#not some thing. a human. met without love. not just romantically but in all forms

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Yknow, despite having a near endless supply of adaptations, I don't think anything has ever truly touched on the existential horror of being Frankenstein's monster. Like we've seen the tragedy for sure but imagine. To stare into the mirror and see this amalgamation. You don't get to recognize your mother's features or check your body for spots. All you see is the face of someone dead. A woman whose empty, cataract eyes stare back at you in shock and the staples that attached the head to begin with. You are a series of corpses stitched together and brought to life through unstudied means. Can you even die? Are you willing to find out?

[euthymiya]

You believe in soulmates. Alhaitham does not. It’s not as though he loves you any less for his beliefs, but he certainly doesn’t entertain your baseless theories.

You’re determined to change his mind.

“What would you do if we never met?” You ask, staring up at him with your cheek pressed against his chest.

He glances down at you, sighing as he shakes his head. Here we go, he thinks silently. “I probably wouldn’t do anything, considering I wouldn’t know you existed.”

“You wouldn’t be sad?” You frown.

“How can I be sad about something that I don’t know exists?”

“Well, you could know of me,” you insist, “just because you don’t know me doesn’t mean you don’t know I exist.”

“In that case, I probably would not do anything,” he snorts. You don’t like that answer, glaring up at him as he adds, “I wouldn’t know what I’m missing if we never met.”

“You’re a real romantic, has anyone ever told you that?” You grumble. There’s a vibration of his chuckle through his chest, right under your cheek in a soft, rhythmic feeling that you’re so used to, you think it might be familiar from another life.

Over the course of the Akademiya’s years, there have been two prominent theories that have been debunked about soulmates:

1. The law of conservation of mass-energy states that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed—but only transformed. When a person dies, their body decomposes, breaking down into atoms that return to the earth, air, and water. These atoms then get recycled by nature, eventually becoming part of other living organisms, thus reincarnating from their previous life forms. It is possible, then, that two individuals could fundamentally be linked to reincarnate together from the same set of atoms in every lifetime.

It was later debunked by a scholar named Lamiya. Atoms themselves don’t retain information about where they’ve been or what they’ve been part of. They are interchangeable at a fundamental level, which means there is no difference between an atom in a human and a rock.

2. The heart and brain generate electromagnetic fields that extend outward from the body, with the heart’s field reaching several feet. Studies suggest these fields may be sensed by others nearby, subtly shaping feelings of comfort, attraction, and connection. It is possible that certain individuals’ frequencies may naturally align, creating a sense of harmony between electromagnetic fields, thus indicating that two individuals are naturally connected and could be labeled soulmates.

This theory was later disproven by a scholar named Dharmakirti. While human bodies do generate electromagnetic fields, there is no evidence that these fields influence interpersonal attractions or emotional resonance. Fields produced by the heart and brain are exceptionally weak and rapidly diminish with distance, making it unlikely they could be sensed or create harmony between individuals in measurable ways.

They fascinate you enough that Alhaitham pulls strings to allow you access to the archived files, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you how he scrunches his nose in distaste as he sifts through them himself.

Soulmates have no plausible evidence of existing, he argues.

Lots of things have no plausible evidence, yet they exist, you always argue back.

You like to think despite all the differences, you and Alhaitham are soulmates—that some form of you, outside of your physical bodies, exists for each other and each other alone.

You think it must be the case when your eyes seem to find his in a crowd without even trying. What are the odds that in a sea of people, they always happen to come across his by chance? And what other explanation would there be for the way he always seems to just know you’re staring at him while he sleeps every morning, waking up not too long after your eyes fall on his face in admiration? And how else would you rationalize the fact that you could tell his presence apart from anyone. You’re certain that if two bodies were standing behind you from a distance, your heart would know which one belonged to him.

Soulmates, you argue. That has to be the answer.

“I think we were always meant to meet,” you murmur quietly, tracing a finger along the pale skin of his chest. “Don’t you?”

“We’ve shared numerous classes together and have offices within within the same hall,” he states blandly, “I think the chances of not meeting would be rather improbable.”

“Or maybe,” you huff, “we were always meant to meet because we’re soulmates.”

“I think that theory has been sufficiently disproven—”

“You never know! We believe in the divine even if we’ve never seen them, haven’t we? Who’s to say Celestia aren’t fake—”

“The Archons have spoken of them multiple times, and The Gods, in fact, do exist for us to see, so I think we can trust—”

“Maybe Celestia decide soulmates,” you reason, raising a pointed brow at him, “how will you disprove that? There’s no evidence that they haven’t, and you can’t collect much evidence about them, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s possible.”

“But then it’s equally as safe to say it’s not possible by that logic, as well,” he says smugly.

“Fine,” you huff, glowering up at him through puffed cheeks, “I guess you’re just too stubborn to convince.”

“I’m not stubborn,” he argues (which he does quite stubbornly, you want to say), “I apply logic and reasoning to my theories. Which is why they are hardly disproven.”

“Do you at least think we’d be soulmates in another world if they did exist?” You ask hopefully.

He looks like he wants to argue about the likelihood of another world existing altogether—it irritates you enough that it pulls a frown on your face before you grumble a quiet forget it, shuffling out of his arms and turning away to face your back at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Something fond blooms in his chest, like a fresh padisarah in May.

“If,” he emphasizes as his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest once more, “if in another world we existed where soulmates were real, then yes. I do think it would be you and I.”

“Really?” You ask quietly.

“Yes,” he whispers. Suddenly, he sounds rather sure about a theory he never even believed in the first place.

“I wonder what we’re doing in that other world,” you hum thoughtfully.

He sighs, bringing the blanket back up to cover both of your bodies and mumbles, “I would hope we’d be sleeping at a reasonable hour before a work day.”

—————

Stay tuned for them being soulmates after all in another world *wink wink* ;)

[callmerainman]

Alastor with a pure hearted s/o

a/n I'm fully aware that Alastor is aroace. My scenarios are meant to be interpreted as a deep, unconditional love, not necessarily romantic. I'm not aroace but I'm all for educating myself, so please if something's off let me (gently) know. Hope you enjoy :)

TW! canon typical violence

being a twisted person is not a requirement to reincarnate in Hell. Sins depend on religion, culture, societal norms. You were more of a victim, in fact.

you never got used to being in Hell. Surviving not only the Extermination but also the inhabitants becomes harder and harder every year.

it's kill or be killed, but you just can't bring yourself to do any harm to anyone, even if it means risking your own life.

as soon as you hear about princess Charlie Morningstar's new hotel for souls who want a second chance, your bags are PACKED

it's not like you really need redemption, you are pure hearted already. it's more a matter of understanding the reasons why you ended in Hell and coming to terms with them. maybe then the gates of Heaven would open for you. it's also a safer place for you to be.

Charlie welcomes you excitedly; Angel Dust, Husk and Vaggie aren't that friendly at first since your personalities don't match, but they eventually grow fond of you

and then there's, well...the Radio Demon.

you never met an Overlord before, and Alastor was supposed to be gone for years. But his presence wasn't frightening. A big smile spread across his face, he welcomed you like a gentleman.

you heard stories about his lifestyle and even previous murderous acts as a human, but for some reason you just can't bring yourself to fear him.

at first you were kinda pathetic to him. so naive, out of touch with the evils of Hell. he didn't dislike you. just thought your life was so easy to throw away in a society like that and that you wouldn't last long.

it seems like you two don't have much to share. he just wanders in his den, while you spend time in your room. you greet each other and have small talks, but nothing more than that. that's until he hears jazz music play behind your door.

he mentions it during dinner, and you start talking about your interest in 30s jazz music, especially the one of the Roaring 20s. you come from a later era, but you're very much cultured about jazz and its forms and that's enough for Alastor to develop an interest in you.

he has so many jazz artists recommendations, and you share some of your favourite pieces with him through your gramophone.

without even noticing, Alastor starts spending hours in your room just listening to music. some time even practicing swing dancing. and talking about jazz culture all around the world, and entertainment in general. he has many fun facts about the history of radio too!

the others at the hotel notice your growing bond and low-key support it, in their own, weird way. Angel Dust is especially convinced that you two are hooking up, as Husk not-so-kindly explains that it's more likely for Alastor to ascend to Heaven than express interest in sex.

you would start to open yourself up a bit to the Radio Demon. he doesn't understand why, since it didn't ask or never showed much empathy. but he just can't bring himself to tell you to stop. he wants to listen.

you manage to make him talk about some glimpses of his own life and thoughts. you knew that he was the complete opposite of you. incline to Evil, an enjoyer of all things that made your stomach clench. but he's still the one person who spends hours with you just listening to both jazz and your fears.

one day, Alastor decided that in no way you are walking around the city without him. it's just too dangerous for you. he tries to teach you how to use weapons and demonic powers to defend yourself but he doesn't feel like you can make it into Hell by yourself.

you like strolling through the streets with him, arms intertwined, chatting and laughing even if demons around you are shitting their pants just by seeing the Overlord walking around.

but one day, Alastor can't find you.

you're not in your room, or in the Hotel hall. No one saw you that morning. He starts to feel something he never felt in his life: fear.

he darts out the Hotel, trying to find you. that's when he sees you just a few streets away.

a group of animal-like demons is encircling you. you are on your knees, arms over your head to protect yourself. A lion-demon is holding a knife over you and your arms are covered in cuts. you hold something close to your stomach.

that's when Alastor realized that he had feelings for you.

when he threw himself between you and the demons attacking you.

it's the first time you see Alastor without a smile. his teeth are gritted, face full of unprecedented violence and will to kill, breathing heavily in and out in a sort of animalistic way, but there's no trace of his characteristic smile you love.

his body starts to morph into his full demon form. his horns grow exponentially, his body too as it hovers menacingly on top of your aggressors as they start to feel a pure fear they never felt before.

in a matter of a second, they are gone. Alastor has always been a calculated, elegant killer, but this time he only felt a raw, ferocious instinct to kill.

as he's done, he turns around towards you. he doesn't want to, but he snaps.

"W̶̞̐H̷̻͒Y̷̰̅ ̶̠͛D̸͕́I̸͔̍D̴̿͜ ̷̯̇Y̶̭͌Ỏ̴̬U̵̖̍ ̷̛͎G��̧̕O̸̩͑ ̷̹̈́O̶̮͆U̸͍̇T̴̙͆ ̷̧̀W̴͓̅I̷̞͑T̸̗͒H̴̹͒O̴̺̓Ṷ̵̂T̵̺̚ ̵̢́M̴̜̅E̶̬̋?̸̻͋!̸̦͂"

you flinch, you never saw Alastor lose his composure. he was always so calm and collected. his voice was static, choppy.

the tears that were cornering your eyes start streaming down your face "I-I..."

"Ţ̶̈Ḧ̴͙́Ė̵̩Ỳ̷̳ ̷̳̒Ã̸̡L̷̛͚M̶͇̚O̸͈̔S̴̜̎T̸͚̊ ̷̤͝K̷͊͜I̵̺͝L̵͚̎L̴̤̆Ẽ̴͖D̶͍̈́ ̵̻͝Y̵̰̑O̸̜͘Ù̶͍!̵̻͝ ̸͓̾D̴̯͒O̶̅͜Ṉ̶̌'̷̹͒T̵͎͋ ̶̺́Y̴̹͂O̶͍̅U̴̘͌ ̵̘̾Û̷̪N̸̩̊D̵͎̋Ȅ̴͜R̵̮͂S̸̰̄T̸̝̅A̵͓͘N̷̩͂Ḏ̴̀?̵̗̍!̸̭̎"

suddenly, your bleeding arms fall from your head. you expose what you've been protecting all along.

a vinyl, a really old record from Alastor's favourite jazz artist. a rare find.

