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vampyrial · 1 year

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A World For Her Alone | Suffer Does The Wolf

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

cw (chapter specific): pregnancy loss, infidelity, abuse, suicide, childbirth, vomiting, dubcon, nothing good happens

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: Claude will never be able to save you but that doesn't mean he can stop trying.

He woke with a start, looking about the room as if the blood and carnage could follow him. But all he could see was his familiar dreary bedroom even though he could still feel the pain in his arm, even though he still felt disoriented from the carriage crash, even though he felt the phantom warmth of Diana in his arms. This life struck a stark contrast to the others. Before, Felix was the only one to ever kill him and for reasons clear as day. But who was this stranger in the woods?

The assailants of the forest were not ordinary criminals. They didn’t seem at all interested in what money or jewelry he and Diana had. They did not search the carriage, their eyes never even met the brooch on his cravat or the ruby necklace around Diana’s neck. Who were they? No, more importantly – who was the swordsman with unbridled joy in his expression as he cut his head off? Could they have been comrades of Felix’s, seeking retribution? He could have sworn something about the swordsman felt familiar, only he couldn’t figure out why exactly. He told himself that he’d have to be careful, he’d have to watch for them but it was half hearted. What was the point of saving his own life? If he could do anything in this life, he wanted to find a way to save you from himself.

So valiant it sounded to him but the reality of the matter never left him. He knew he likely wouldn’t be able to do either of those things anyway. There was no choice to begin with. His life was out of his hands. He’d been given over to darkness ages ago. There was nothing he could do to avoid becoming paralyzed in his own body. It had already been done. Sure as the sun would rise every morning, he would always be given over to a force greater than himself. This moment of control only existed as an illusion, it only existed so that he could be put back into his place.

He would never be able to save you. He would never be able to stop trying. He would watch you die again and again for so long that the lives would blur together and no longer be distinguishable. This, he was sure, was ordained by god. He had never been pious, he was always much too arrogant for it. Even now, he held to the last shred of it, the deluded belief in himself that helped him pretend there was a chance this time could end differently.

And so he began again. The moment he saw Diana again, he was overcome with grief and intrusive love that needled its way deep into his mind. He was stifled. He could finally breathe. He was regretful, he wanted to pull her into his arms and beg her forgiveness for letting her die. He wished she’d died before this meeting. Her life was so fragile. It was precious. It was a burden.

It seemed there was nowhere he could take refuge from Diana. She’d started going to the academy, her health was better this time. She was so happy to get the chance that she nearly floated to her first class and Claude’s heart stalled to see her so vibrant. But when the classes let out for lunch she was walking alone, the roses were taken from her cheeks, she looked somber, nervous. He could not help what came over him again, he went to her. Her big, ruby eyes looked up at him in surprise, wiping away all the shyness in them. “Lord Claude?”

“Just Claude. No titles. We’re to be family and family has no need for formalities.” Family. How could he say such things with a straight face? Never mind the fact that it wasn’t true in and of itself, not of your family and certainly not of his.

A pittance of a smile rose to Diana’s face. “Claude,” She tested out calling him only by his name and an inevitable thrill stung his heart. She must have felt it too, for her he could see the affection clouding her gaze.

“What’s wrong? You were looking troubled.”

“Well…” She hesitated and for some reason, this reminded him of you. It was like pulling teeth to get you to ever admit something was wrong and when you finally did, it was with your eyes to the floor in embarrassment. The reminder of you made his chest ache, it felt like the edge of Felix’s sword as it first broke his skin. But Diana spoke again and cut off all resemblance, obfuscated the pain of memory. “I underestimated how hard it is to go here, I don’t know anyone and I don’t have any classes with my sister. The work is hard, I don’t know if I’ll ever catch up.” Diana was not you. She never hesitated to make her feelings known. She had probably never been made to feel shameful of being human. A sudden and intense hate rose from within his truest self, though he didn’t know who it was meant for. Your parents who blatantly, egregiously favored Diana over you? Or Diana herself for…for simply being as she was? For making him feel this way?

Still, his love for her had fallen over him, smothered him. It seemed almost primordial, as if the love of her had always been and it was the Claude inside who was formed around it. It was more than inevitable, it was written into his very being. He was running desperately from something that was inside him all along. That would be until he was no more. This darkness lived before him, he was born to it. It wrapped itself around him and cradled him like a mother. It sung out in a honeyed voice, “there is nothing more for you than her.”

And so her pitiful troubles struck him deeply. “I’ll help you. If you’d like, we can sit together at lunch and go over your assignments.”

She brightened again and like a child who knew no modesty, she accepted without pretense at first. But then she remembered something Claude was certain both of them had wanted to ignore. “What about my sister? Will she mind?” She asked. He couldn’t keep himself from frowning at the mention of her. His greater self reviled the interruption in his break in reality. They usually had an unspoken agreement between them not to mention you but with eyes all around, it was impossible not to remember what they were. What other people must think when they see the two together.

“Of course not. She prefers to eat alone.” It wasn’t true, of course. You had always been pleased to spend time with him. In previous lives, he had simply avoided eating with you much of the time to the point where at lunch you did not even make a half hearted attempt. You knew what the answer was before the question left your lips and you simply left to eat alone, in some abandoned corner of the gardens. It was no matter. You could be left alone, you knew how to be alone. Diana needed someone. It couldn’t be you so it would be him. A sense of what was perhaps pride filled his chest. It felt righteous and gallant of him.

He swept her away to the dining hall, they walked so close their hands occasionally brushed against each other’s. People were looking at the two and he could hear them whisper when they walked by. He’d always hated being around other nobles, always simpering and gossiping. Although he knew that even before this all began, he had never been excellent at being human, he was certain that his fellow aristocrats were even worse at it than he was. Everything was up for grabs, fodder for the entertainment of others, everything from an alleged affair to murder. It was all very detached and uncharitable as if they were only speaking of nebulous people whose lives had long since become nothing more than stories. He felt the humiliation that exacerbated the dehumanization deep inside but what darkness surrounded him warmed at Diana’s company. It thought of nothing but her. He could be suddenly plunged into a circle of hell as payment for his many wasted lives and he’d only think to wonder if Diana had judged him as a good man; if wherever she was, she went to bed believing he’d go on to a sweeter afterlife.

His shoulder brushed against another student’s in the hall, a flash of black hair passed him by and sent a chill down his spine but he kept walking his fated path. He could not turn his head to see if he’d met his killer again but for what it was worth, he doubted finding him would have ever been so easy. As he entered the dining hall and scoped out a secluded table, it occurred to him to wonder how he would die this time around. Maybe this time, if she died before you did…

Diana opened her mouth and it became harder to hold onto that thought, it seemed to slip through his fingers. The more they spoke, the quieter his voice became. It was so eerie to speak lightly of schoolwork with a girl he’d seen murdered twice over. He’d seen her sullied by blood, dirt and terror. Now she was safe next to him and everything seemed unreal. There was the feeling of being pushed aside, out of his own body. He was losing himself, ebbing out of the wound in his chest with no way back inside.

He felt himself warm with the simple joy of having her near. He felt his expression lift from its usual seriousness. “I think you can catch up to your classmates but you’ll have to put in some effort.”

“Of course. Though, I really wouldn’t know where to start.” Diana’s brow furrowed, littered around the table were reading lists, syllabuses and assignments due the following week.

“If you want…” He sacrificed the last of his dignity failing to stop himself from finishing that sentence. “I could help you with everything. I could study with you.”

A hope blossomed in Diana’s eyes that he had not seen since the tea party where they’d made a promise. “Really?” Her voice was so tentative, so sweet that it actually hurt him to think of denying her.

“Yes. I can make time after classes end. We can start today, if you like.” On days where he was not meeting with you, he typically trained for several hours after getting home from the academy, spent a few more hours working on whatever tasks for the marquisate were delegated to him which left him with a slim space to simply relax. Doing this could only make that space smaller. He couldn’t remember a time since he was first able to hold a sword that he wasn’t tired, all of him ached for rest, he always had. He had been waiting to truly rest since he was ten. But what did any of that matter? He had always been dutiful and this was the one task which would bring him joy simply in and of itself.

