#playing as the black mc hits different

[jumpinjordan]

Oh, terror fest, you have my heart

[kissandtellus]

‘Into the Slick of It’ LADS Omegaverse

Synopsis: The LI’s are deep into their Ruts. Oh no! Whatever shall our brave MC do to satiate their hunger?

Warnings: Omegaverse, Whining, Submissive Sylus and Caleb, Slight pew pew play, Lemurian’s are double slinging in this, Drooling, Slobbering, Caleb’s mechanical arm malfunctions in the best way, its dirty ya’ll fair warning.

⋆˚🐾˖° Xavier

Xavier was usually a dignified Alpha. He held open doors for you, bought you anything under the sun, even left his much needed naps (hibernation) to spend time with you.

But when his rut hit him like a freight train, you tried to ignore the scent of him literally leaking from his apartment above. He had locked his doors, curled up in his bedroom with only his fist and one of your sweatshirts.

He’d forgotten to lock his balcony door.

You managed to pull yourself to the railing and slide open the door. His scent enveloped you, as if seeping into your very pores.

The sight the greeted you when you managed to shimmy the lock out of his bedroom door was nearly pathetic.

He was fucking his fist, face flush and balls drawn up so tight to his body in need, they looked like they were aching. Your scent hit him before the sight of you did.

He had no more fight in him.

His pre-cum had completely soaked his fingers. When he pulled his hand away, long, sticky strings of cum connected his palm to his cock.

“M-mm fuck-fuck I can’t stop it. Please,” he was fast, nimble. He was upon you in a second, face buried into your pulse point. From behind his back as he nipped and lapped on your covered scent gland, you spotted the rabbit plush you sprayed perfume on for him.

It was absolutely soaked in his pre-cum. The once pristine black pearl eyes coated his drooling cum.

“Xavier-!”

“M-mm sorry, so sorry, couldn’t help it.” His fingers tear off the scent patches and his nearly busts right against your clothes stomach.

“Just a taste baby, please.”

That taste turned into his rutting into you in the meanest mating press known to man. He was so careful not to let his knot slip inside. Even lacking the few inches of his knot, his nearly purple cockhead drilled into the wall of your cervix like a prayer.

“Haa-X-Xava-ahhhh!” You drooled his name out like a curse. Your hair was splayed everywhere like a halo. You were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

“Good Omega, good girl-take it-take it! I know you can. Gonna give you this knot. Gonna have you begging for more,” he growled, his canines graving your pulse point.

“Accept this gift from your Alpha.”

⋆˚🐾˖° Rafayel

You ran a washcloth down Rafayel chest. The one pale, milky skin covered with scales. Lemurian rut was different than that of humans. It was more primal, more unhinged. His long tail hung out over the edge of his massive bathtub still.

A fan was sat on high intensity, blowing back his purple locks and the gills behind his ears. “Cutie, can’t I just have a nibble? You are killing me here.” His multi-chrome eyes flashed with a hunger that sent a shiver up your spine.

“That’s the Rut talking Raf, you told me not to listen to you when you’re like this.” The statement was true, but your resistance was wavering.

He was like a pretty siren luring you to your death. He couldn’t control his shifting, nor the way his tail splashed water out of the tub and into the floor.

An hour ago, the slit in his tail had separated, a gush of liquid making way for not his one-but two cocks. The length on top was longer, thicker, angrier.

Rafayel reached with a clawed, webbed hand and locked eyes with you as you tried to cool his off with the water. “My Muse, let me take care of you. I’ll take you back to Lemuria, make you my Queen. You’ll give us so many strong children. I want them to have your eyes.”

It was as if he was dirty talking himself. Whimpers of need spilled from those soft pink lips.

Perhaps Rafayel was the siren from those sailor tales.

Because why else would you have been dragged into the water, fully clothed? Why else would you have let him rip clear through your shorts with his claws?

Why else would you let him not only imaple you with one length, but let him try to coherse you into taking his second one?

“Just once baby-c’mon Pretty, you can take it.” He hushes your blubbering about being way too full. His cocks felt like they could impale your lungs at any second. “I know her so well. She’s strong, just like-oh, ah, fuck!”