"I-I know but...tomorrow it's your death anniversary and I wanted to give this to you...as a surprise. I'm sorry"

Alastor's face immediately softens. Eyebrows raised, smile still not seen. He's just surprised and...moved.

He doesn't say anything, he just picks you up in his arms and takes you back to the Hotel where he bandages your arms.

Feeling guilty for putting yourself in danger, you ask Alastor to come to your room in order to apologize to him.

As he closes the door behind him, he says that there's no need to apologize.

"I'm...glad that you are still in your room. Listening to jazz, alive"

words didn't come easy, but he did feel the need to say it. you smile at him.

you propose to put his gift on the gramophone and so you do. music starts to flow between the small space you shared with the Radio Demon.

that's when you and Alastor start slow dancing. his arms around your waist, yours encircling his neck. his smile is back, but soft and...almost loving.

with his silent agreement, you reach for his cheek and graze it.

"Thank you for saving me, Alastor. Even if you are everything I distance myself from in this life...I'm glad you are the person that you are with me. In my next life, I'll make sure to be a sinner again if it means dancing with you like this"

Alastor now understands his feelings. It's something deeper than care. It's love. But not the same love you reserve to a friend and not even romantic. It's something deeper, more visceral.

He doesn't answer, just closes his eyes and leans in to press his forehead against yours.

you later fall asleep on your bed to the quiet sound of the gramophone playing, hands intertwined on Alastor's chest.

[xlatrina]

(Pt. III) Friends to Lovers HCs w/Homicipher x GN!Reader

Tags: Platonic + Romantic HCs, Friends to Lovers trope for basically every LI, Likely OOC for some LIs*, Mini Scenarios (so HCs are kinda plot-driven), *Multi-Part Series, entirely SFW

Also, changing tenses in some cases + not proofread again... sorry!

*Some of the LIs are likely written OOC (Out Of Character) mainly due to a lack of substantial in-game appearances (at least in my opinion!). 

*Split into multiple parts because I’ve come to realize that these HCs are muuucccchhh too long 😅 BUT!! I’m too lazy to shorten them sooo… YEAH lol

Part I (Big 🙆‍♂️)

Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓)

Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)

$$$

Mr. Crawling

This man is in love with you.

Lowkey could stop right there.

Well, anyway…

Mr. Crawling is a GREAT friend, actually.

Like he’s the kind of buddy that’s —first of all —down for whatever.

You said you tryna go walk through an unfamiliar part of the Apartments to try and find a mysterious elevator?

Well…

YEAH SURE HE’LL TAG ALONG

I MEAN… WHY THE HELL NOT, Y’KNOW??

“Me know place here,” He’ll say. More or less: I know this place!

And he’s so damn chipper about it, too!

He’s just an overall helpful guy.

He seems to have an intrinsic protective streak in him, too.

Which is interesting, ‘cause it’s like…

While it’s obvious he’s been in the Apartments for a long time, it’s clear that he hasn’t completely lost his sense of humanity.

I mean, trust —it’s definitely worn in some ways.

Like, he eats people bruh.

Trust, his sense of humanity is def gone in some ways...

But!! At least he's not as violent as the other ghosts can be!!

Like, generally speaking, you’ll find that he’s a pretty admirable dude.

He doesn’t hurt other entities for the pure sake of hurting them.

Defense, and alternatively —for food or other resources like clothes or tools.

Those would probably be the only reasons Mr. Crawling would ever just… attack someone, especially unprovoked (unprovoked, but not necessarily without reason).

That being said, he’s a social butterfly!!

He’s literally a professional yapper in every sense of the word.

Like… he could start a podcast LMAO

Podcast Bro!Mr. Crawling…

Anywho, he’s genuinely a people person and he likes being in good company.

Whether it’s you, Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Stitch(?), the Nurse, Mr. Wheelchair, the Hairdresser, etc…

He’s genuinely the type who could talk to literally anyone about anything for any amount of time.

If you’re a yapper too, this’ll probably be fun for you!

And hell, you may very well have met your match, LOL.

If you’re more introverted or quiet —no matter.

Mr. Crawling, being the professional he is, knows how to fill up any awkward silences with banter.

He doesn’t judge you at all on the basis of how you react to his yapping. Truly.

At the end of the day, he just enjoys sharing your company and getting to hear your voice, as little or as often as that occurs.

Hopefully, you don’t find his constant need for company annoying.

… Do you find him annoying?

At some point, Mr. Crawling begins to realize his feelings for you have changed…

In the case you accept him as a partner, he’s absolutely OVERJOYED.

Not only have you promised to indefinitely keep his company, but you also accepted him as your better half!

“You enjoy me?” He’ll ask, pulling himself over your curled-up form beneath the thin white sheets of the hospital bed.

“Me enjoy you,” you’ll say. You might even pet his head a few times, and he’ll giggle maniacally before dropping his head into your neck.

As Mr. Crawling’s fondness for you intensifies, so does his protective streak.

This guy turns into Papa Bear when it comes down to protecting his better half.

What Megan thee Stallion said??

“Three things I don’t play about: myself, my money, or my man!”

That, but more like: “... my friends, or my partner!”

Something like that, LOL.

Mr. Crawling’s sweethearted, bubbly, outgoing, protective, and quite affectionate. Intimacy is a language he speaks as fluently as his otherworldly one.

As we know, he’s very much the “high-maintenance” type.

He’s just super affectionate overall —and Mr. Crawling just wants to know that you’re always on the same page!

Tell him you love him. 

Tell him how fun it was exploring the same old dreary halls with him. Tell him how relieved you felt when he swooped in to shield you from danger, even though you could handle yourself just fine. Run your fingers through his hair and massage the nape of his neck as you tell him how much you’ve come to enjoy —and maybe even crave —his company.

And when you’re done…

Tell him you love him. Yes, again. Again and again and again and again and again…

He could never get enough. Truly.

He could never get enough of you.

With a boyfriend like Mr. Crawling, you’ll never have to fear a lack of comfort, protection, friendship, or intimacy…

Because he’s constantly giving it to you. 

You don’t even need to ask for any kind of intimacy —again, he’s giving it to you anyway.

And whether you’d like to shack up in a nearby spare room beside Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped’s loungeroom (of the sort) or if you take him with you to the surface world…

It makes no real difference in the way Mr. Crawling clings to you.

All he knows is so long as you’re both finding yourselves tangled together beneath the sheets each night, all is right in the world!

Mr. Crawling just wants to spend his evenings at home, and if home is where the heart is, then…

Well, you know how that goes!

[Part I (Mr. Big 🙆‍♂️) | Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓, First Half/Second Half), Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)]

[thechy-fychannel]

Do you have any vulnerable house headcanons? like him showing emotions and maybe even asking for help?

I have so many thoughts and feelings about house being vulnerable I genuinely don't even know where to start.

first (and most obvious) being that he can only be genuinely vulnerable around wilson. and even that is a difficult task for him.

but wilson aside, something that hurts my soul is seeing house with his hookers bc it's some of the only times we see him anything close to vulnerable without him being on a literal or metaphorical edge. if you pay attention when he's with one of his working girls, you'll see him holding hands, cuddling, taking bubble baths, and just being generally cute and romantic in a way he won't allow himself to be with anyone else. this is bc he thinks he's not allowed to just be vulnerable, he has to pay for it. there has to be an aspect of it that's a farce, that breaks it away from being "genuine" vulnerability. sure, maybe he gets to have those vulnerable moments in his own way, but he's aware that the one on the receiving end is only tolerating it for money. and that somehow makes him more comfortable bc there's no expectation. he's not going to get hurt by them bc it's not real, there's no trust to be broken and no expectations to be met. he gets to be vulnerable for an hour, she gets her money and goes home and forgets about how pathetic and vulnerable he was. win-win except for the fact that it'll never be fulfilling for house bc like all humans, he needs that genuine connection and vulnerability with another person. he eventually learns this when one of his favorite hookers breaks up with him. he accidentally made a connection and that vulnerability he shared with her led to him getting hurt when she broke things off.

now back to wilson. wilson is the only person house knows he can be vulnerable with. he knows that when push comes to shove, when he's at his very worst, wilson will be there. when he needs help, he knows he can ask wilson. but even if he knows he can, that doesn't mean he always will. but he knows that even if he can't get himself to ask for help, wilson will find a way to help anyways.

something specific I really love when it comes to their relationship and vulnerability is when house is in a bad place mentally to the point that he can't trust his own mind, he immediately goes to wilson for help and he trusts wilson to basically be his brain— the thing he trusts and values more than anything else. I can't imagine any deeper form of vulnerability than house going to wilson and trusting him to be his brain, to guide him when he may as well be blind and deaf. that's a kind of trust house could never have with anyone else, not even cuddy.

[prime-adeptus]

Vient la douleur

Neuvillette lives in the aftermath.

Pairing: Neuvillette x GN!Reader

Content: Major character death, suicide, implied/referenced self-harm, grief/mourning, past relationship. More narration than dialogue. (~3.2k words)

Note: Just working through some things :') I gave this my all, so please be kind and let me know what you think!!

Read on AO3

There are a lot of things Neuvillette could liken you to.

You were the sun, shining bright on the gloomiest of days with your joyful disposition and beautiful smile. You were his favourite melody, someone he could listen to for hours and hours on end. You were his rainbow roses and windwheel asters, the flowers of love and freedom. You were everything a romantic could ever dream of, even if you never saw it in yourself. You were the missing piece he needed all along.

Most important of all: you are his beloved, the one who held his heart in their hands.

Solitude was far from a stranger. Though Fontaine is hardly a place with a scarce population, he was more used to being by himself. He didn’t join in the hustle and bustle of the city, and he didn’t play house like the children did. Instead, he found a hobby in watching the vibrance of human life alone from the sidelines, learning in trial and error what it meant to live. Emotions didn’t come as easy to him as it would to the average person. He could feel a raging inferno in his chest or a chill trickling down his spine, but he’d never have the words for it. All he could do was watch the skies change with his thoughts in the form of a downpour or a tempest.

But in solitude, he also met you.

You came into his life like a whirlwind, as only the best kind. You met him without fear but with eagerness and excitement that he couldn’t help being mesmerised by. Your smile was the first thing he noticed about you. He remembers how it reached your eyes and how it showed the dimples in your cheeks. He didn’t know it at the time, but those would become one of his favourite sights in his life.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!”

You called him with a sense of familiarity that, oddly, he was comforted by. He understood then what the poets meant when they said it felt like the world had stopped for them. In a matter of a few seconds, he felt like he’d known you for years, just because of how warm you felt. Whether it was by chance or by fate matters little to him; regardless of what it had been, it brought you into his life.

Every love song he’d heard from the opera’s chanteuses began to make sense. ‘Love at first sight’ is truly a curious phenomenon. Exploring the depths that are human emotions then was a journey that led to more questions than answers. How do humans know when they’re in love? How do humans know when they’ve met ‘the one?’ He supposes he’ll never get a solid answer to these questions, but he’ll take one in the form of you. Perhaps he never needed to ask. Perhaps all he had to do was wait for the day your souls intertwined.

One chit-chat led to a conversation, and those conversations led to a routine. He’d see you at the park in the evenings and then walk you home when he felt it was getting late. Some days, he’d sit with you in a gazebo away from the crowd and just watch many lives pass by. Though your conversations mostly consisted of you talking and him listening, he liked it. He liked how expressive you were, how he always wanted to see more. The wonder in your eyes was something he’d grown fond of very quickly, but that wasn’t the only thing about you that he’d fallen in love with.