When lunch was over, Claude walked her out of the dining hall, his hand on the small of her back to gently navigate her through the swarm of students leaving. Diana clung to his arm, squeezing closer their bodies closer together to let someone by. However, neither of them let go even when they had passed the crowd. It couldn’t be helped, it couldn’t be helped. Was that what he’d say at the end of his life this time? It could not be helped, he loved her dearly and that was a force in and of itself that could not be denied.

It was Diana who had spotted you, returning from the garden. Her cheeks had turned bright red. She quickly separated herself from him, which Claude might have laughed at if his body were his own. So embarrassed to be caught touching her future brother-in-law and yet brazen enough to be doing it at the school she also attended of all places. Such a stupid girl she was, he had built a hatred of her where before there had been none. Before, he had not even considered her existence. He only ever met her out of formality but it would have been just as well if he never did. Because his love for her was so intense, it could only be met with the strongest hatred he could muster out of dregs of what he was. All of his grief turned to hatred for her and for himself. The love of her had made him sick, made him mad, brought him hell in his own home. Why wasn’t she dead? Why was she healthy? Why wasn’t she dying quietly in her bed? Why could she not have died before they ever got to meet at that stupid tea party?

“Your next class is this way too, right? Should we go together?” Diana asked, nervously. Your face became a mask at that. He scrutinized you, the detached disdain he had for you was waiting to fall onto him with one word from you. He’d not have any of the harassment you brought on other ladies directed toward Diana simply for having lunch with him.

But you smiled, a false smile that kept the darkness at bay. “Of course.” He wondered if Diana even knew how affected your voiced sounded in that moment, was she enough of a sister to you to know when you were putting yourself aside for her?

“I hope to see you again soon, Lady Diana,” He heard himself say, not even bothering to address you. He turned and left for his next class. “Good,” A voice from the dark. “No harm should come to her, not even by the hands of her elder sister.”

The days were short because he spent so much time with Diana. He didn’t know what it was about this life, but he could swear he spent more time with her in this one than he ever had before. It felt sick and rapturous, it was like the cloying, syrupy medicine the doctor had given him when he was injured in training once. He felt open, his very being had softened to the world itself because of Diana. He was rotting inside and his very being had begun to show his dread upon waking because of Diana. Even if he couldn’t express it outwardly, even the joy couldn’t obscure the steady drip of misery he sustained himself on. In a strange way, he was relieved for it. It reminded him that she had not always been in his heart. His love for you refused to be forgotten and as a result, the person he was never submitted to the greater self. This pain was visceral, he needed it like water.

He surprised himself when he took you on an outing to the botanical gardens. It was just obligatory, because Diana had thought to pull from him slightly so that he could tend to you like he should have been doing. It was a tentative offering, it was “I know that I betray my sister daily but do you not see me trying to resist?” It was pathetic. Even so, his greater self had not objected the thought of spending time with you, in this life you were far more tolerable. You spoke not a word of complaint against him when he spent hours with your sister at a time, behind his back you had even tried to cover them against rumor after rumor when before you would have made a scene. You could have moped in unearned despair and jealousy over Diana, you could have lashed out at her for eating lunch with him like you would have done before but instead you allowed Diana to have what she deserved in graceful apathy. You finally seemed to know how to behave.

He tried to enjoy the date as much as he could but it was too sweet to believe, your apathetic expression had even cracked a bit to reveal just a sliver of happiness. It was a tender moment he did not deserve. And he was painfully aware of that every moment, he had no tears but he might have cried at how unsure your happiness was. Happiness from something so small as him doing exactly as he should, taking you out to spend time at a place you enjoy. If he could have freed his body just in that moment, to apologize, to tell you how he really felt, it would have been worth dying right where he stood. He knew the moment would not last. He would live to hurt you again.

On your wedding day, the weather was appropriately miserable. Hope had deserted him, it had vanished in both sides of himself. The mirage of an oasis that had kept him company in the barren wilds had deserted him, leaving him somehow worse off, alone with the reality of his dire situation. When he first set eyes on you in white, you seemed almost unearthly. A beautiful apparition. He had seen you in your wedding dress so many times, he knew it was odd to look at you as though for the first time but he couldn’t help it. You, right then in the glow of candlelight looking holy, were the loveliest sight in all of his many lives. He could not hold back the thought that he would live to destroy this moment for the both of you.

He heard himself say words rehearsed to the point of blind recitation. He hated the words, the greater self defied them by conjuring the image of Diana on the terrance after dark, bathed in moonlight. “I swear in the name of my good house, to love and honor you for as long as you shall live. Never will you be disgraced by any action or inaction of mine.” He doubted he could have said the words with any more sincerity if he had his own voice anyway. Perhaps it was just as well that it wasn’t him saying the words, he could never have managed to hold his composure as he looked into your eyes knowing that you could remember looking into his as he grasped your throat.

After the ceremony, when the guests were free to roam around drinking expensive wine and gossiping, he caught a glimpse of Diana over your shoulder and was yet again besotted as if the first time. He tried to focus his eyes on you but it was no use. She was positively shining in the scarce silver light that passed between clouds. Somehow the fact that she had managed to smile and radiate such warmth on such a day that must have been devastating to her made her all the more lovable. A pity unfurled in his heart that felt the same as his love. Oh, Diana. He had not even considered how hard this day would be for her, he was too self absorbed. She was made to watch the man she loved give his promise to another at a ceremony that symbolized the binding of their lives and fates together. She could not dwell in dreams of him anymore without being reminded, it would only be harder when children were born to them. Still, she shone brightly, exuberant in her love of both of you.

He forgot himself. “So beautiful…” He murmured. Words that drew the vague horror inside him from its pathetic stillness back to its desperate lashing. He saw you react immediately, you had heard him. He saw your face take on the sweetest look, as if so happy and surprised that your now husband should think of you as beautiful. He saw your face fall when you looked behind you and realized who the words were really for. “Stranger, if you must come for my life…” He thought, “Come now.”

Obligation to the crown soon took him away from home for a while. He couldn’t have left sooner. This time, all his letters were Diana. Not so much as a rushed, perfunctorily done letter for you. He could leave you to care for the marquisate, you could hold your own. He saw no reason to burden himself on top of everything else. But Diana sent her perfumed letter and he sent his replies. That much was different, it was what he needed to get through such tedious and draining work. They were all he thought of, all he wanted for. Diana wrote more frequently when he had mentioned in one of his replies that he read them over and over to fall asleep. His superior laughed when he called Claude’s name each time as he distributed letters among the knights, ribbing him about being newlywed. He thought the letters were from the new marchioness and how could he correct him?

Diana’s letters grew increasingly intimate, she expressed such a longing for him that he dreamed of sneaking away in the night even though such an act was treasonous. “Claude, I don’t know what there is to do without you. I thought it would be good not to see you for a while after the wedding, some time to cool off and accept things as they are. But I haven’t, I don’t think I can. I’ve been treating the love I have for you as though it’s a fever to break but no matter what I do, I cannot let go.” Those were the words that disintegrated whatever ease her letters had injected into his life away from home. He hated it, every moment spent here. He needed to see her again so much that he was sure it would show in everything he did. He was sure that you’d only have to look at him to know what he was struggling to hide.

Throughout the next two years, his absence in the manor was even more pronounced than in lives past. Because when he returned from his duties, he went to Diana’s side. He would always remember the cloying scent of Diana’s room. Even when he bathed upon returning home, he swore he could still smell it lingering on his skin. Her touch could not be forgotten.

He had not realized the depth of his desire for her until he set eyes on her again. Until he saw her in the flesh. A carnal and intrusive desire hung over his head precariously. She’d been in her nightgown this time, fresh from sleep, eyes soft and dreamy. It was morning, she was slowly getting ready and she’d not expected his visit but he could not help himself, it was a wonder he had even lasted the night. In the white of the morning sun shining through the cover of clouds, he could see the outline of her body plainly. His voice dried up in his throat. Desire, until then distinct, waiting to be claimed, finally reached over him and sealed his fate.