Your tight walls gave way just enough for his second cock to snugly stretch out your organs. The rock of his thrust sent the bath water flooding the bathroom floor. His tail nearly had a mind of its own, flopping like a fish out of water while he used you as a means of breeding.

“F-fuck! Rafayel I-I can’t-“

“You can, how else will you be a powerful ruler, if you cannot worship your God correctly?”

⋆˚🐾˖° Zayne

Zayne took all of the necessary precautions to keep his interest during his rut. So much lube, suppressants and less than flattering toys. He always kept this locked away in a trunks. You didn’t need to worry your pretty head about such things.

He bought you an extended stay hotel room until his Rut had passed but you were stubborn. So stubborn that you used the passcode for his house gate and welcomed yourself in.

When you entered, the normally pristine state of his house was destroyed. Your dirty clothes were thrown everywhere, there were scratch marks on corners of the wall as if something-or someone-had to basically drag themselves to the bedroom.

When you finally gained the courage to investigate the feral sounds from the bedroom, your knees went weak.

Zayne had his tie stuffed in his mouth, his button up shirt had been torn open and the shreds hung around his bulging biceps.

The poor toy-oh god, it was molded after your insides, was completely destroyed. The gooey silicone was barely holding together. His thick cock has literally torn the toy into nothing but mush.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

“Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me?” He growled through the black tie, his eyes never tearing away from the toy disintegrating in his hand.

Zayne promised himself he’d patch you up as soon as his Rut passed, as soon as he finished pummeling your ruined pussy over the back of his couch.

He had defiled every corner of his home with his cum and your slick.

You had tried to crawl away from the mean ‘ole doctor twice now, but each time he just pounced, keeping you pinned beneath his body weight, chasing you like a mutt who couldn’t get his fill.

“Are you refusing your Doctor? Are you refusing the best medicine I can give you, my seed?”

Your vision danced with black spots. He was insatiable. You never quite realized how massive he was, how easily he manipulated you with both his words and his strong grip. He finally gave a warning growl, pinning your hands to the small of your back.

“You wanted to play Doctor so bad, wanted to heal me of my woes. So take it.”

⋆˚🐾˖°Sylus

Sylus was a dragon at the end of the day. A great beast who hoarded his treasure.

That hadn’t changed when he was trapped in the body of a man.

It hadn’t changed how during his Rut’s, he ordered the Twins to keep you away as he hoarded everything precious to him in his room for the next few days.

But unfortunately the two goofballs were not the best at keeping you away. Not that you think they actually tried. Kieran had locked eyes with you when you tiptoed around the corner, before winking and going back to his card game with his twin.

When you pushed open the double doors or his chambers, he was meticulously cleaning the muzzle of one of his guns. But what caught your eye was his cock, flagging and twitching to leave a sticky mess over his belly button.

His eyes snapped up and a low growl escaped his throat before he tried to reign himself in. “Kitten, I told you to stay away.”

He stood from the bed with a grace not befitting his size, his swinging cock, nor the gun still in his hand. He tipped your chin back with the point of hiss and gave your face a deep whiff.

You swear you felt him spurt just the tiniest bit of precum on your sweater.

“Maybe I should let you help me. Let you realize what happens when Prey tempts the Predator.”

But oh-ho, it did not turn out his Sylus had expected.

You were straddling his massive length, his knot resting just outside of your stretched entrance. But his gun was now pressed against his parted, whimper filled lips by yours truly. You were a mean Mistress, watching him beg to pop his knot in.

“Gods above woman, I’ll do anything I-i just-“

You squeezed your fluttering walls around his cock like a vice. “What did I say, big boy?” Your voice was so sweet he might bust at just the thought.

The white haired man bowed his back so beautifully it appeared he might snap in half. His nature was screaming at him to bend this disobedient Omega over and use her like a dirty flashlight. But not her, never her.

Sylus gritted his teeth, that suddenly looked a lot sharper. But his fearsome look was interrupted by his pathetic groveling.

“My Love, My Heart, My Cruel Temptress,” he mumbled, red eyes rolled back to his skull. “Give me the grace of knotting you and I’ll give you any Empire you desire. Just for the chance at breeding this treasure of a cunt.”

⋆˚🐾˖° Caleb

Caleb threw the empty bottle of suppressants so hard against the wall, the flimsy bottle had made an indention in his apartment.