Just seeing you interact with your surroundings alone made it clear that you loved everything. From the city to its people, from the flora to the fauna, there wasn’t a single thing you weren’t happy to see. You brought colours into his life, showed him the vibrant side of the world he hadn’t seen yet. He was almost envious of how carefree and outgoing you were. A friendly smile, a gentle wave, some small talk about the weather; socialising came naturally to you. It fascinated him and warmth would blossom in his chest every time he saw how animated you could get. But there was no room for envy, nor was there a need to be. You were a breath of fresh air and you felt like home.

You liked to tell him that there’s always something good waiting for him the next day. That daybreak is a sign that you’ve lived for another day even when you don’t feel like you did anything valuable. I just look forward to every day! you had said, giving him a grin that always left him stumbling for words. It didn’t answer his inquiry, but it was enough. It appeared to him that you loved life, and getting to be happy with others is only a part of what makes it so special for you.

He didn’t have much to do outside of the Court. His free time was mostly spent reading or water tasting. Sometimes he’d bring work home just to ensure he recorded everything correctly. It was quite an average routine that changed when he met you. The moment you met, his days became livelier. It must’ve been quite the sight for Fontainians indeed, to see their Chief Justice taking afternoon strolls with a dessert in hand. He didn’t care for the hearsay that inevitably circulated from his new activities. What mattered was that you were becoming an integral part of what used to be mundane and changing it for the better.

It was not often that he had the time for leisure. Still, he found it difficult to deny you anything, and so he’d always find a way to make time for you. That time would be spent in the gardens or restaurants, occasionally in the front seats of the Opera Epiclese if there was a show you wanted to see. When it got dark, it would be spent in the comfort of his home with you on his lap as he read to you. Sometimes you’d fall asleep in his arms and your lips would curl into a small smile when you felt his lips touching the crown of your head. Affection wasn’t something he was used to as it wasn’t exactly a necessity, but he found himself craving yours.

The puzzle pieces fell into place on their own as if there was a telepathic bond between you and him. There was never a label for what you two were. The papers would call you lovers or companions, depending on what they caught on camera. It didn’t matter much to him, either. What he knew was that there was a bond, something that intrinsically linked your hearts to one another, and it made every day feel like summer.

Before long, he realised that you were right. Something good awaits after every daybreak, something that will brighten up his day and light up his heart with joy, and for him, it was you.

—

Time flows like water, unending and always in motion. The world turns and the days go by, turning into months and years that pass in a blink of an eye. Time is a witness to every step one takes and it remembers every story that unfolds. Time is what Neuvillette has plenty of and it is kind to him. He learns and adapts to the world as it changes around him without haste, letting years of knowledge build him into the person he is today.

Time, however, treats people like you differently.

Where he never aged, you did. Where it didn’t wear him out, it did to you. The glimmer in your eyes grew more dull over the years. Your smiles became rarer, and you no longer talked to those you considered your friends. You never told him why you were changing. It was as if your heart had betrayed you, making what used to shine bright grow dimmer and dimmer until it was completely extinguished.

In the face of it all, you still had plenty of love to give. You still held him every night as he sought for solace in your arms. You still listened to his curiosities and indulged in everything he had to ask. At the same time, it felt as though you were too far for him to reach you. As though you were fading deeper into the darkness until the only echoes he could hear were his own. His heart ached to see you this way, and for someone as meticulous as he is, he was at a total loss.

Even then, he refused to leave you. He will always love you no matter what you become. He’d love you in every way and he’d love you through thick and thin, through the calm and the tumultuous.

Six hundred and ten days have passed, and it continues to hold.

You left with everything he was and behind a letter in your wake. In it was an apology that etched its words into his bloodstream and a memory that appears every time you cross his mind. In it also came a promise that you’d find him in your next life no matter how long it takes, for your soul has found a home in him. And finally, in it was a wish: that you wanted him to live without regret, just like how you never regretted your time with him.

‘You can find happiness again without me,’ you wrote. Your tears stained the paper where ink seeped and blurred some of the words. His heart aches to think of the guilt you carried with you even after death. Of how afraid you must’ve felt as the poison flowed into your system, and how alone you must’ve been.

The sight is still engraved into his very vision: your limp, lifeless body with both old and fresh scars across your skin, the vial of poison on the floor and the sealed letter in your hand. Composure was second nature to Neuvillette, but none of it was to be seen when he found you. His hands were shaking as he took you into his arms and held you close. His heart felt heavy as if it was coming to a stop. Emotions brewed within him like a storm, volatile and disorderly, but not a word left his lips.

By the time Sigewinne arrived, reality had sunk in, and every prayer he had shattered like glass. The rainstorm lasted for weeks after that. Only by the fourth did the rain finally stop and even then, the skies seemed to be in a permanent state of gloom with the clouds shrouding the sun and stars. Fontaine eventually got back its clarity much later, and people seemed to already move on from the strange natural phenomenon that had occurred.

Six hundred and ten days have passed, and he still misses you as much as he did that spring.

Life without you felt more like dusk than daybreak. The splash of colour had melted away and days felt longer without someone waiting for his return. His home is eerily quieter and more hollow. Your favourite trinkets were never moved from where they were placed on the shelves. The book he’d been reading to you every night stays open and unturned on the table. His own home had turned into a paradox—you were here, but you also weren’t.

How strange, he thinks, how he still feels so acutely alone even with everything you left behind. He’s been through grief time and time again, but it never gets easier. If anything, this is perhaps the most harrowed he has ever felt.

The cemetery had begun to feel more familiar than it should. He hears everything that people say there. He hears them talk about how they wish they could see their loved one welcoming them back home. He hears them talk about how they wish they could just hear their loved one’s laughter one last time. How they wish they had professed their love before it was too late, how they wish they could say all the things they never dared to say. In this, he is not alone. His thoughts flow in that very same direction.

Neuvillette is not a selfish man. There is nothing he heavily desired that he’d do anything to obtain. And yet, he wonders if he should and could be just this once. Everything he wants is you. Every face in the crowd he sees is you, and every song he hears is in your voice. If he had just been more selfish and demanded you to stay, would he have been able to stop you? Would you still make the same decision?

He wakes up every morning to a cold and empty bedside. He leaves without a kiss goodbye. He comes home with no one to welcome him back. Suddenly he has returned to where he once was, alone and closed off from the world around him. Being by himself isn’t as daunting as it used to be, but nothing could ever replace you. With you, loneliness hardly existed. Without you, he has returned back to where he started.

Tick, tick, tick. The clock is the only sound he can hear on this dreary night as he watches it strike twelve. His eyes stay trained on his reflection in the glass, hoping that he’ll see you coming up to embrace him from behind like you used to.

You never do.

Yet another date on the calendar is crossed out. The ring glimmers in the moonlight from where it lays in its velvet box. He’d imagined it playing out in his mind, from the proposal to the look on your face as you told him yes. It was a gift that he spent a long time preparing and waiting for. A surprise that would always make you smile whenever you thought about it.

It was meant to be a promise, one that he would keep for as long as you’d let him.

But you never got to celebrate your birthday, and so he lets the candle’s flames die out on their own. With a heavy heart, he puts the ring back where it was on the shelf. Some plans go awry, but he can’t give up yet. There will come a day when he meets you again, and only then can he finally tell you everything he wanted to say.

For now, they remain unspoken. The promise is never made, and he alone is the witness.

—

Neuvillette wakes up to a world without colour.

Everything around him is painted in different shades of grey, from the trees swaying in the wind to the crystal-clear water in the fountain. Faceless passers-by are scattered across the plaza, talking amongst each other in hushed and intelligible words. As he walks down the stone path, he becomes acutely aware that this is merely a dream. And yet, he is completely lucid; he can feel the breeze against his skin and hear the birds chirping in the distance. His body moves at its command, continuing down the path to the destination only it could know.

He finds himself atop a grassy hill that overlooks the horizon where he can see a person standing on the edge. Your back is turned, but there’s no mistaking it—he’d recognise you from anywhere. It goes far deeper than memory. It's his instinct, his life, and he’d always choose you no matter what decision he has to make. He comes to a halt just as you finally look at him, and what was only a vignette bursts into vivid colours.

The world is no longer grey as vibrance returns to where it belongs. Neuvillette’s breath gets stuck in his throat the closer you approach him. You aren’t in the clothes he’d last seen you in. You’re dressed in white and you hold a bouquet of rainbow roses in your hands, every piece of it in full bloom.

“You’re here!”

This is a dream. He knows he is. But it sounds exactly like you, looks exactly like you, and he’s missed you so deeply that he’ll happily stay in this trance a while longer. He parts his lips to speak, but no words come out. There’s a light burn in his nose and behind his eyes the longer he looks at your joyful self. Without realising it, a tear rolls down his cheek, and he finds that he can finally breathe.

His hands shake as he reaches for you. Before he can revel in feeling you beneath his touch after so long, your skin turns cold and you melt into his hands until nothing is left behind but water. Only remnants of the mirage he’d just seen are left behind. And as if they never returned, the world turns grey once more before it completely fades into the dark.

Now, Neuvillette finds himself in his bed.

Rain pitter-patters against the window beside him and behind the shower is the sunrise, coming up ever so slowly. He casts a glance at your side of the bed and it is still empty, devoid of your warmth. It constantly reminds him of how cold and empty this place is, a stark difference from what it was when you were around. The sun has not yet risen. Hues of dark blue spread across the sky and obscure the stars, casting a dreariness upon the entirety of Fontaine.

The chill nips at his cheeks as he leaves his abode and makes his way to the cemetery in silence. He remembers the path to your grave like the back of his hand, a bitter fact he lives with, but he reigns himself in. The bouquet of Lumidouce bells in his hands suddenly feels much heavier as he gazes down at your picture. It’s already beginning to lose its colour thanks to the time and weather, so he reminds himself to replace it as soon as he can.

He gingerly puts the bouquet down on your altar. He imagines how you’d chide him seeing him in this state, how you’d wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close. He wonders if you have returned to the cosmos or the seas and if you’d be able to feel how much he yearns to be with you again. If there is an afterlife, is it a place where you are happy and free of every burden you carried? If he listened to the waters, would he be able to hear you calling his name?

(Six hundred and eleven days have passed, and his questions remain unchanged.)

Deep in his heart, Neuvillette fears that there will come a day when he forgets the way you looked or the way you sounded. Your voice has already become distant in his mind; it won’t be long before the years take you away from him again. Perhaps time isn’t as kind to him as it used to be.

But for you, he must continue to live, as much as he wishes he could turn back time and spend more of it with you. For you, he must fulfil your wish and honour you the best way he can. For you, he will hold on and wait for the next time you’ll grace him with yourself and your love.

Not once have I regretted my time with you, you had written.

He wonders if you’ll ever know that he feels the same way.

[angelwishess]

Rambling about Floyra again because they genuinely make me ill

Kyra and Floyd’s relationship is honestly hard to describe. Not in the way that its confusing, but its so much deeper and complex than anything i write can convey ??

They’re both people who have never had the privledge of being able of being vulnerable, let alone infront others

They’re both people who have never been truly understood. Floyd being watered down to nothing but his mood swings, and Kyra her impulsiveness.

They’ve both never let many people get too close to them. People know them but they never understand.

They are the first and only people to ever and try to understand eachother. And they do, more than anyone else. If no one else can, who better than them? They understand eachother in a way much deeper than most realize.