It is a strange thing for the body to yearn for things the mind opposes. When he reached for Diana, he felt a dread so strong that it became him. He understood what was meant to happen and he fought against his own body desperately, trying to assume control over it. But no amount of exertion ever made a difference, he was made to feel Diana’s body beneath his hands, her lips against his. No matter what he wanted, the greater force moved his body to its own desires. Even when inside, he was screaming at the scene unfolding before his eyes with his own body as its star.

His body was not his own but even so, he had to feel how it moved, what pleasure unfurled within him as his bare skin lay against Diana’s. It was a sick feeling of humiliation, of intrusion that juxtaposed the arousal which heated his body. His whims reduced to nothing in the face of her bare body. The inevitability of this act, it was a monumentally difficult thing for him to accept but what else could he do? Could he lay paralyzed and aware in his own body as he could only watch what was being done? No, the anguish of that would kill as surely as the sword that felled his head. Instead, he seemed to leave his body. Instead he let go of his body, he allowed it to take all it pleased as he visited elsewhere. He seemed to drift upwards toward the ceiling where he watched the act transpire more objectively. From that view, he could imagine it was not him who was driving himself into a moaning, gasping Diana, it was some other man. Yes, it must be, for Claude was not in that body, he was adrift.

When returned, he was holding her against his sweaty body beneath the sheets. Her scent clung to his skin. “I love you, Claude. I was never prepared to resist,” she said. She was trembling slightly as the heat of desire passed and left them only with the gravity of what they had done. “But we cannot allow this to happen again.” He held her closer against his chest and nodded numbly. He knew he would come to her again. This thing, it stole even dignity from him, even love.

Claude and Diana laid together again and again. And again and again. Despite their promises the first few times that it’d never happen again, that they couldn’t, shouldn’t, musn’t. It was always him who set aside these promises first, seducing her instead, he’d said on one occasion with his lips against her neck, “I don’t love her, I can’t. You are the first and last woman I will ever love. The moment you and I first met, we both knew we weren’t just going to be in-laws. Haven’t we done enough pretending?” Her will melted under her desire. His was buried under another’s.

Then came the day Diana revealed herself to be pregnant. He thought himself to be dead inside but the moment those uncertain words left her lips, he found that he still had hope enough to destroy. He was in agony. A child between he and Diana when he knew you had never even gotten to name your own? It was a pain that had followed you into your previous life, searching for a child you’d never hold again. How could he be fit to have a child like this when he had abandoned the one born of his failure? Now, it seemed, he had a child of his shame too. Would he love this child of Diana where he’d been unable to love yours? It was unfair, he knew and he could do nothing, nothing at all to erase it.

He knew that in his misfortune, this child would be born. He would hear himself reveal it to you and watch you crack apart as you lived between haunted memory of your daughter whose name remained elusive because of him and the child of Diana who would surely be loved. As its mother was.

Diana begged him not to reveal anything until later on, she was uncertain in her ability to carry a child to term and if she could not, what would the reveal be worth? Nothing but more pain to gather up around hers. He was bound to the secret until she was rather far along and sure that she would give birth. Even your parents knew before you did, they kept her secret and shielded her from rumors as much as they could. Their loyalties always belonged to Diana but this was egregious. They refused to even condemn their son-in-law for having an affair with his wife’s sister. Instead, they only shrewdly suggested that he take responsibility by annulling his marriage to you and take Diana as his wife since, of course, she was the one with his child.

The greater force had not decided whether he would or would not, for even though he loved Diana, he had married you for a reason. You were the one capable of what the marquisate required. His innermost self could only recoil, seeking escape from the whole situation even as he lived in it. Desperately seeking to dissociate from the pain he would live to cause. He hid deep within worthless flesh inside the cold corner of his mind which belonged to him in the same way a cell belonged to the prisoner who lived and died in it.

But it did not save him.

When Diana was almost eight months along, he brought her to the manor. She would have it done no sooner. She was ill from the strain of carrying their child in her womb and ill from the stress of the secret, of the inevitable fallout. Her bump was quite small even now, her condition could be made slightly more obscure with the right cut of dress and a coat. Her skin was pale and her hand trembled in his as they reached the salon where you were having tea. He let go of her when you looked up at them and approached you warily, slowly.

“It isn’t Diana’s fault.” The nonsensical words came out of his lips instantly, above reason, he needed to protect Diana as he always had.

You, with your flat, lifeless eyes seemed to stiffen with anticipation of his next words. “Is there something wrong?” You asked. Oh, his heart broke to hear the concern in your voice, the eagerness to help him.

“Diana is pregnant.” He would rather have died right there than witness what those words would do to you but there was no other will than that of his greater self.

A teapot fell from your hands onto the floor, making a loud clang which Diana flinched at. “Who’s the father?”

With bile in his throat he answered. “I am.”

These words seem to break you, it cracked open the mask you hid your contempt and grief behind. It revealed a frail woman whose eyes shone with unshed tears and whose lips trembled as she tried to speak. You lost what little held you together. All you could ask was “Why?”

He wanted to answer with. “Because I was devoured by this thing which impersonates me.” But instead he said “Because I love her,” shameless as an arrogant little prince. The thoughts flooded in, he was taking control over his own life, he was proud of himself for standing up for what he wanted. It was ridiculous, almost to the point of hilarity. Who was he standing up to? A fragile woman who looked as though she were at the verge of losing her mind? His wife who asked so little of him?

Your eyes glazed over and there was no doubt in his mind that you were remembering your daughter. You screamed and he thought of your daughter, unwilling to be soothed after losing her mother. You fell onto the ground, eyes on the floor as if it could open up and reveal to you what had already been lost.

“I’m sorry, big sister.” Diana mumbled and he felt sick to his stomach as his attention turned to her, leading her to the couch to sit. Covering her ears as if this wasn’t her sorrow to witness, she should have had to hear her sister’s screams. She should have to bear witness to what she had done to her own flesh and blood. He had covered her ears as if the noise were only an inconvenience to Diana rather than the cacophonous song of her doing.

Your nails dug into your skin so hard there was blood gathering beneath them. Your screams came like waves, faltering here and there between whimpers and sobs but returning. “Stay here, I’ll take her upstairs,” He said to Diana, calmly, dissonant as if this had nothing to do with either of them. As if he shouldn’t be on the floor begging her forgiveness, telling her that he’d met their daughter and he could never acknowledge another child. The child in Diana’s womb would be born to the darkness that moved him.

He brought you to your bedroom, his uncaring touch stilling you, anchoring you to the dreadful reality he had created. He left you there in your room even as your screams reached out to him through the door, to tend the mother of his child in this life. Diana had her face in her hands when he returned, he sat down next to her and put his arm around her, bringing her softly weeping face to his chest. He stayed there until she calmed. They slept in his room together, she wouldn’t suffer being alone in such a situation. His hands warming her skin, his sweet words of false assurance in her ear allowed her to fall sleep. He stayed awake, watching her with all of a husband’s concern for his wife. Everything Diana had belonged to you, was misappropriated for the wrong woman. Did she know that? If she did, would she care? Not the kind of care that would make her shed a few tears and words of regret, the kind that would eat her alive as it had done him. He doubted it.

She clung to him in sleep as if she would fall apart without her comfort, while having left another woman broken.

Come morning, Diana wanted to take a tray of breakfast from the kitchen up to your room. She already navigated the manor as if she were its mistress. Perhaps subconsciously, she felt she would be. Maybe she even thought that was the way things had to be. Was she already justifying it to herself? She walked with her hand protectively on her belly as if wanting to shield her child from her own wrongdoing. He wanted to tell her it was too late for that.

