude and all. And he was glad that among your friends he chose you to be his sibling.

When you open your eyes again, you see Vil, Rook, and Epel standing before you, their faces filled with a mix of hope. You blink once, twice, and then your vision clears. You feel the weight lifting from your shoulders, the confusion and turmoil dissipating like morning mist.

You feel a strange sense of peace, a clarity that was missing before. The memories of your past, of your pain and fear, are gone, replaced by a comforting sense of belonging.

Vil is standing before you, a serene smile on his face. "There now," He says, his tone light and reassuring. "All better."

You nod slowly, you can't quite remember what had troubled you, but it no longer seems important.

"It worked?" Epel wanted to make sure.

His father only cocked an arrogant smile as he turned to face you. "Shall we go, hase? It's awfully clear already." He asks, extending a hand. And you take it without hesitation, the world around you feeling brighter, more vibrant.

The shadows of doubt and fear are gone, replaced by a sense of peace and clarity. You felt as if had had a pretty strange dream. Though everything evaporates from your head when you notices that you're hungry, your throat is still a little itchy.

"Where we're going?"

"To eat." Rook, from your other side, responded. He took your free hand as he and Vil guided you to somewhere darker, Epel following closer.

"After that, can I rant about this strange dream I had?" You asked.

"Of course," Rook said with a smile. "You can rant about it as we walk. We have time."

Vil glanced at you with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "A strange dream, you say? Sounds intriguing. What happened?"

You smiled a little, everything was too funny. "So I was doing this dare with a couple of friends, I think? We went to an abandoned house and there was something hidden in the dark that attacked us when we were walking. It was chaotic."

Epel, who had been silent until now, murmured, "Dreams are so strange sometimes, huh? Good that this only a dream and no one can hurt you here."

You nodded, continuing to tell them about a small, cute creature with lilac eyes that you jokingly said resembled Epel, eliciting laughter from everyone except the mentioned vampire. Epel, walking silently beside you, only smiled faintly, his expression thoughtful as he listened to your recounting of the dream.

The atmosphere lightened as you shared other strange dreams and random thoughts you had, the darkness around you seeming less intimidating whenever you made Vil and Rook laugh till their belly hurts.

Yeah, Epel thought, you fit right here with them.