Floyd never needed anyone. Kyra never needed anyone. Atleast not until they met eachother. Then, they realized just how much they needed the other. And they finally understood what it meant to love one person so much it hurt.

Kyra has mood swings, just as bad as Floyd. Its just shes grown to be able to hide it, but she has to fight back the urges to just get up and walk away from it all, the urges to get violent. Being a princess has trained her to always be “presentable”.

But then she meets Floyd, whos so unapologetically himself. And he shows all of the traits she has surpressed in herself for the longest time. And he does it without a care in the world.

And it makes her realize, its not a bad thing. Having emotions she cannot control does not make her a bad person.

While Kyra is still very emotionally constipated and struggles to understand her own emotions, somehow knowing Floyd helps her know herself, too.

And, Floyd makes her feel human.

Floyd has always been seen as some sort of “wild child”. Someone to be avoided. Labeled as uncontrollable and unpredictable, treated as something to fear.

But when he meets Kyra, hes treated gently for what feels like the first time. She treats him delicately, almost like glass. She calls him pretty, and looks at him with no fear, but with pure adoration. Genuine love. And he cant help but melt from it. She looked past the person many painted him as. And saw something beautiful.

For once he isnt being treated for some kind of unpredictable beast. And for once, Kyra isn’t being treated like someone who needs to be perfect all of the time.

Two people who have never been vulnerable, find themselves being fully vulnerable to eachother. Their flaws and ugly parts all bare and on display for the other to see. So clearly exposed, for the very first time.

And yet, even after all of the flaws and imperfections, they still love eachother so purely and so genuinely. Even without having to hide their issues or hold themselves back— they could be themselves, together. Unapologetically together. They looked past the surface, past all of the grime and cracks and found something beautiful only they could truly understand.

The purest form of love, and it cannot be described as only love.

They are not just lovers, but something much deeper and much more worse. They are something that can only be described as even more than platonic or romantic. Soulmates, twin flames, eachother’s other half— whatever you want to call them. They are everything and more, somehow and in some way.

They are complex, and their bond runs deeper than any bond theyve ever had before. Not many realize it, but they dont need anyone else to realize it. They know eachother and they understand eachother and thats all they need.

At the end of the day when theyre overwhelmed and tired, they know they can find home and comfort in eachother. In eachother, they found a new freedom to be vulnerable. Within eachother they found peace. A bestfriend, a lover, a favorite person, partners in crime and in life, and something even more.

Their love was slow, patient. It developed over time and only grew deeper. A sudden realization of the obvious truth. They realized, that they’ve already given their hearts to eachother. Kyra was already his, and Floyd was already hers long before they even knew it.

To be so in love that it was so natural, basically second nature to simply just give yourself away to the other. It was ridiculous but it was their truth. Before they knew it they became irreplacable parts of their lives.

“Til’ death do we part” is a lie. Because they’ll find eachother even after that. In every universe, in every world. One way or another. They were already worlds apart, seperated from eachother in this reality; and yet still they managed to find eachother even so.

Their love is pure, unapologetic. Raging, uncontainable and raw. It shines brightly, burns bigger than any fire. It is so deeply instilled in their very beings that it was hard to believe one could love another so much. They never even thought they were capable of such a thing.

But then again, they always did have a way to bring out every part of eachother, sides of themselves they never even realized they had.

I could ramble about them even more but i’ll stop myself for now … HEHEHE

Theres something about someone who’s watered down to something unpredictable and wild, seen as an uncontrollable whirlwind of emotions that is incapable or caring for anyone but themself— melt in gentle hands. Someone who is seen as “scary” go soft and letting themselves be vulnerable in someone else’s arms … its my favorite trope and u can NEVERR tear it away from me 🔥🔥

(When I said “flings” i meant when people for some reason make him some sort of flirty play boy ?? I am not kidding the amount of things ive seen of that 😭)

A special thank you to @screamintoad for letting me yap about them 🫶🫶 ily man HEHEHE 💗

[jabberwockprince]

SPINA VENATORES A small organization of mercenaries working for Manus Vindictae, tasked with erasing people from history as a way to call upon the "Storm". Their targets' names, families, influence and connections to this world will be dragged into oblivion.

Individual profiles and some more info/ramblings under the cut <3

The whole point of Spina Venatores is to be a parallel to Vertin's own independent group of Arcanists - the same way St. Pavlov's Foundation has her, Manus Vindictae has Venison and Spina. They're the mouth and teeth of Manus.

But whereas Vertin aims to create a safe, neutral space for Arcanists to thrive without human influence despite being tied to the Foundation, Venison is aiming to create a paradise for those they care about and no one else due to the heavy influence Arcana and Manus have on them.

Spinas Venatores is, at its core, a cult that was allowed to grow thanks to Venison's codependent and obsessive mindset - with them as the leader, all the troublesome and rebellious members of Manus Vindictae (that are much too powerful to get rid of or who are still clinging on to their former lives) will simply be assimilated into Spina or pressured to comply with Manus Vindictae as a whole. The third secret option is dying <3.

They also serve as a narrative device to remind everyone of the fact that, no matter how hard one may try, there's no way EVERYONE can be saved from the "Storm" - all five main members are related in some way or another to Arcanists that Vertin has met, they're people that weren't lucky enough to be taken in, who found themselves in the right time and place for Manus Vindictae to take advantage of their vulnerable state.

R1999 also portrays a LOT of oppression from various minorities that overlap with each other in very interesting ways, so I also wanted them to tackle similar things that mean so much to me - they're problematic queers is what I'm trying to say lmfao

The thing they share is that all of them are delusional to a degree, and that they're constantly haunted and defined by their relationships to others. The loss and discovery of the self through another, Ship of Theseus, cannibalism, body horror, being transgender as a really visceral and intimate experience, an obsession for love in all of its forms etc etc.

I don't have the FULL scope of their backstories, but I do know who they're tied to!

Venison was Pavia's coworker in a constant, obsessive loop of wanting to kill and save each other. Mutton was part of Schneider's mafia and romantically involved with one of her oldest sisters. Chevon was a regular visitor in Necrologist's museum and a friend of hers, she later went on to exhibit his many, many tombstones. Poultry is the "Lilian" mentioned in Darley Clatter's Stories. And Veal is a mystery even to me </3

Their uniforms are meant to look outrageous and outlandish, entirely out of place with the setting and their respective eras/times, inspired by fantasy - just BARELY reminiscent of Manus Vindictae by virtue of using a similar palette, as a way to drive that feeling of not belonging and delusion even harder.

Whereas everyone else is dealing with very real issues, all members of Spina Venatores live pretty much in their own heads (similar to Forget Me Not and how Manus Vindictae causes their recruits to become... YEAH.....THOSE MONSTERS....)

Venison gets the BIG COAT and the biggest silhouette because they're responsible for pretty much 80% of what happens within Spina Venatores! Veal gets the more simple design to allude to their whole unassuming, shapeshifter/Doppelganger thing.

They all have ribcage/bone motifs in one way or another, most of their jewels are meant to look like rosaries, they wear the Manus Vindictae silver cross and Arcana's blue color more often than regular members of Manus. Also! Hands!! Love the fuckin hands!! DID YOU GUYS SEE DIGGERS' MANUS VINDICTAE SKIN???? YEAH.

The naming convention being. types of different meats. is entirely because of Venison, you can ALSO blame that entirely on them <3

[buckyarchives]

Domestic Life Of a Living With a Runaway Assassin. [Intro.]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x soulmate!reader

Summary: you hate many things in life. you hate soulmates. you hate the avengers. you hate guns. you hate loud snorers and complicated relationships.

Bucky Barnes is associated with all of those things, yet you can't find yourself hating him

W.c: 2.1K

Series playlist linked here

Author note: this was actually one of my first long form fics I wrote in many years, its carrys a nostalgic feeling and means a lot to me. i wrote it like last October and thought abt kinda rewriting some stuff and posting it here! I thought some of you guys woudk enjoy this story. this is only a short darbble that teases the story, next chapter shows how they met and everything after that. It takes place right after CA:TWS and it’s a soulmate AU!

Masterlist

Soulmates.

The legend goes that when the universe was created and whatever higher power you believed in created humans to have two sets of legs, two sets of arms, and two heads. Now because the world is cruel and no one can have nice things, whoever is in charge up there split us up into two beings but forever being connected by our souls. Spending the rest of our life waiting and searching for our other halves. Never being our true whole selves without them. How poetically tragic.

It turned into a weird way to make money nowadays, you felt like no one really cared about the reality of soulmates now. It was made into shitty romance movies, or stupid scientific searches for your one and only soulmate that was definitely an internet scam. People literally faking soul marks towards celebrities for their one chance with them that their delusional minds make up. 

All just a desperate attempt to feel whole and loved but your one and true person. Always and forever destined to be.

What a touching story. Too bad you think it's all bullshit

No genuinely, you were supposed to believe your life's purpose was to find this one person in the entire universe that matched you, and without them, you what? you were going to be miserable for the rest of your life? The universe is a scam. You had given up on the whole mad search for your other half years ago, you didn't understand why you couldn't go out and find your own partner without having to match up those stupid words on your shoulder. 

“I'm sorry, you probably don't feel very safe with me.”

Those stupid words. You hated the idea of soulmates but you couldn't stop yourself from the hours of wondering just what the hell that was supposed to mean. You had no interest in seeking out your soulmate but you could wonder what type of person they may be. Were they really a dangerous person? Would you genuinely not feel safe with the said person when you first meet? Would you even meet them?

Questions had swirled through your head since the day you got it. Those questions had died down a little, you were getting older and most of your peers had already met their soulmates. You noticed soulmates were not just romantic, they came in friendships, some didn't work out, some came between children and parents, and some came through your fire escape at night, covered in blood and knocking down your favorite plants.

With a loud crash, your feet carried you through your new york apartment to your living room. You saw the outline of him crouched down on the floor. “I'm so sorry, I know that was your favorite plant.”

Okay, spoiler. You had found your soulmate. You weren't excited about it as the rest of the world expected, but it happened. You weren't some hypocrite that would suddenly abandoned all beliefs and fell head over heels for your soulmate once you met like one of those stupid romance movies you mention earlier, you were not some cliche. Especially not with a poor excuse of a runaway-brainwashed-assassin soulmate, at least you would try convincing yourself that.

“My god Bucky, how many times do I have to tell you to just go through the door.” you pinch the bridge of your nose as the tired old man scrambles to clean up the dirt and scattered pot beneath him. “I mean, you practically live here now.”

“I'm not using the door, someone could see me.”

You think Like that's better than having someone see you climb through the fire escape, asshole. You scoff and shake your head and begin dragging yourself to the kitchen. You had a slight quirk at the end of your lips, an amused smile, you hoped Bucky didn’t see in the dark. Maybe he did, you didn’t really have enough time to ask him the deets on the effects of the serum. 

You swing open the cabinet door and grab a trash bag and first aid kit. God only knows how bent out of shape bucky is tonight. Making your way back into your living room, Buckys still muttering under his breath about your stupid plant and “god dammit it's fucking freezing out there.”

throwing the trash back at him, he looks up at you. His eyes are beautiful. His hair is sopping wet and you were hoping to any god above that he wasn't bleeding out on your floor. You were not losing your security deposit for your reckless runaway assassin soulmate. God, that's a mouthful, you need to give him a new nickname.

 “So, what's the damage?”

“s’ nothing, I'm just cold. It started raining hard.” he looks like a wet shaking dog. Your heart aches.

You look him up and down. Noticing the water dripping from all his clothing. “I see that.”