When the two reached your door, Diana knocked. “Sister?” She called, hesitantly. “Are you awake?’ When no answer came, she simply opened the door and called out your name. The stench of vomit hit them and before he could tell her not to, Diana rushed in. He followed behind her as she raced to your bedside and he was overcome with unspeakable grief. The sheets were covered in vomit which had run down the side of your bed onto the floor. A bottle of sleeping tonic lay in the middle of the mess, your hand still slightly cupped as if you’d been holding it and your lips stained the same hue as its contents. You lay motionless on the bed. Diana gasped and took hold of your shoulders, shaking you, trying to call the life back into you.

The grief turned to hate, turned to rage and he wanted to throw Diana aside so that she’d stop touching you. Stop handling you so harshly as if she had any right. Hadn’t she done enough? What made her think she was going to save you? In the piercing moment of loss, he wanted nothing more than to follow you. He didn’t think he could hold to reality any longer, but he knew would. He had no other choice. What misfortune to not even be able to go mad in the face of something like this, to always be aware of the enormous pain belonging to both of you. What misfortune to never be in control, remaining unable to even apologize. He held her shoulders and gently pulled her away as she went into shock.

Diana had begun to hyperventilate as he held onto her, she clutched at her stomach and cried out as if pained. “Diana?” he called to her, panicked. She did not respond, she stared at your dead body as if it were the only thing in the room. With the sight of you, chased into the grave by her actions, she was gripped by anguish strong enough to render her inconsolable. The fear, the guilt, the horror of this knowledge and the stress that it put on her, spurred her into labor too soon. She cried out, doubling over as the pain returned. He called out to the servants in the hall, preparing for the day. “We need help in here!”

The servants ran to swarm around Diana, gently leading her into another room. “Please, my lady, you must calm yourself!” a maid cried as they went down the hall. No one bothered seeing if there was anything that could be done for you. No one seemed to take a second look at your body. They were busy tending Diana. She was the one with his precious child, after all and you were the one with nothing. Even if they could bring the life back into you, what would they be saving? What use would you be? Claude took one last look at you before he followed after her. Even in death, you’d been neglected and even now he would abandon you.

The labor ended quickly, that was the most merciful thing that could be said about it. Diana gave birth to a small, stillborn boy. He’d been at her side the whole time, clutching her hand. The boy was small enough to be held in one of his hands. Diana was inconsolable, sobbing and screaming out her pain at the loss of their son. After he was taken away from the room, she shrugged off Claude’s touch, it only seemed to further upset her. She begged for him to leave the room, still in tears. And he could do nothing else. His heart was hollow.

Diana entered a sort of catatonic state. Barely eating or drinking and avoiding his presence. His greater mind was inundated with grief but what did he feel inside, at his core? How was he to know? One pain rolled into the other, one grief was much like another. You had gone to your grave with the knowledge that he’d given another woman a child where you had lost yours. Now this child had been lost and both he and Diana stained in your blood with no child in their arms that might’ve allowed them to pretend it had been worth it. To what end? What kind of fate was this?

He understood what Diana must have been feeling, he had no choice but to. He was meant to be her other half, pulled on a string by some nebulous force’s yearnings for her. Her sister killed herself because the man she so dearly, so dutifully loved had an affair with her sister and there was a child between them, that much was tragedy enough. But even that could be accepted, that much guilt swallowed in the face of a very precious, much wanted child. It wouldn’t be right to say that the life she’d bring forth would be worth the death she caused but it would be something to hold to. When she looked at the child in her arms, she could put aside her guilt and regrets. She would have to put her shame aside, swapping it for the love of a mother. She could fool herself into believing it was a strange sort of fate, her greatest happiness whose birth she would never take back had to come from her greatest sadness. Through the love of her child, she could find a way to let go of the regret. Something new and good would come forth to occupy her time, her love. But her child had died and she was alone with the guilt. Her sister died because of her and nothing had come from it but grief.

He understood too that Diana must have seen their son in his face and if it were up to him, he’d have gladly stayed away from her. He had enough grief to last lifetimes, what place did he have trying to ease hers when he had not even figured out how to do it for himself? Even so, the thoughts that ran concurrent to his own, stronger and louder, wanted nothing more than to comfort her. It wounded him that she was in no state to accept his comfort and he wanted to keep trying. He needed her comfort and he desperately needed to take care of her. He felt powerless when he couldn’t. He might’ve smiled at that, if only he could. Foolish. How foolish a man his greater self was.

It was weeks later when Diana finally let him in. A maid had come to his door on some unworthy night saying that the lady wished to see him. He came to her immediately, easily mollified by the simple act of her wanting him again. Out of the darkness came forth thoughts that they could still marry, could still have a child together even if it would never fill the void their son had left. We could still be happy, sung the darkness.

When he came to her bedside, she looked as she had in other lives when her health had failed but she smiled at him. “I’ve been thinking of our son.” Her voice was faint and fond, though it wavered slightly. “What if…he died as retribution for what we did?” Claude started to object. Even his lesser self was certain that this was probably the only tragedy he’d experienced thus far that wasn’t given as punishment. But she held up a hand. “Please, please just let me finish. He and my sister both were made to die because of we did. When I was still….with child, I thought everything would be alright, so long as I had you. I thought nothing could touch us. The hard part was over, my child was determined to live despite my weak constitution and I had nearly eight anxious months behind me to prove it. I thought my sister would come around somehow…I thought…I don’t know. I just didn’t think she’d ever react that way. Even if she wouldn’t forgive me.” Tears rolled down her wan cheeks.

“We never thought of anything but each other, did we? We didn’t even think of what we would be bringing a child into.” Her smile now resembled a grimace, she didn’t look at him. “I felt guilty for everything but I believed we couldn’t help it, we were so in love that we had to be together. I always softened it like that, you know? I sweetened it by likening us to my favorite romance novels, I believed that fate was on our side. I believed in the kind of love that was stronger than anything and I never thought I’d know a greater pain than not having you.” Her hands anxiously fidgeted with the threads on the sheets. “I…I think it’s time for me to return home,” she mumbled.

He murmured his discontent in soft words meant to coax her back even as his heart, the false one, was breaking. But Diana shook her head. “I’ll leave in the morning, I just— I need time.” She sounded slightly apologetic but it was clear she would not be argued with. He knew that she’d never return. How could she? There was too much blood between them now. This was their swan song. It struck him like a blow to the chest but it only made the contrast between his two selves that much more apparent. In that cold corner he reserved for the person he used to be, sometime, some place, ages ago, worlds away— he breathed a sigh of relief.

In the morning, Diana left and the darkness unwound. It retreated into the air, returning his body to him too late. When he realized this, the first thing he did was cry for you. He hadn’t been able to before, he could do nothing but mourn the shambles of his relationship with Diana. Everything was Diana and the child they’d lost. He had been forced to stew in grief but in all reality, he felt relieved in some small measure. It was a sick thought that shamed him like everything else but it was there, hiding beneath misery. He was relieved never to have to give that a child a name knowing he’d never done for yours. To give that child a love that he hadn’t been able to spare for yours.

But at the end of everything, you were dead. Gone to your grave thinking that he had done everything he’d never do for your child. Why couldn’t he ever save you? Or if not save you, then spare you this agony somehow, send you to death eternal. Why were the two of you forever trapped in this repetition? He cried for your memory, your lonely grave next to the unnamed baby boy who’d been born to the darkness that killed you again and again. He came undone, succumbed to the helplessness and dejection of his station finally. He mired in that grief. He refused to undercut it with drink or with self platitudes. He did not even stir up rage to combat the relentlessness of his own mourning. There was nothing more for him than the blood that trailed behind each and every life of his.