You sigh and take a few steps toward him. Bucky eyes follow your moments precisely. He has a bit of a staring problem. You snag the hair tie off your wrist and swiftly tie his brunette wet mop of a head into a little man bun. Cute. you shake your head.

“Stay, I'll be right back.”

Bucky watches you in awe as your body ascends back into the darkness of the room and around a corner. He's uncomfortable and his socks are wet. The leather vest is wet and he feels like he's trapped in his own skin, and Bucky feels too heavy. 

Slowly, he begins to unstrap all weapons on his body and toss them to the side so you don't have to see them. You didn't like guns. He had a designated place where he hides them because god-forbid Bucky messes up your apartment aesthetic with his dozen of unsettling and quite scary weapons. Your words, not his.

Unzipping the leather top and peeling the fabric off himself was less than a nice feeling, it made him cringe and sent a quick shiver down his spine. Bucky tossed it to the side, he’ll deal with that tomorrow. His hands feel the thin black shirt that's left, it's wet too. Fucking hell. He doesn’t remember the New York weather being this bad in September, he also barely remembers anything so his memory isn’t too reliable. Bucky slowly peels the fabric over his head, he hopes he doesn't mess up the bun you did, he never did it right.

Bucky hears your feet pad against your floor. He pushes back a smile. You're holding a towel and some clothes. He watches you as you crouch down next to him on the floor, he notices that your eyes are squinted and your bed head is apparent. A twinge of guilt hits him now knowing he had woken you up. Bucky whispers, “I woke you up.”

You sigh, again. “I was having a bad dream anyways.”

“About?”

You inhale, scoffing to yourself. “I was being chased by Jimmy Fallon with a jar of pickles – because you know, I hate pickles – and he was yelling at me about the importance of eating vegetables, but he sounded just like my mom.”

Bucky didn’t remember who Jimmy Fallon was, “you must think you’re so amusing, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Bucky curls his toes and is unfortunately reminded of his very wet socks. He leans forward to untie his hefty boots. Your eyes trail along his naked back, his muscles flex and suddenly you are just a little more awake. You watch his left arm in all its glory, taking note of the ragged and scarred tissues where metal meets skin. Scratch marks are littered around the edges, and you feel sad for him, imagining how those got there. The moonlight highlights his metal arm, making it shine and look quite beautiful. You could never tell Bucky that.

“It's been a week.” you finally breathe out. Bucky freezes in place as his fingers wrap around his laces. He feels guilty again. “And you didn't leave a note this time either. I thought...”

Trailing off, you stop yourself before you say something you were going to regret. Your mind wanders, you felt so incredibly stupid right now. Truth is, you didn't agree with the whole soulmate ordeal but it seemed like ever since your unconventional first meeting with Bucky, he has stuck to you like glue. He just kept coming back and then leaving again. 

It took you many of his overnight stays and weirdly domestic mornings making scrambled eggs together and then turning into a worry machine after he leaves. You realized had grown to care for him deeply. Bucky always came back, but you were scared for the day we might not. 

Bucky is– literally, a lost puppy. He had been on the run and actively avoiding the few stray agents that knew he was still alive when he met you. 

Bucky remembered back when he was a kid, dreaming about the day he would meet his soulmate. He and Steve would stay up all night talking about their soul marks, or just words (as they used to call it), and what they thought their soulmates would be like. Bucky was obsessed and simply put, a hopeless romantic. 

Then Steve met his soulmate, Peggy. And then he technically died and Hydra happened, Bucky thought his soulmate would have been dead because he was out of his time now. After being brainwashed and having been broken and put back together by Hydra, Bucky could still never shake the feeling of you still being out there, it was like some instinctive feeling in his bones, he had hope and it was one of the only things keeping him going. 

And he was right.

Bucky had many doubts when he first met you, given his situation. But you were not scared. And that was enough for him at the time.

But now he just feels guilty for giving you the burden of being his soulmate. He was trying, really.

“I'm sorry, doll.” his voice didn't sound like his own, he shrugged the rest of his boot off and followed with his socks. Finally. “I should have left a note. I'm safe, you're safe, and I'm here now.” 

Bucky heard you sniffled and you turned your head with an embarrassment look and glossy eyes. Like you were ashamed for caring.

“sweetheart...” he scooted closer, hoping you wouldn't mind his damp skin on yours. Bucky reached for you, wrapping his flesh hand around yours and giving you a small squeeze. Your head turned to him, a small smile hidden on your face by the darkness of the room. He saw it. Bucky might even think you're an angel. “I won't leave without saying something next time, I'm sorry.”

“Do I even want to know what you were doing out there?”

He hated lying to you but his life was complicated. “Just trying to fix some things I did.”

You nod. “Good.”

The silence between the two of you isn't uncomfortable, the past few months have been silent– at least with bucky. He is your soulmate. He is also the winter soldier, and the winter soldier is always moving and hiding. Bucky Barnes is always moving, always. He had been that way even way back in the Howling Commandos. 

You were his safe haven. Your relationship was on and off but your bond was strong, it was wordless and tentative and strung together by patching wounds at midnight and soft, domestic glances over coffee. Your house– just you were his place where he could just stop, pretend as if nothing mattered and sit on the couch and watch reality television that you loved. Bucky found it questionable but you said “it will help you get with the times.” Bucky just watched it because he knew it made you happy. 

Bucky Barnes had been moving all week, fast. He had almost died, twice. He was never going to let you know that though. Bucky was due for some Hell's Kitchen or dance moms. He was also not going to tell you that. 

The moonlight was fading and you could hear the faint sound of birds chirping outside, barely silenced by the bustling city life of people leaving for work. You are still sitting next to Bucky, and you nudge him with your elbow. His attention is now drawn to you. You bite your bottom lip, a horrible habit you had, bucky hated it. Bucky brings his thumb up to your face and pulls your lip away from your teeth. He wants to kiss you.

“Go take a shower, you stink.” That works too. He smiles and you laugh. Yeah, Bucky thinks he can stop for just a little longer this time.

-

Feedback and comments make the work go round, comment to be added to the tag list!

Tag list : @ivywasmaroon @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief

[tokoyamisstuff]

No One Loves You (Like I Do)

2,2k. words | Yandere! Enrico Maxwell x gn! Reader

Synopsis: Love had always been a foreign concept to the bishop, but when you stumbled into his life he got painfully aware how deprived he truly was of it.

GIF Source: bitches-love-cannons (deactivated)

A user on Ao3 asked for Yandere! Maxwell with a shy/quiet Reader.

Warnings: forced relationship, captivity, gaslighting

A/N: I absolutely loathe this work of mine, sorry

Even though he never built any meaningful connection himself, Maxwell at least intellectually understood human bonds. Selfish and fragile mechanisms they were to him, nothing more.

The bishop always thought himself to be immune to such inferior sentiments, that he could see behind everyone's act...

...until he met you, that was.

Because no matter what circumstance, relations were always connected to some kind of advantage, weren't they? Security, influence, power...no one would willingly keep someone in their social circle that didn't provide anything useful for them.

Hell, even Anderson only took care of the young orphans - including himself - out of religious necessity, because it makes him feel righteous and morally superior, he was sure of it!

Friends and acquaintaces were made through shared time and experience, similar views and other feeble components. Always threaten to change randomly and without our influence. Even familiar bonds were formed out of obligation and our ingrained instinct to pass on our genes.

That was his theory when he first met you, a desperate attempt to rationalize those feelings blooming in the bottomless pit he called his soul. Yes, surely it had to be a biological urge and nothing more. He was only a man too after all, even if he took great endeavour to ascend that pathetic state.

But you, precious little thing you were, caused him to stumble across the biggest mystery he had yet to resolve: Romantic love.

What was the reason that humans revolved their entire thought, energy, self around one another? Making someone else the centre of their life, accomodate even if it meant personal disadvantage, as long as you could be together?

How could anyone wanna expose the most vulnerable part of themselves? No matter how much he tried to wrap his head around it, he failed to find an answer.

Back when you met at that fateful morning two months ago, you had no clue who it was that sat next to you on that park bench. Certainly a handsome man, that much credit he'd give himself, but might as well be a nobody to an uneducated heathen like you were one.

And yet you treated him with nothing but kindness and sincere interest, even though you couldn't hope to gain something from it.

He remembers clearly how timidly you had tapped his shoulder, excusing yourself for overstepping but wanting to ask if he was alright. Well no, he was visibly upset over a triviality at work, and your sudden inquisition unwillingly caught him so off guard that he just started ranting to a complete stranger.

It was so soothing just to talk about whatever topic crossed his mind, your calming aura helping him to sort his thoughts as you quietly nodded along and offered him an encouraging smile from time to time.

An incredible feeling, actually being listened to by someone other than dimwits or bootlickers...especially since even without knowing about his status, you gave him the respect he thought he deserved.

This was too good to be true, he thought when he found that note with your number tucked between his bible. Yet after letting the organization do a quick background scan on you, he soon realized there was nothing suspicious to be found.

Quite the opposite, even: Such a plain, pathetic existence. It was almost comically ironic how much worth you would gain just through his interest.

And the more he learned, the more his curiosity deepened into a downright addiction.

You were special, overlooked, always had to work much harder than anyone else in order to survive - just like him.

You were so excruciatingly lonely that it broke his heart just to think about it - just like him.

You deserved way more than what life had offered you - just like him.

And he'd be damned if he didn't save you from that fate and put you right where you belong - at his side, with your every wish fulfilled by your shining knight.

Maxwell found himself fantasizing about building a life together, spiraling deeper and deeper into his own delusions.

Set aside that dating was out of question let alone because of his faith, he thought the formal way to approach you was beneath him. In his opinion during that one meeting the two of you had already formed a connection that was way more intimate than ordinary people could ever hope to have.

So the Iscariot leader had his members abduct you in the security of your own home, brought you to him without question or remorse. With his kind of influence it was an easy task to tamper some evidence, making it look like you started a whole new life far away, so no one would ever bother trying to find you.

However, reality is oftentimes much harder than those yearning dreams that make our everyday life more bearable.

In the end the person he invited - no, misplaced - into his home didn't even come close to the idealized version of you he had created in his head.

Altough he had prepared every miniscule detail prior to your arrival, things went south the moment you came back to your senses. You were afraid and confused in the beginning, that much he could sympathize with.

But the fact that you were still so damn ungrateful even weeks later was simply unacceptable!

Enrico explained it to you several times now, didn't he? Then why in the Lord's name aren't you happy?! You should fall to your knees and cover him in praise for freeing you from the shackles of your own ordinarity!

Instead you flinch every time he just so much as innocently touches you, have tears dwell in your eyes like he was some kind of monster that kept you prisoner.

All he ever wanted was some genuine fucking affection and even that he couldn't be granted?!

The bishop was already irritated before the door fell into it's lock, tossing his bariefcase into the next best corner before stepping into the luxorious apartment. Usually he'd crave the peace of his solitude, always claiming to need no one, but recently he couldn't wait to meet the only person he was able to tolerate.

There you were, sitting in the living room right at the huge windowsill, dreamily gazing outside to watch free people go about their day. He clears his throat to gain your attention, and immediately you turn around, eyes wide like a deer in the headlight.

"Welcome back" you coo, heart racing as he approaches you with a fake confidence in his steps. He sits down right besides you, taking one of your hands and placing the ghost of a kiss over it. "I missed you painfully" he admits and you manage to crack a smile, not knowing what reaction he expects or if you'd even be able to provide it for him.

You could, or rather should play along, it would make things so much easier for both of you. But you wore your heart on your sleeve, which made him both furious and admiring that you were unable to tell any comforting lie.

But that also means once you give in to your fate, he'll know it's for real.

Maxwell's eyes wander up and down your form, satisfied with what he sees. Everything from the clothes you wear up to your perfume had been handpicked by himself, and it granted you an ethereal kind of glow. A sight for his sore eyes, really.

Surely if you understand that all of his wealth, power and influence is now also yours, you'll be delighted to stay at his side.

"You look amazing..." he murmurs, letting his knuckles stroke across your cheek. You bite your lip, cautious yet to him it was endearing really. "Tha-thank you, bishop-"

He makes a both warning and placating gesture with his hand, putting on a fake smile as he reminds "I told you to not call me by my title. It's just Maxwell for you...or Enrico, whatever you prefer."

The Enrico Maxwell you got to know was a soft-spoken and gentle man, at least that was the facade he wanted to maintain. Deep inside of him however was another, disturbed and sinister part of him. You were aware of it, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from you.

This huge contrast between his behavior and the reality of your situation was simply absurd, the twisted obsession he thought to be love suffocating. You swallow nervously, stuttering with every syllable. "Alright...Maxwell."

Panic rose in your chest as you licked your dry lips and immediately found his gaze stuck on them. Hesistantly, he leans in to close the gap between the two of you, and frozen in fear you just allow it to happen.

The kiss was tender yet demanding, you could physically feel his desparation radiating off of him. It made you wonder how long he was starved of this kind of intimacy, or if he ever experienced something like it at all. He dwelled in the sensation for as long as possible, not yet daring to wrap his arms around you like he envisioned so painfully often...

...when he finally broke the kiss however, your eyes were already open and glossy with tears.

"What?" he sadly asks, face contorting in disappointment. Anger boils up in his stomach but he tries to calm himself, to not lose face in front of you, yet it was almost impossible to hide the aggravation in his voice. "Why...what is it?!"

Enrico wanted you to go back to the person worshipping his every step, clinging to his lips like they spread some kind of ancient wisdom, not...this...

A quiet gasp escapes your throat and you wince back, only enraging him further. He internally whines at his own inability to be the man you need, the man you'd willingly give yourself to. Letting out a deep breath, he starts again, tone smoother this time. "My love, I can't bear to see you cry." He reaches out to cup your cheek but decides to give you space instead. "Tell me what's wrong, I promise I won't get mad."

His strategy seemed to work, your stance slowly relaxing as you fumbled with your words. "It's- it's just..." Feeling bold, you tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear to appease him. "I miss my family, that's all."

Your family? Your pathetic excuse of a family?! That is what's got you so worked up, what you prefer to choose over him?

Seems like his prayers are never being answered.

If it wasn't for the balmy sensation of your fingers brushing against his aching skin, he definetly would've snapped at you. Yet he merely groans, rubbing his temple in frustration. "Seriously? Don't be ridiculous." You wish you could hide from his sharp gaze, but Enrico softly lifts your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. "Don't you get it? They only care for you out of obligation. But I..." His smile is honest now, almost innocent when he declares "I chose to love you."

Maxwell's confession caught you off guard, lets your blood run cold for a moment - until you realize that you could use his own emotions against him.

This would be your ticket to freedom.

"You...you love me?" You mindfully place a hand on his when you ask him again. His answer is quick and serious, thumb running over your palm, absentmindedly circling the skin. "Of course I do." To him it was so obvious, he almost felt offended you didn't realize.

Why else would he go out of his way to forcefully intertwine your fates together?

"Then-" you stop briefly, but decide to at least try to convince him. What's the worst that can happen? After all, asides from keeping you here, the bishop never gave you reason to think he would harm you in any way. "Then let me out."

Before he could object, you quickly sealed your wish with another kiss, feeling him sigh against your mouth. He melts into the unexpected voluntary closeness, the promise of more to come.

"You said you would grant me every wish" you gasp for air as your lips part again, "So let me out, just once in a while. I want to feel the sun on my skin again, I want to talk to other people, I want-"

"Alright, alright" he announces with a charming voice, as if he was doing you a great favour. Positive anticipation clouds his judgement, making him ponder. "Well I guess as long as you stay on Vatican ground and are accompanied by guards, I can allow you some more freedom."

"Thank you!" Out of hope for a possible way out, you can't help but tackle your captor in an excited hug, even though it was contrary to your wish to get as far away from him as humanly possible. "Thank you so, so much, Maxwell!"

"You're way too humble with your wishes" he notes. If he had known earlier that it'd be this easy to make you comply...

Finally enjoying what he craved most only further fed his delusions, his mouth splitting into a manic grin as he trapped you in his hold, whispering in your ear like the snake of Eden itself.

"Give yourself up to me, and I promise you there's nothing you'll ever miss again."

[sillyvampireboi]

A new letter, in my electronic mailbox!

AO3

Summary: Armand starts receiving loads of love letters to his electronic mailbox, as he calls it, after the success of Daniel’s book, bombarding his useful iPad with notifications.  Why do strangers “love him” so much? Writing such intimate letters to him? While Daniel never writes anything. He must find out. 

contents: pov Armand, first person, Armand x Daniel, fluff, slight angst, slight emotional hurt, comfort, romantic, armand needs some love and reassurance!, he is sad meow meow

a/n: I just want some happiness for Armand ok? Also this whole fic was born from musings with @okaytosave <3 I hope you’ll like it :D | 👁️^👁️ <- this is Armand as emojis. No one can change my mind

let me know if you would like to be tagged :)

-English still isn’t my first language-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New era, new technology. New pace of life, new social norms. 

I saw the slow death of my mortal life’s world dying, inventions, religions and ideas popping out of thin air, countless wars and and even more deaths. The rotting of old academies which were the only acceptable faiths a few years prior, abandoned places and cities that were used for more polished ones’ base, art styles changing, fashion and garments changing, dialects changing, languages changing. Changing, changing, changing. 

Ever since I opened my eyes under the eternal night, I knew that change will be constant while I remain the same. This rotation happened rhythmically, slowly, inevitably, leaving enough time for its creatures to adapt. However as we waltzed into the 20th century, this sleepy melody began to alter. The music sheet decided to rewrite itself, to twitch here and there like a beetle on his back, but still following the original melody with these slight changes. 

Then came the 21th century, with his new suit and confident lettering. He glanced once onto his fathers’ theme and murdered it with a steady move of his pen. The tune turned from the unhurried pace and formed into a metallic scream. 

Changing, changing, changing. 

This one word has never been more true to any other century than this present one. 

My interest first started to grow with a funny device called the telephone. I could speak to someone in France while I was in any other part of the world with it! As years danced by me, I witnessed that same machine evolve. First it shrank. Got smaller and smaller, until at last I could put it in my pocket. 

Then came the ‘Internet’. It changed even more things in this racing century and— 

“Are you still looking at those emails? Really?” - I heard Daniel’s low vibrato next to me. We were laying on our shared bed in our new apartment. Long, thick curtains framed the windows, now placed on either side of the pale blue painting that was the sky. The blinking stars were invisible in this new hour, covered by the polluting light of the streets. 

Oh my sweet, seeing through me Daniel. He knew what worries or excites me without being able to read my mind. He simply sees me for what I am.

“Ever since you published your book, mortals keep sending me letters. People I don’t know nor have ever met. I don’t understand how they know my address.” - a loud snort was the only answer that Daniel honormed me with. He was covered with our heavy blanket that he liked, reminding him the warmth and comfort it brought him when he was still a human. As the owner of all the pillows, even mine, he was half laying - half sitting while he was scrolling through the application called twitter, now renamed as X. Not a smart decision in my opinion. It’s always been more flourishing for a company to have some kind of unique or catchy name. 

“Daniel, beloved, please listen to me. — for a moment he glanced at me, the half amused expression in his eyes with his half mocked eyebrow that jumped up on his forehead — Yes, I’m still looking at these ‘emails’. I’ve been browsing through these letters and many of these individuals have been referred to me as ‘little meow meow’ and ‘dear’ or ‘demon kitten’. Please love, what does it mean? Of course, I know what kitten and meow means, however I still fail to understand how these apply to me. But Daniel, what do they mean by ‘demon’? Is this a reference to my vampire nature? If so, I would ask you to tell your followers it’s not true! Love - why are you laughing? 

Daniel’s laugh filled my ears, borrowing a giggling sensation into my body. I loved his laugh. His sarcastic wheezings were frequent and without a stop, falling like rain upon a curly head. His good hearted laughs like this however! They felt like a special occasion of my heart whether I made him laugh or not. Although I felt my dead heart skip joyously when I caused his self forgetting roar. 

“ It’s because of your face.” 

“ My face? I don’t look like a cat! I’m far from it.”

“ They think you look very pretty and adorable. Like a little kitten, who can’t do anything wrong.” 

“ ….Are they the only ones who think I look pretty and adorable?” 

“ Flirting with me huh? Are you looking for compliments, now that I’m your fledgling? You know well how I feel, I don’t need to spell it out.” 

But I don’t! Please say it! I need to know! Please please please! I can never be so sure in my or your feelings. I can lull myself into the lie of love as I did with Louis, but I'm so tired. Fatigued by the endless knot of loneliness around my neck, please spell it out for me! 

I wanted to say, but I didn’t. Just stared at him silently with my usual expression of calmness as his face was illuminated by the light of his phone. I know my face was the perfect practiced mask, but I assume my eyes showed a glimpse into my turmoil because Daniel’s features changed.  

He put down his phone, somewhere amongst the folds of our bedsheets, and oh so gently he held the left side of my cheek in his palm. I leaned into his touch immediately, melted like snow under the mellow heat of the sun. He pulled me towards him and hinted a kiss on my other cheek. 

I slanted towards him, wanting more, not simply the only child kisses here and there, but the whole family and its storm. I wanted to be devoured by his all so consuming love, finally melting out of the ice I've buried myself in. 

“ I love you.” — heard my love’s voice close to me. He placed another kiss on my eyelids, the most intimate part of the body. How frequently do you see someone’s closed eyelids? When they are in deep sleep, flying among their safe dreams? — “ And no. They are not the only ones who think you are pretty and adorable, just so you know, you dickhead.” 

Ah my dear Daniel with his sinful tongue! I relearned with him how it feels to laugh and smile. 

I giggled into his traveling lips, suddenly shy to deepen the kiss. — “ Apart from ‘not the only ones’ , who else thinks that I am those things? I haven’t seen electronic letters from my starred address. 

“Oh, so this is what annoyed you, is it? I’m not rescuing the princess with my typed out words. Will he let down his hair too, if I go to the lengths to send a raven to him ?” 

“Hm! So why this stranger, who sent 5 separate letters to my electric mailbox, all of them detailing an adoration towards myself, could express more appreciation to me then you? 

“ You think I don’t appreciate you? I rather spend my night with more useful things than typing out words I can tell you. We live together, remember? “ 

“ You are on your phone all day beloved, harassing that American ex-president with the yellow wig—“ 

“ Come on, that’s besides the point. I don’t need to send detailed emails since I share a bed with you, Armand. I can tell you how I feel, just like I did now. .. Is that really so important to you? “

I huffed and silently stood up with my iPad. He doesn’t understand. It seems so insignificant to him, such an unimportant act. Of course, he is capable of speaking and expressing his care to me in his own ways, which I really appreciate that we can talk through, but …. 

“ Hey, where are you going?” — Daniel’s voice followed me faintly as I floated out of the window, towards my destination. 