Eventually, when he’d grown numb, he made the decision to die again. That seemed to be an unspoken promise, the only one he could keep— that he’d always follow you into each life and each death. He drank too much sleeping tonic as you had and fell to an ungentle journey toward death. He retched and writhed in his sheets from the sharp pains. He struggled to breathe, to even move with the heaviness of his limbs. It was a wonder he had been able to turn on his side and avoid choking on his vomit. Only when he was spewing bile did his eyelids begin to droop and his consciousness fade. His addled mind conjured the image of your body lying next to him, already long gone. He reached his fingers toward the mirage, and curled them around the hand of your specter.

tags: @kage-tobiuo@kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee@cassanderasblog @waka-babe @bananatwirl@s1mp69 @mitsuyamistress @hottiewifeyyyy @reiko69 @syyyy4ever @pinkpastel-l @dododododooosworld @gwyneveire

#claude x reader #wmmap x reader #claude de alger x reader #claude de alger obelia x reader #wmmap fanfic

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acursedworldofaus · 1 year

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Dragon’s Blood (Part 1)

Yandere AFO x Oblivious (AFAB) Reader

CW: implied non-con, implied somnophilia, implied trespassing, implied stalking, implied impregnation/breeding if you squint.

Gray dawn light streams through your window. You turn away from the unwanted brightness, trying to eek out another morsel of sleep by burying your face in your pillow, noticing sleepily that it smells oddly sweet, spicy, and earthy, somewhat like dragon’s blood. The scent is like a ghost of an echo, though, and the more you chase it the less you smell, as if you imagined some phantom fragrance. You write it off as residual imprints of smells from your shop in favor of pretending you aren’t conscious. Unfortunately, hiding only works for a few minutes before the uncomfortable feeling of wetness between your legs drives you to the bathroom for another early morning shower. Ordinarily, you would shower once before bed, but now you find yourself showering twice a day: once after work, and once before to prevent yourself from walking around with slick fluids caked onto your thighs and labia. If you don’t, it’ll congeal, dry, then flake.

Gross.

You glare at yourself in the mirror after you strip naked, wondering what the hell happened for your brain to have weird wet dreams every night this month. You keep waking up soaked with damp panties. The weird splotches dotting your skin from your collarbone to your ankles haven’t gone away either. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were bruises, but that can’t be it. How would they get there after all? You sure as hell haven’t fallen recently. Maybe you have a blood disorder you don’t know about? Which, now that you think about it, isn’t random bruising a sign of that?

You decide to go see a doctor if it doesn’t change anytime soon, quickly washing away the night’s slimy residue before getting ready as normal and heading into work at your tea, herb, and spice shop. You grab a cinnamon roll along the way and make tea once you arrive, then sip and nibble as you prepare for opening. Hours pass normally as your regulars drop by for their orders. One of them, a gentleman by the name of Shigaraki, always comes by for something or other. He stops by today as well, all smiles and easy conversation, smelling faintly of something sweet, spicy, and earthy that seems oddly familiar, no doubt due to how often he visits. As per usual he has his charisma cranked to the max, and flirts with you nonstop as you package his latest order, aka the most recent tea you recommend he try.

“I can’t help but notice, Tea-chan, that you seem to be glowing today,” he comments in his lilting tone, just shy of purring.

”Really? I certainly don’t feel like it,” you murmur. “I haven’t slept properly for this entire month. I keep waking up feeling tired.”

And it was true, too. On top of waking up uncomfortably wet, you keep waking up feeling bone tired. Perhaps another thing to look into? All together, each individual observation sounds like a symptom cluster you really may be sick.

”Really,” Shigaraki-san insists. “You look even more beautiful than usual.”

His complement makes you blush. You finish wrapping up each canister and transfer them all into a colorful paper bag emblazoned with the shop logo. Your hands brush as you hand it to him, and he accepts it with a winning grin. His red eyes gleam like rubies in the brightness of afternoon sun, while his white hair shimmers with a golden tint. A halo of light surrounding his head lends to the illusion of an otherworldly being clothed in human skin standing before you. Something stops you from labeling this hypothetical supernatural creature as angelic.

“Well, if that’s the case, then thank you, Shigaraki-san. I appreciate such kind words even if I don’t feel they’re true.”

”I’ve told you that Hajime is fine,” he says, waving away any future attempts at distance or formality. “And of course they’re true, Tea-chan, whether you believe them or not.”

He’s tried getting you to use his first name without an honorific for his last three visits, but it feels too informal, too forward.

“Fine, fine,” you relent, reddening further. “H-Hajime. Thank you. Please take care.”

Triumph flashes in his eyes followed by amusement and affection before his features smooth out and return to normal. He tips his hat to you in lieu of a verbal response then departs for who knew where. It’s not as if he shares much about himself besides once telling you he helps people with their Quirks. You assume he means he’s a Quirk counselor. It explains his bespoke suits considering how much those counselors make in a single week.

You put him out of your mind as ninety-six year old Takeda-san hobbles in for an herbal mixture meant to help with arthritis pain. You have a duty to your clients to keep your head clear so you can meet their needs. You dole out teas and herbal remedies for upset stomach, for anxiety, for ear ache, for sleeplessness and headaches. You shove all thoughts of how handsome Hajime is, how good he smells, how soft his skin looks, and countless others down until they quiet, at least until closing. Unbidden memories of him spring to the surface as you lock up at sundown, ready to make the journey back home.

#afo x reader #yandere afo x reader #yandere x reader #all for one x reader #yandere all for one x reader #shigaraki x reader #villain x reader #yandere all for one #yandere afo #yandere bnha #cw noncon #cw somnophilia #cw implied impregnation

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yunarim · 1 year

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hello! U was wondering if your request are open and if it is can you make housewarden reaction to the perfect overblotting?? 👀👀

⇢ SUMMARY ₊ ah, how woefully. you have OVERBLOTTED.

In the prayer of a violin yearning, // So sweetly, it’ll sob for a while, And how frightening it is to discern it // In a yet unfamiliar smile.

ʚɞ ˖ INSPIRED BY : 'hands wrought under the dark veil' by anna akhmatova (the poem is translated by andrey kneller)

— CHARACTERS : dorm leaders — TAGS : gn reader, angst, books 1-7 major spoilers, action takes places alongside with malleus overblotting, mentions of crying, mentions of blood, mentions of nausea, emotional instability, yuu can insinuate darkest illusions into the minds, open ending if you will ๋࣭ ⭑ SONG : polnalyubvi – песня последней встречи — ao3

You smile. You run your fingers along the dilapidated window frame, turned to be covered in dust during the time you didn't clean. A protruding sawdust touches your skin, and you disinterestedly watch how a ruby drop rolls over your finger, leaving a crooked line behind.

You feel a sinister haze enveloping your heart, and you chuckle, thanking Sevens – just how funny is that – you have no magic running within your veins. You hear Grim telling you to hurry up, there will be free food after all. You nod, not caring to treat the cut, and try to ignore how blurry your vision is.

Someone’s going to overblot again. You feel it right in your heart when you open the door, Ace and Deuce glancing at you with genuine concern splashing in their eyes. You feel it right in your stomach when an ominous feeling spreads underneath, causing you to bite your lip and brush off your friends’ worries for you. You have no time left for caring about yourself when you predict an upcoming overblot.

Another person to be saved. By your fragile magicless hands.

The party is nice and Lilia is being extremely friendly to you. He smiles bitterly at you, and you can feel his emotions all at once with one simple touch – now, he feels exactly like you.

“We’re worried about Yuu lately,” Deuce says to Lilia when you leave them for a moment to grab something to eat, knowing perfectly well you don’t even want to eat with such nausea abrading your throat.

Lilia nods. He feels how magic left him completely, and yet he’s not the one who foretells other people’s overblots. You are.

Malleus enters with Silver throwing a quick glance at you, as if he can tell you felt this moment coming.

If the Sevens heard your cries, they sent you straight to hell, plunging into a fetid sea of broken promises, a lost future and hopelessness in this abyss of imaginary sympathy.

ー ₊ Hands wrought under the dark veil ๋࣭ ⭑

You feel your mind scattering into myriads fragments, scalding resinous ink darkening your vision. Huh, this time overblot is too realistic to you. Usually you felt weak in your knees, not even thinking twice before throwing yourself at you dearest person overblotted, letting them to hurt you. You’ve saved them once. You can do it one more time, even if it seems way too alarming. "Yuu! Help us here, please! Huh?!"