~~*~~

I was standing in front of an apartment complex, with many tiny apartments inside. As I was blinking under the streetlamp, I saw many of them wrapped in shadows at that late hour, but the one I needed still bathed in a faint yellow light. 

How the streets and buildings changed within this century! Seemingly, in a blink of an eye. All life, all beauty and art disappeared from the newly built systems, and lazily leaked into the sewers. Oh how far we got from the Medicis! 

With my iPad still in my hand, I effortlessly opened the front door and floated upwards without a sound, in the center of the zigzagging stairs. 

On the floor, I knocked on the plain white door, which wore the same lifeless appearance as its partners. 

“Who could it be that late?” I heard your soaring thoughts, grumpily addressed to me. It felt like years until you opened your door, so leisure were your movements. Upon seeing me, many different emotions washed over your fragile form, from the first surprise to the blushing anticipation. It seemed like you lost your voice, so great was your astonishment. 

“We’ve never met. I don’t know you, why did you send this? Explain it to me.” — I opened up the Pandora box of my questions, showing your own letters to you on my iPad. 

You just stared, mouth slightly agape, looking between your own words on my screen and my face. As I waited for your answer, my gaze traveled behind you, into your cozily stuffed home. Right in front of me on the wall hung a huge mirror, reflecting me in the weak light from the hallway. My eyes were huge as usual, staring into space while the rest of my face was emotionless. 

I waited and waited and waited, yet you still haven’t talked, merely your skin got redder, your veins pumping your sweet blood into your head with a thundering noise. 

“Pay him no mind.” — all of the sudden I heard Daniel’s deep voice behind me. Looking up into the mirror I saw him lazily leaning to the wall, crossing his legs and arms in a ‘I don’t give a fuck’ fashion as he liked to call it. He was wearing his black, leather jacket and little round sunglasses, which I fancied seeing him in. — “‘He understands parasocial adoration from the old word, he is just your boomer’s boomer.’” 

I felt blood traveling to my cheeks, heating up my cold skin. I saw myself blushing under Daniel’s amused gaze. He lifted his eyebrows in a ‘what now pretty boy?’ way. My blushing was followed by a surprised oh, then I remembered that I was still angry at him, so I knotted my eyebrows to show clearly my frustration. 

“Daniel I have the right to inquire about such letters regarding my self. Parasocial isn't the word that I would - Excuse me for a moment” — here I turned away from you, looking Daniel in the eye — “ I still await an answer from them. And Daniel this is the last time I tolerate your stalking while I pursue- “

“Look who's talking about stalking, Miss Stalker. Also, you left without a word. I thought we had a moment of trauma bonding.” 

“Daniel, I need to know..” — I trailed off, seeing a sudden notification on my lock screen. 

A new letter, in my electronic mailbox! Its title said: ‘Here is your first love letter, fake Rashid’.

I felt my muscles loosen and tighten on my face in a warm, familiar way. I felt my lips dancing, my blood chuckling and the air from my lungs tittering outward. 

“You sent it to me?” 

“Yes I did. And just so you know, there is more where it came from. I didn’t know it was so important to you, Armand. You’ll get my ‘love letters’ princess. 

You, who were of the utmost importance to me a few minutes ago, were locked out of my mind. The only being I saw was Daniel. Daniel smiling at me. Daniel mocking me in a sarcastic adoring way. Daniel waiting for me and holding my hand. 

Daniel, Daniel Daniel, Daniel. 

He pulled me, waltzing away with me into the cool night, back to our home. Our home. What a nectary taste it has on my tongue. 

I felt myself flying while still stepping on the dark earth, laughing unselfishly under the invisible stars, still holding Daniel’s hand, feeling the ice melting inside my heart. 

~~*~~ 

The sun woke behind the blotchy buildings of the era, smiling away the cold shadows. Daniel already slept sweetly in our room, awaiting the next sunfall. 

Only a day passed since his first letter, however my electronic, organized folders were filled with his chaotic letters. 

‘Here is your 27th love letter, fake Rashid’, I read that morning. 

I’m pretty sure he meant to annoy me with the number of ‘emails’ he queued to be sent. Instead of annoyance, they became a sacred prayer I waited every day. I’ll need to buy more space to store them securely. Or I could print them out, hang them on the wall. It would irritate Daniel so much! 

After reading his 27th letter, I ambled into our bedroom. He was deep in his vampiric sleep, laying on his back, still as a corpse. 

I climbed next to him, throwing my arms around his neck and stealing kisses all over his cold face and lips. 

“I love you Daniel.” — I whispered into his ear as I snuggled into the crook of his neck. “Thank you for your letters.” 

[deadfrog-and-friends]

domestique, part 4: in which we meet the Mechanic

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

Sistress moped around for a few hours but recovered quickly. Over the next few days she slapped together a few rag dolls that looked even more cursed than me, and experimented bestowing life onto them. I reached out and felt the barest consciousness take hold. Their psychic activity was equal to that of a garden worm, I told her. They flickered out after a few days at best. Some only lasted minutes.

“You are doing these as a proof of concept,” I explained to her. “You are not putting the proper effort into their construction, so you don’t love them enough to give them life. That’s why it’s not working.”

“Nonsense. My sister didn’t love you, and you’re here,” said Sistress.

“Miss already had the knack for it,” I explained. “And she did put work into me. The proper effort.”

Sistress wasn’t concerned. “Well, I don’t really have the tools or time or skill to make their bodies nice,” she said. “I could get some pre-made from a manufacturer, do you think the life would take more easily if someone else made the ‘proper effort?’”

“I understand some witches do it that way,” and gave her the information for a toymaker Miss used to collaborate with from time to time. Later on I overheard her on the phone trying to convince this lady to give her some sample bodies for free. Before I ever learned whether her efforts were successful, the stranger arrived.

They were a mechanic, and they came with all sorts of tools and equipment, and Sistress dragged Merxia back over to the work table and they got to work on her. I was annoyed that Sistress had brought in an outsider without consulting me. It seemed to me they were going to replace Merxia’s doll core with some kind of robot computer brain and the thought of it unsettled me greatly, for reasons I could not explain. Was it prejudice against robots? I had never met one. They seemed like fine entities, from what I had heard, and I supported robot liberation in theory. It was just, the use of Merxia’s body… Merxia… was like my… sister? I felt protective of it, even though like all of the rest I had whispered evil things to it in its infancy. Some digital stranger… would it somehow have Merxia’s memories? Would Mistress have wanted this? Would Merxia? Did it matter what they would have wanted? Did I want this? Did that matter? I supposed all that mattered was what Sistress wanted. She was the mistress of the houeshold, after all.

Why did she want Merxia alive so bad, I wondered, that she would adapt it into a completely different sort of entity? I thought of Merxia’s sleek, athletic body, and I thought of the fact that Sistress had taken no lover for years, and I thought I knew. Sistress had asked my mistress for a doll to be her companion, and had received me. In my stunted form, I could not cook, or clean, or aid her with magic, and I could certainly not bring her any physical pleasure or be worthy of romantic love the way some dolls were. I thought of the time she had squeezed my tummy. I felt twisted inside. I remembered that Merxia had 100,000 follicles of human hair manually installed. Smooth and soft, beautifully maintained, a joy to touch. Mine was made with acrylic yarn. It was starting to pill. Merxia had a fully articulated body, including… including… sex parts, for having sex with humans, since cyclist dolls needed to be able to bond with their team in various ways. This body, my body, was completely featureless. My hands were mitts, with small bumps for thumbs. My feet looked like boots. There were seams on my sides and shoulders and a horizontal one between my legs and that was it, otherwise completely plain.

I heard a strange screaming in my head. I must be broken, I thought.

At that point Sistress came and found me and unceremoniously carried me back to the work table. Merxia’s head was open, but now it had a hinge on it, and there was a little chair and there were all sorts of wires and I was entirely confused. It looked like the inside of a mecha like the ones who fought in the war but it was small enough to fit into a regular doll’s head. But who could pilot such a mech? The mechanic was holding a tiny suit. “Lil Nell,” they said to me, holding it out. Sistress had told me the mechanic’s name but I hadn’t been paying attention. To be honest, I’m not even sure what their pronouns were.

“Um,” I said.

“I’ll help you put it on,” said Sistress, and right there in front of the mechanic she pulled off my dress and started pulling my limbs though the suit. It had like a lot of little things on it where you could plug in wires, and so once she was done she set me on the seat and began to plug it in.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Excuse this one,” I said, “excuse me, what exactly are you doing?”

“I’m putting my doll into my doll,” said Sistress, “so my doll can drive my doll around. Let’s go for a test run!” She plugged the last wire into a plug at the base of my neck and flipped the top of Merxia’s head shut. Everything went dark.

[yearningaces]

Hi! (It got too long, sorry)

So um.. i had some time to think while I was trageling, and I didnt wanted my thoughts to get lost in the void so I wrote some things in my notes about Declan (its not entirely about him, mostly about just Hallewells). So if its okay then I would share it.

The first one is actually just a situation, or well.. so um, I temporarily forgot that he is in the medival times and I had a daydream about him in the modern age.

The thing is that I really love how devoted he is, but I also like how cold he is towards everyone else. And you said that he isnt a entirely a good person so I wanted to play with that thought, how he was acting before he met his heart. (I.. um... its about a car crash so um.. dont read it if it makes you uncomfortable, there is no blood or anything but someone does dies and someone got injured, sorry)

Its colorful because I just realized I can do that in my notes lel (and I was hyped from my own thoughts, how silly)

Next one is like.. um.. mostly an ask. Shortly its about what would be his first reaction when he first sees his heart.

The next one is about um.. shortly, when you cannot communicate what you feel or want, what would he do then?

I am really sorry if any of this is uncomfortable or hurtful for you and you do not need to answer and also sorry for how I wrote in my notes because I was in a hurry... and on a bus so if you see any mistakes in my english then please ignore it. And also ignore this ask if you dont want to answer. (Im just hyperfixating right now here.) Thank you if you answer!

Please NEVER apologize because this is all liquid word gold and nothing could have made me happier to read because you got him! You got him nailed down!! Let's run through this one by one!

Second scenario!

First of all the car crash is 100% in character for a Hallewell. He's done his job, he's moving on without a second glance. Maybe MAYBE if that Hallewell knew his heart already and the woman who was injured looked like his heart? He might toss the man's phone to her. That's really it, they are such an emotionally detached being, not good, but they're doing general good by hunting and murdering the bad in their own way (also please please I'm rotating the powerhouse of this scenario iny mind the next few days of a modern time Declan just... Appearing in the road like that on a dark stormy night to do his job. I need to figure out the best weapon he'd use if not in beast form.) because that's exactly it! To most folks unless the Hallewell has actually shifted, they only see an intimidating human. For the prey of the Hallewell, they see or at least in the back of their mind they feel just how inhumanly wrong this creature is. These aren't good creatures, their job is to hunt and kill foul hearted individuals but that doesn't really make a Hallewell GOOD you know? Very duty bound and almost nothing else is in their heads

It's something I didn't touch heavily on, but whatever decides when a Hallewell is born (be it the deity that drives them like Crom dubh to a Dullahan) or the fate that creates a Hallewell because remember they can't be born from another Hallewell, whatever decides that they're meant to be is what decides who they're fated to. One individual through their entire lifespan, and that's it.

If I could say one good thing about a Hallewell it's that they are viciously devout to their heart. That is their only person, all of the lacking emotions and care is poured into that one person that's why it's so extreme. It's not strictly romantic though, it could be a platonic bond where the Hallewell feels a driving need to be your closest companion. A familial one where in their eyes their heart is their only family, but more commonly a romantic one where they want to be the best partner you could hope for so you'll never want to leave them behind. Because that's it for them, they could never find another person to care for.