Haha, how bizarre. Help us... again. It is always you. What an unfamiliar sensation filling up your lungs, you feel like you can’t breathe. You can’t notice Ace and Deuce shaking you by your shoulders; everyone’s attention is fixed on Malleus saying some nonsense you don’t even want to dwell on anymore. You breathe intermittently, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Is… Malleus this strong so now you’re writhing like that, hating the fact with every cell of your body? You don’t want it.

You can’t bear it, not another one. Not him, not like that, not–

“Yuu!”

ー ₊ What is it that makes you so pale and faint? ๋࣭ ⭑

Ah. Right. It’s not Malleus who’s overblotting.

It is most definitely you. There’s no dark phantom behind your back, and the laces of dark ink look as if a lovable veil covering your eyes, the flame of your soul has no color, it is the void itself gathered in your eyes.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS recognizes your agony. His heart shatters the moment he sees you crying. He feels somehow that it isn’t overwhelming power filling you up but accumulated emotions. Riddle was the first to hurt you, and he realizes this instantly when you approach him. Your eyes are lifeless, but you sob slowly, swallowing a stale air, and Riddle feels how bewildered you are. He doesn’t move – he can’t at all – letting your eyes pierce him, as if thorny vines of roses cut right through him. You don’t want any of this either. You saved him once, and you were genuine in that, you don’t want to hurt him, and yet something boiling in you demands to eliminate everything and everyone. His voice doesn’t sound like his own. “Off with your head,” he almost whispers, his voice’s trembling. He can’t bring himself to hurt you even the slightest. And there’s no use either, you’re indeed magicless even if overblotted. He trembles when you touch him, your hands are deadly cold and not as warm as they used to be back then when you saved him, welcoming him in your tender embrace. He sees himself, entrapped in thorny rose bushes, when everyone screams and he doesn’t have any magic to prevent this. You wonder how does it feel, to have magic flowing in your body but not being able to do anything against you, magicless and overwhelmed with vicious emotions.

ー ₊ I’m afraid that I made him drunk with the ale, of bitter anguish and tortuous pain.

You laugh deliriously, your fingers trail the veins on his skin, and he feels his blood sizzle at that moment.

“Are you feeling any better, the Crimson Tyrant?”

You feel better, trapping him in your cage.

You know LEONA KINGSCHOLAR isn’t scared. He’s also observant, so you notice him watching you carefully. You appear before him instantly, a suffocating cloud of burning ashes reveals your figure, magnificent and statuesque. Riddle’s emotions are under your control now, and you feel your own converting into power slowly filling you up, your grin turning more malicious than it was. You can’t divide reality and your own tempting delirium, leaning closer to Leona’s stoic face. He touches you first, chuckling and ignoring your expression that turned lifeless. He remains prideful even now, he knows your state exactly well, and yet you forever yet to be his tender herbivore who saved him once, and he’s not going to lose to you, falling on his knees so that your demanding yet sullen gaze will be the only thing he would be able to witness.

You still manage to resist the bitterly tempting sensation echoing in your mind to vanquish Leona for a mere second before chuckling and lifting his chin with your fingers, leaving dark ink stains on his warm skin. He blinks and nothing more, both of you knowing he didn’t even wanted to hurt you in the first place, given he never considered you his enemy. He can see your conflicted glance for a mere second before your grip on his chin becomes more intense and almost painful, but he knows he won’t step back, letting you do whatever you want. Your emotions running down with the ink stains on your cold skin, pure concentration of boiled anger, suffocating sadness and sedimented despair on the tips of your fingers strike him all at once when you laugh. He sees himself, entrapped in your nightmare, sharp claws hitting him, and he doesn’t have any powers to dodge.

ー ₊Could I forget it? He stumbled out, wavering,

He’s not going to flinch. Not from you, never ever. He smiles to you bitterly, biting his lower lip ever so slightly and closes his eyes.

“So, the Rebel of the Savanna?” you almost whisper it into his ear and chuckle. Your hands start to tremble but you can’t care less when you have Leona trapped in your nightmare.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO sees an endless sea with stern waves embracing your silhouette when you approach him next right after Leona. He tries to remain stoic like Kingscholar did, and even if Azul performs wonders when talking to potential clients, he can’t resist you. You’re not the opponent he can suppress; his feigned mask of calmness crambles with every step you make, as his heart beats louder in anxiety, serving as an accompaniment to your measured steps. He realizes if he lets you touch him, it’s over. It’s obvious by now that you’re insinuating your own experience into the minds of those who hurt you the most, and he most certainly did just so. He takes one step back unwillingly without even realizing it when he sees bitterness in your eyes changing to an uncontrollable joy as if waves eroding crystal sand. Blood boiling in his vessels, tapping out his rapid heartbeat, and he doesn’t realize how his vision becomes blurry owing to you coming closer. Azul bites his own lip to contain his upcoming tears as he realizes exactly what he has done, but there’s no turning back anymore. He’s no longer ruler of both land and sea, it’s time for him to walk the gangplank and meet the waves. You gently touch his head, right where the anemones were on other students’ heads, and smile frighteningly, feeling his body tense and froze under your touch. You chuckle, seeing his face distorting when he sees how he gets hit by a trident, sharp waves carrying him away from you.

ー ₊His tormented mouth was twisted and grim…

“How does it feel to make a deal with me, The Merchant of the Deep Sea?”

You feel power growing in you with every nightmare you set.

KALIM AL-ASIM tries to understand why you are approaching him. He hears people analyzing your behavior and realizes you’re attacking the ones who have overblotted once, but he himself? He is the first one to rush to you when he saw dark ink spots crawling under your feet, enveloping you in it, but was mercilessly thrown away by the powerful wave of ashes. You turn to him with a sharp gaze right after you let Azul scream in twisting pain, and he is not scared of you, he never would be. And albeit he never did upset you, his heart aches, pain intensifying with every sob you make. Did he… Did he make you feel that way, so you are swallowing your tears and trying to laugh nevertheless, even if he looks at you with genuine worry in the end? He calls you by your name, his own voice trembling and echoing, ricocheting off the stone walls, but you don’t answer. He gently touches your shoulders, ignoring Jamil’s concerned remarks that he definitely shouldn’t do that, but you touch Jamil for a mere moment, making him see the snakes biting him, and smile bitterly to Kalim. “I’m okay,” you say lifelessly, and Kalim feels genuine joy filling him up, but all in vain. You don’t want him to treat you like everyone else, you don’t want him to brush off your overblot so easily either, as if it’s just a mere joke, a carnival lovely mask with gilded cobweb patterns on it to cover your real emotions.

ー ₊I ran down the stairs, not touching the railing,

You cover Kalim’s eyes with your hand painted with ink, and entrust him your worst nightmares, a little ‘sorry’ escaping your lips before he sees a painfully bright sun burning his eyes and pain echoes in his chest when people dear to him treat him as if he’s just the same as others, an empty canvas without any colorful traces which would distinguish him from anybody else.

You know VIL SCHOENHEIT will not fret. And yet Vil’s gaze softens when he sees you materializing before his very eyes. He almost physically feels how the beauty of your mind and gentle feelings withens, leaving shriveled petals dissolving in your heart drowned in a thistly frost. Vil doesn’t need to pull a mask of insensibility he usually wears so often, not before you, not now. He feels he needs to be a little more honest with you at least this one time because he knows you’re not playing the role foreordained for you. You are revealing your true feelings, your heart is bare and cold. Vil touches your lips with his fingers, elegance flows within his veins so naturally that you don’t even resist your curiosity, chuckling at him. He presses your ink-tinted lips and sighs, looking at you unwaveringly, and you narrow your eyes in disgust. At least for once you want to see his adamant persona shatter, waver for a mere moment so you could see a genuine fear in his eyes, but Vil remains still and gives you a sympathetic look. You don’t need it, not from him, ever. You grab his hand touching your lips, leaning closer and chuckle.

ー ₊At the end of the walkway, I caught up to him.

“Remain absolutely beautiful till the very end, The Beautiful Oppressor.”

Vil nods silently, trying to endure poison spreading under his feet and crawling up to his neck, a disgusting boiling smell surrounding him when you throw a poisoned apple at him within a nightmare, grinning. Who’s the fairest one of all now?

Somehow you feel like crying when a cloud of smoldering ashes appears before IDIA SHROUD, revealing your silhouette. “You’re very dear to me,” you whisper through tattered sobs, and Idia jolts at your words. W-what… are you saying… This is not right, you shouldn’t cry right before him, he’s not the one who deserves your sympathy. He hurt you, and he also made your friends suffer. He knows your state so painfully well that it hurts him — he also wonders if his own unhinged veil is torn away when he realizes your feelings make his heart ache and lament, his everything begging for your forgiveness. You smile at him, and he almost screams when your hand lands on top of his cold cheek, ink on your fingers leaving viscous traces on his skin. He’s ready to fulfill his duty and accept his faith you would confide in him. He isn’t ready for you to cast whatever you make others feel and see, but you just bite your lower lip, staring at him. He knows you can control your insanity level, he could do that too, he also overblotted almost willingly, and yet you’re here, cupping his cheek and fighting your own emotions as if he’s any different from the others. His breath stifles painfully, and he averts his gaze. “I am very sorry,” he knows the slightest second you voice your feelings out loud you also lose control, and he accepts the nightmare you have prepared for him.

ー ₊I yelled after him: “I was kidding and only. If you leave me today, I will die.”

Idia sees flames surrounding him, gently embracing his limbs. Fire crackling sound resembles a lovely lullaby, and Idia frowns, not sure if you’re just presenting his current life to him. But at the moment he sees you crying hysterically when he almost falls into the Underworld, he feels something collapse right in his heart.

“I need you to realize, The Guard of the Underworld.”

MALLEUS DRACONIA comes to you first. His ink drops floating near his face intertwine with your smoldering ashes when he leans to you, his chrysolite eyes are staring right into yours. He’s so close you almost feel the glassy flame on your right eye intermingling with his, adamantly vivid and almost burning you. He takes your hand in his, another one sliding onto your waist, leading you into a slow elegant waltz. You chuckle bitterly. He is the very reason you overblotted, he was the last one to crush your sanity, make it fall into a dark vortex. And he also is the dearest, the one who you want to save the most. You call him by his name to which Malleus lours, his massive tail wrapping you intensely. He realizes you’re not pleased with his world perception. Ah, dear child of man, why would you yearn for something else when he’s here to bestow an eternal paradise to you? His deep voice reaches your ear, breaking your heart and sinking right into your soul.

“Now, child of man. Why are you hesitating? Show me the worst nightmare you can perform.”

You avert your gaze, despite your grip on his shoulders being firm and steady. Somehow you can’t bring yourself to do anything, letting him continue leading the waltz you’re being trapped in.

He hums an unknown song, as if lulling you to sleep, and you stop, looking straight at him and meeting his gentle smile, addressed so lovely and softly to you only.

“As you wish, Malleus.”

ー ₊He turned back and smiled, so unbearably calmly, “Don’t stand in the wind,” he replied.

You feel your mind melting hearing his tender somnolent voice when he kisses your palm, thanking you for a marvelous dance when an almost soundless laugh escapes your lips.

Malleus sees Ramshackle garden in a cold nightfall, your silhouette, so dear to him, near his favorite flowers planted on a flower bed by your lovely hands. He approaches you, your name sounding so blissfully amorously, and yet you do not turn to him.

“You’re here,” you whisper. “And I am being trapped in your paradise, The Ruler of the Abyss.”

And now it’s YOUR turn to wonder, who will be the one who saves you.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #riddle x reader #leona x reader #azul x reader #kalim x reader #vil x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader

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an-obligatory-blog · 3 months

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The doctor fulfilled his request.

"What do you think? Imposing enough for you?"

Truthfully, it could've been a clown mask and he still would've accepted it. As long as he could pass as anything besides himself, he would gladly put it on and introduce himself under a new name once Eggman's assault commenced. The metal was perfectly shaped to cover every inch of his face. That was all that he needed.

The jackal named Zero lied many times in his life-- so much so that at some point, he started to believe it. He promised riches and comfort for his followers, telling them that they could be on top of the world if they all just stuck together. He predicted them shaking up the world, toppling its hypocritical order with their chaos-stirring ways as they laugh into the sunset. He boasted that he had the power to make it all happen-- a leader deserving to be called the greatest mercenary, paving the way to their bright future. Only in the face of "ultimate power" did all of those sweet illusions dissolve. He is both grateful and resentful; bitter reality may be tough to swallow, but at the very least, Zero was not so weak to deny it forever. There's no use in blaming those who are stronger than you. My failure is my responsibility.

The doctor has yet to understand that this was not a mission of vengeance, but redemption. There's no sin greater than weakness and Zero had to die for that… but after? Perhaps, the Phantom Ruby can turn what's left of his "lies" into "reality". Maybe this is what it'll take to erase the shame I feel whenever I wake up in the morning….

The ruby glows with otherworldly power. This, which rests so near to my heart, will be Infinite's reason to live.

For even the flames of destruction can be a light in the dark….

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #sth fanart #infinite the jackal #krita #minific under picture is just my personal interpretation of infinite #i have many thoughts about this jackal asdlfkjasldkfjsfd #i got forces for 7 dollars and it changed my life

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correct-brainmovie-quotes · 1 year

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*Badget kiss* Barry: ... You're a good kisser, Gadget. Gadget: :) Barry: But also so... *red cubes appear as Phantom Ruby illusion world fades* Infinite: Gullible. Gadget: O_O

#incorrect quotes #sth #tmosth #sonic forces #barry the quokka #gadget the wolf #sonic forces avatar #sonic avatar #infinite #infinite the jackal #badget #infidget #source: reddit #source: r/marvelmemes

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aethergate · 1 year

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tag dump 2 : character tags edition

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genesis-quoi · 3 months

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Everyone please please please do yourself a favor and check out @suzienightsky's Phantom Ruby Illusion Tails AU, I am literally gnawing on the walls it's so good. This recent comic crumpled my brain like a soda can so enjoy this unhinged piece based off of it and its dialogue. ^.^

If you get there before I do, comin for to carry me home~

Stillness shatters against the soothing warble of an old friend.

Shards of sound so desperately sought after skewer him before he thinks better of opening his eyes, and soon after they burn in the blue crackling of electricity that blurs away at the outer corners of his vision like the stars he hadn’t seen in months.

He wants to wipe his eyes but can’t, for the fear of bringing his electrified restraints close to his face again, of which the last attempt had him seeing things that weren’t there, and left him forever wondering if he’d ever be able to trust them like he once did.

Tell all our friends I’m comin too~

He ends up weeping openly. This is a voice he trusts, even as everything else fails him.

“Tails!” He cried, but it’s hollow and hoarse and pathetic how little he had to say now that his days and nights blurred together in the miserable swirl of longing.

“T-Tails-!”

His pleas were underscored by the droning buzz of electricity that echoed off the metal and a melody so familiar that everything else gets carried away easily in the gentle fondness that came with it, in and out of the bars of his cell like the call of home.

A long forgotten and bespoke spark ignites within him, brought to life by Tails’ apparent easiness, in spite of the situation.

He remembers teaching him that song what felt like a lifetime ago…back when he was barely taller than enough than his legs that he refused to let go of.

It was a tad silly, he thought in retrospect, though Tails took to it so long as he kept his own promises to be back before the tune was finished.

As they grew, it fell by the wayside for quite a bit, though the assurances it was meant to symbolize lived on in the ways they always tried to protect each other from situations like these.

He really shouldn’t be so happy that Tails is putting himself in danger like this, but hearing his voice after nothing but the thrum of machinery and his own screaming was a balm on his aching heart.

It’s him-it was really-

“Comin for carry me home~”

A silhouette approaches the bars from the darkness, and as it does so, he notices that it glows with that same loathsome tint he can’t escape even in sleep-

It’s just another trick.