Though the way they find their heart is a little... Fitting for how scary they can be.

The reason their heart is called that is because that's how a Hallewell finds them. They hear your heartbeat. They follow it until they find you.

Have you ever been hunted down?

Even if you know you're completely safe, it's terrifying especially if you don't know that and if the Hallewell in question is too excited to consider that fact so it will be a heart attack but once said Hallewell catches up, like I said with Declan, he'll be on his knees as soon as he sees you, holding onto your hand as if in disbelief over your existence because he's spent centuries committed to his duty alone, he's a rarity among Hallewell of being older and only now finding his heart, but now he has, and he would do anything to convince to keep him around. It doesn't matter if his heart is the strongest burliest man around, or the tiniest, he will act with the same adoring worshipful actions. He'd try to go off of your reactions, because at any point a terrifying stranger pledging his lifelong fealty is unnerving at best. He'd offer his home, protection, always good food on the table- he'll cook for you if you'd like, books, gems, fine fabrics, entertainment, himself, anything and everything he has if you will only permit him your presence and should you decide anything more he would be most blessed but would never expect as such.

He's an intense dude... All Hallewell are really.

As for the third thing!

This is hell! A Hallewell unable to aid his heart, Declan would be close to tearing his ribs open to offer you his racing heart if it helps! It's a scenario where he can get very very overbearing but he wants so badly to help and is close to just finding the nearest person he knows you've expressed lacking fondness over to devour them.

Now this is a very dependent scenario, but if you were crying, breaking down good and proper, first and foremost he'd isolate the both of you. No crowds, no guest fuck off everyone he will grip a bitch and toss them halfway across town if he feels they're making the situation worse regardless of who it is. Once alone he'll try to hold you, be it both of you on the ground he wouldn't care, if you let him he'll hold you close and not say a word until you do even if it means staying there for hours until he's stuff and sore he wouldn't care.

If he can't hold you? Okay he won't try again but he's gonna pace around on high alert instinctually patrolling the area you're in to ensure nothing can come near you so you can have the space to breathe properly.

Eventually he'll gain enough sense to bring you water and something light to eat because crying is dehydrating and exhausting. If you let him he'd carry you to bed, tuck you in all nice and cozy and try to help you rest.

The issue comes in now, if you go to sleep and don't tell him what happened once he's positive you're sleeping he'll lock the house up so you're safely protected from any nosey folks, and he will hunt everyone he knows you've been connected to. Not to kill but it's not off the table. He needs to know who did what to upset you so much and he doesn't care if that means fighting everyone in your town. He'll drag folks out of alehouse and toss them into a ditch to interrogate, he's not above beating someone to near death if they know something and if they're the cause I'm sorry they're no doubt going to die

If you tell him to stay before falling asleep, or find a way to explain, he'll just stay beside you as motionless as stone, watching you breathe. Counting the moments, waiting, watching. When you wake if you can tell him what you want he'll do anything.

If you can't tell him what you want just try to tell him to stay close so he doesn't go on a rampage trying to figure it out himself

[eldritch-spouse]

hey👋, I was wondering what your oc's would be like without trauma? I was reading some of your asks and I just thought of that trend of drawing your characters without trauma and I was wondering how they would be? Of course you don't have to draw it😅 Would be silly of me to ask you to draw all that. If you feel like it, I'd love to hear what would be different with them❣

What can I really say, except they'd be exceptionally boring? "Trauma" is what shapes them as actually worthwhile characters to me.

Breg would be in bumblefuck nowhere, living in the wild in a tribe of breeders, having no attraction to humans and no real drive beyond providing as well as possible to his community given his superb physique.

Fasma could have been a famous sort of TV personality if he leaned into his charm early on, was more humble about things, didn't trail down skeevy paths.

Grimbly and Catalina would have been together, perhaps even with Rinx! Or maybe Catalina and Rinx wouldn't have met at all and Grimbly didn't exist.

Santi would... Well, I don't doubt he'd still be a fairly successful incubus, but he wouldn't be a romantic. In fact, he'd probably be an ass? No idea.

Patches would be dead. Nebul likewise. Undeads require some form of deep trauma, physical or emotional/of the soul, to be born.

Krulu would have been made a Father when his creations were found, and disappeared with the rest of siadar.

Miara would not wear her hood.

Hudd's body would be complete, his form wouldn't require him to project facial features, but he wouldn't be a remarkable historian at all. Just a wallflower.

Fank-e would remain unaware and non-sentinet as a service unit.

Vinnel would be a functional slime, and he'd work as a very normal and wholesome circus performer.

We could go on and on about this, but the gist of it is most would lose any sort of... Appeal.

[wis-art]

Wiki is an angel who becomes a human over time, she learns a lot of human things. And most importantly learns how humans feel over time. Feel everything, love, lust, pain, pleasure, joy, food, anything that makes humans, humans. Over time she learns. She isn't really like the other angels, she learns that she loves being a human and that she can't be an angel anymore even if she tries. All that's left is her halo, wings and black eyes. But she's not in despair, this is exactly what she wants, she is freed by this. She loves not being constrained by arbitrary things angels are supposed to do that had been taught to her for her whole life to the point she never knew anything else.

When she first met humans and they didn't fit her specific narrow world view. She could not accept it and just put them down through rage and dismissing them. How can they feel anything with their puny human experience. She used to think she is so superior, desperately trying to claw at the idea of her being better than humans. And until she was humbled by one, she did not question herself. When she met humanity again, in this case Lucy. She decided to try a different approach. Talk with people other than her, she learned that there's a lot of concepts that humans have that angels just don't. She became intrigued. She started studying humans, and trying to understand them.

She learned the concept of gender and molded her angel body unconsciously to what she felt like was right. She was introduced to romantic love which angels frown upon. Lucy really always wanted to show her the best parts of humanity, she showed her everything through art she loves and enjoys. She showed Wiki movies and read books with her, she explained tricky human words. She really wanted wiki to understand, and over time, she did. She begun to feel overwhelming amounts of happiness from simply living. Not because she toppled someone, or because she achieved the greatest goals in her life. But simply because she enjoyed waking up and hanging about in the meadows and forests, she enjoyed staying up late at night reading books with Lucy. She started understanding why humans make art, and she fell in love with it. She fell in love with music and expression, and composition. She eventually dyed her hair with help of her new human friend. She started resenting her old ways, feeling remorse and guilt over the apathy of her old ways. It was a traumatic experience for her. Like for anyone reconciling with the mistakes of their past. Without even noticing it, she lost her angel ways, she could not turn into her "biblical" form anymore, her name that seemingly has been with her for eternity just did not fit, Wiktoria or Wiki for short was just so much better. She did not ever feel the need to be an angel again. She became comfortable in her human form, something she thought she resented. She did not. She just never learned what it really meant and she lived her whole life trying to fit in among other angels as an angel which she always found very uncomfortable, but for eternity she felt a pressure of needing to keep up the glory and respect of angels.

The humans, admittedly never really accepted her as a real human. The miscoloured skin, and her black eyes and wings. They always thought she's playing pretend. That she has some kind of ulterior motive. But she found comfort in Lucy. Lucy liked her for who she were. And they had a lot in common. Lucy is not a demon. She's just a girl who happens to look like a demon. Red skin and horns, and unnaturally blue hair, making her appear a lot different from other people, and a lot of people treated her as what she resembles. A devil. Over time she grew into it, she decided she is a demon and she is proud of it, but she never really could be evil she kept this charade as a way to protect herself from people, so they don't approach her and talk about it. She became very distinct and disconnected from humanity despite being a human herself. She never rejected any of her humanity, she loves other people. The few that aren't scared of her anyway.

They understood each other very well. Sharing the dehumanizing experience and pressures from societies they were a part of, they both knew. They are humans. No matter how they might appear to outsiders. through this experience they learn a lot about each other. They eventually fall in love. After having shared their insecurities, fears and short comings and vulnerabilities, and trusting each other to take care of them as well as trusting their partner, they will take care of their problems themselves. It's not any kind of love, it's the human love, a love full of emotions, lust, joy, happiness, comfort, safety, fun, help, understanding. A love that brings them happiness and that makes them glad they can share an experience like that.

[rheusia]

I have some questions about your ninjago oc which I hope you don't mind me asking about

1. Does Rhea have an element?

2. If so what is it?

3. what abilities does it give Rhea?

4. How did Rhea and Morro meet?

5. What is their relationship like?

7. What pronouns does Rhea use?

Thanks for answering my questions

Of course I don't mind questions!

1&2&3. Rhea is an Elemental Master of, so called, Dark Matter. Her elemental power allows her to manipulate the matter of living/real and dead/ghost creatures and objects - transform one into another. As it turned out after she met Morro, she's capable of converting ghosts back into their human form. The convertion ritual, as I called this, requires something in exchange from both Rhea and the person who wants to change their form in order to be finished. For example, she had to Vive Morro a part of her soul for him to turn; and when Rhea performed the ritual on him (which happened by accident by the way), in a span of 5 years made her almost completely infertile. On the other hand, Morro, in order to complete the transformation, once again had to endure the pain he had felt while lava slowly spilled on his body (in my au, it first hit his upper back and shoulders). The transformation took over 1,5years to be completed, and left Morro with several side effects, but ended up successful.

Another thing Rhea can do with her power, is creation of invisible shields and power fields, which can protect her and people in the area covered by the shield. She can also have physical contact with ghost creatures, she doesn't fall though them, unlike normal human beings.

Rhea's power makes her soul present in both, physical and ghost form, allowing her to telephatically communicate with a part of the beings.

In her young years, as her power was unknown to Wu, it was forbidden for her to use it im any way, without consulting it with Sensei. This lead to Rhea not unlocking her true potential until she was in her early 20s.

4. Back in june 2015, just as the battle of Stiix was coming to an end, Rhea, who was ordered to stary in the monastery, freed herself and flew on her dragon to the village. Wu hadn't let her go and fight with other ninjas in Stiix, simply because she was raised there.

As a very rebelious 13yo girl, Rhea flew there anyway. She reached the remains of the village right before Morro got caught by the Preeminent. As the monster pulled out its tentacles toward his legs, Rhea saw the scene and managed to catch him and fly away before it was too late. A part of her was not thinking at all, and after a while had passed, she realised, the man she caught was in fact a ghost. This made Wu extremely upset, as she not only had broken the rules he set for her and had escaped the monastery, but she also saved his student, whom was meant to die in Stiix.

5. Their relationship had begun with one of the sides being curious, and the other feeling nothing but hate. Morro couldn't even look at her, he blamed the girl for saving him and putting him back in the monastery. He saw the walls of his previous home as a prison. After they performed the ritual and the transformation process started, Morro's hate only grew stronger and stronger. As soon as the firey pain and several uneven wounds started bothering him, he only wished the girl was dead, he dreamed od her suffering the same pain he had to suffer once again in his life.

Soon it turned out, that Rhea's mind was full of regret. And against what Morro told her, she tried to help him anyway. Her actions made him change his mind, and after two years, the hate turned into slight love, which he first tried to ignore. But the longer he hid his feelings, the harder it was to behave the same way as he used to.

They had some ups and downs through their first years of knowing each other, but at the end they turned out to be a very romantical and sweet couple. It turned out they shared hobbies, had the same expectations from their partners, and views on life. They ended up getting married and having kids.

6. Rhea uses she/her pronouns.

If you have any further questions, don't be afraid to ask, I'll reply with pleasure ;)