Another illusion meant to torment him-

“Here you are!” It called to him, though he doesn’t turn around. Maybe it will just go away on its own.

“You were right, you know…things are a lot less scary now.”

It hums the rest of the chorus sweetly, oblivious to the way each note pulverizes him and he feels mangled like he’s gotten caught within the mundane backdrop of pistons and gears.

“Who sent you this time?” He snaps before long, and the last note out of its lips sours and shrivels into silence.

Nevertheless, with a deep sigh that sounded more like static off an old TV than a transfer of air, its next words are no less chipper.

“You did…didn’t you? You wanted me here-”

“I don’t want ‘you’ here. I want YOU you-the real you-!”

“Sonic, don’t you recognize me? I’m sorry I took so long…really! I tried, honest…but you promised we’d be friends no matter what…didn’t you?”

Its voice quavers in that heartbreakingly agonizing way it used to, back when he would have to field this question at least twice a day.

He can’t help himself.

Against his better judgment, he looks up and stares into the slightly damp eyes of the doppelganger parading around in his little brother’s skin, as if it had the audacity to be upset when it couldn’t even be bothered enough to try to be someone he missed.

“It’s me…you still love me, right?”

The pounding in his head grows as his mind splits itself apart. For once he wondered if it would all stop hurting so much if he just went along with it and gave in because he’s been here eight lifetimes as far as he knows. One of them might as well have a shred of comfort in it, even if he knows it’s all that’s left.

But the other, more stubborn part angrily refuses to give up, because if he never gets out of here he’d at least have done right by his real little brother, who’s out there somewhere probably moving mountains for him.

Tails is a fighter. They should be arguing right now about things they already know are implicit, just to hear it out loud again how much they meant to each other. It wasn’t like Tails to cave, to crumble, he just wasn’t that docile toddler anymore.

And yet…

“If it’s you…the real you…you’d’ve sprung me out of this place already.”

He glares at the faded red phantom of his brother with all the malice he can muster, and while its grin never falters, the rest of its form seems to slowly crack around it.

“What if,” a line splits directly down and fractures from its ear to an eye, “the only way we could be together was if i joined you?”

“No!”

He tried to be intimidating, but as if his subconscious thought it looked enough like Tails to warrant the innate softening being around him usually did, it sounded less like a demand and more like a blatant plea to get him to stop eating stuff off the ground.

“You’re not real! You aren’t real! You’re just like the rest of them, just go back to where you came from and leave me alone!”

That was supposed to have been the end of it. Maybe he’d disappear after calling him pathetic, or maybe Infinite would appear again, least likely Eggman strolling by to gloat despite his obvious failure to trick him this time…

But nothing happens.

Another growing crack creeps up one of its tails and it looked pained as it watched, cradling it in its hands in a futile attempt to stop it.

“You always said it didn’t matter what I looked like.” While the words are despondent, there’s definitely an off-putting hint of anger buried within it that captures his attention.

“But now that I’m like this…?” It stopped, suddenly trying to hide all the cracks that marred his…its little body like scars in that way that was too uncanny to be replicated-

“I used to think maybe you were just like the rest of them too, y’know. You were supposed to prove me wrong.”

There’s years of pain and sadness compressed into his admission that terrifies him-makes him think that maybe he does have it wrong and Tails is really here-that maybe he’s had unspeakable things done to him too and he’s only making it worse by turning his brother away just because he’s also had parts of himself taken away that would’ve made the choice easier.

“Wait, Tails-!” He shouted, far too late. It’s gone again, and it’s all his fault he’s got nothing but the shadows to talk to now.

Until he turned back around.

“Hi Sonic!”

He nearly falls backwards onto the metal in surprise when he hears the high-pitched bleating of a dusty old computer struggling to start up.

“Tails…?”

The kid is behind him now. Inside his cell.

“Yes?”

And while he should be irritated at having allowed himself to be even momentarily swayed, it-he…still looked far too similar to his little brother to the effect that he doesn’t have the heart or the energy for this anymore.

“You’re…not really him…” He tried gently, deflated.

If he was lucky, the phantom would take after the real Tails and understand his approach.

His brother could take his licks and a bomb to the face with pride and come out of it no worse for wear, only to crumble away into nothing every single time his own careful fingers would softly brush against his wounds.

“What do you mean?” The phantom illusion of Tails beams and it stands in stark, unsettling contrast to the darkness that surrounds them, like he doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to.

“Of course I’m him!”

He appears to be completely indifferent to the way his voice distorts around the lie.

“I missed you more than anything-!” The phantom grabs at his hands and the electric cuffs sear into his skin at the agitation the static brings.

It felt like pins and needles everywhere else, and not in a normal way he gets to laugh it off when it’s convenient.

It’s chilling. And terrifying in a way he can’t explain.

“Sonic…?” Tails seems hurt that he pulled away, and tries toward him a second time as if to redeem himself. “It’s me…remember…? It’s okay to be scared, but…it’s just me…”

“No…” His heart races and he can’t hear himself thinking…normally this wouldn’t be a problem for him if he could just get away but there’s nowhere to run and he can’t, even if there was-

“It’s just me…let me help you-”

The phantom bounds towards him with outstretched arms and the world starts to close in and everything bleeds red…everything, from the walls to the bars to the stars that aren’t there to the streaks running down the phantom’s cheeks-

“Please…?”

He tries to steady himself on the metal that jutted from the wall, but as soon as he sits he’s crashed into atop the makeshift bed and what felt like a current of lightning erupts through his entire body as the illusion engulfs him in an embrace that’s something akin to running face first into an electric fence.

His thoughts dissolve quickly into a loud screaming chorus of pain and discomfort as the phantom sensation of his little brother burrowing into him continues.

Much as it hurts he missed it so much he’d burn forever if it meant he never forgot what it was like.

The illusion’s words become little more than a steady thrum that reverberate through him and remind him that he’s still alive.

“You’d never replace me, right? You promised you’d stay, always. I’m here now. Everything is going to be okay again…”

He doesn’t remember losing consciousness, yet he comes to so pleasantly he’d been momentarily thankful that it was all a dream.

But the only thing that illuminates his thoughts in the darkness is a persistent glow, reflections of things that were never there lending credence to his loneliness…

And a song he knew all the words to, once.

Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down~

The phantom illusion kicks his small legs off the side of the bunk to keep time, smiling broadly in a way that made him queasy when he’d noticed he was alert again.

Comin for to carry me home~

His song punctuates itself midway through with a series of light-hearted giggles as if they were around a campfire, either unaware or unbothered completely by the sight of the oppressive prison they were confined to.

“I waited for you!”

There’s a deep gouge in his face, just below one of his cheeks that keeps him from grinning any wider.

“...why…?” It’s all his addled mind can produce.

Tails’ eyes flitted to the ceiling, almost as if wistful despite the grimy nothingness of the view he’d picked over time and time again out of boredom.

“You’re gonna be here forever,” he nearly whispers, and despite the severity of the statement it’s laden with no emotion whatsoever, “that’s why I’m here…to keep you company.”

The phantom of his little brother continues to hum softly as he stares, admiring the cracks in the darkened corners of the cell.

Now he’s more than annoyed…he’s scared beyond anything that his nightmares were finally becoming reality the less defined reality became.

He’d watched Tails die too many times for this to be the new normal.

Who’s idea was this? It’s far too ‘potentially altruistic’ a plan to have been Eggman’s design, and Infinite usually tormented him in other ways…maybe he’s finally lost it in here.

While he certainly doesn’t plan on being here forever, he absolutely prefers the company over nothing, though not necessarily all of his alternatives.

For all he knows, it’s already been forever.

And if this is all that’s left, then…

Maybe he would hang onto home just a little longer.

#archived #forces angst in my 2024??? its more likely than you think #sth #phantom illusion tails au #does anyone else remember that one joke in aosth where tails sings swing low sweet chariot to pass the time in his cell before sonic arrive #bc i do #it never left me #thanks again to suzie!! check out her art it slaps #sonic the hedgehog

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