This couldn’t be happening, he could be hitting his Rut on the day you were visiting Skyhaven. His mechanical arm whirred, a loud noise that broke him from his contemplating.

Yeah, of course this thing would act up when his hormones were bouncing all over the place.

When you rang his doorbell three times without an answer, you decided letting yourself in was the best option.

Caleb now regretted giving you a key to his apartment, but not really.

His left hand, the cold one connected to his arm, had short circuited. To the point he could control it. He had growled, tried to push the piece of junk away from his throbbing cock but to no avail.

It was trained to protect him, to relieve any stress or danger he might be in. In that moment it had decided his aching cock and swollen knot were his enemy.

When he looked up at you from the couch, man-spread with his hand pumping his cock, his eyes were filled with tears.

“Pips, Pips don’t look, please-a-ah oh F-“ his but his lips to stifle the noise as a third orgasm ripped through him. The dark gray mechanical hand was coated with white cum, his thighs twitching and knot throbbing with unspent need.

“Oh Caleb-“ you took a step forward, and that was the only permission Caleb needed. His Alpha instincts were in a full rage. He had you pinned down to the living room floor by his fangs digging into the back of your neck. His mechabical bicep was cold against your throat as he drilled into you.

The wet noises were a symphony of just how much he needed you. “Here comes the knot baby-no-no, be a Good Girl. Open her up for me, don’t fight it, oh yeah-oh Good-Good fuckin’ Girl!” His praises sounded jumbled when his knot popped through.

Nothing could beat the way his knot stretched you to the point of tears.

“T-Too big Caleb! Take it-take it outttt!” He would stop in a split second if he knew it wasn’t just your instincts pleading with you to at least give this Alpha a run for his money. He hushed your over-sensitive cries and bottomed out in your warm and very welcoming pussy.

“Nu uh, Sweetpea. You were born to take my cock. Go on, take it baby! Oh, Good Girllll, That’s My Girl!”

[aleksatia]

💗 Rafayel – Five Years Later 

The second in a series of stories exploring MC’s return after five years of silence. Others are coming soon — links will be added as they’re published.

Original ask that sparked this continuation.

Sylus | Caleb | Zayne | Xavier (coming soon)

CW/TW: Trauma & PTSD themes, Implied past abduction, Betrayal / emotional manipulation, Poisoning & near-death experience, Violence (including one execution-style kill), Self-sacrifice, Intense emotional conflict, References to grief, guilt, and long-term separation, Complex relationship dynamics, Themes of forgiveness and healing While inspired by the original characters and lore of the game, this is a personal interpretation. Some aspects of character behavior, relationships, or world-building may differ from canon — especially given the five-year time gap and the impact of traumatic events. Consider it an alternate emotional timeline, shaped by growth, grief, and what-ifs.

(He taught himself silence. Learned to paint with absence, to breathe through longing. But when your shadow crossed his path again — living, breaking, real — the stillness inside him remembered how to shatter.)

The thing about disappearing is — if you do it right — no one comes looking.

Not because they don’t care. But because you made it easier to pretend you were never real in the first place.

You left the sea behind. The salt. The songs. The man with sunlight in his laugh and grief in his hands. You traded it all for concrete, steel, smoke. Somewhere between New Madrid and the Eleventh Sector, you stopped being a person and became a profile: Level 3, Tactical Division, Close Range Neutralization. Specializing in high-value body retention.

A shadow with a badge.  A ghost on retainer.

It suited you.

You didn’t drink anymore. You didn’t play games. You didn’t say his name.

“Client arrival is in twenty minutes,” crackles the comm in your ear. "Full week assignment. High confidentiality. Zero contact protocol unless engaged."

You glance at your reflection in the elevator’s gold trim.

Eyes colder. Shoulders straighter. Gun holstered under a matte jacket that still smells faintly of last week’s adrenaline. You're not the girl who once cried into coral bedsheets. You're her replacement.

The hotel smells like money. That antiseptic richness meant to distract from the emptiness.

You position yourself in the lobby near the marble fountain — half concealed, half obvious. Just enough to look like part of the architecture. Just enough to see everything.

The concierge nods. The manager paces. The staff adjust flowers no one will notice.

Then: the cars. Black, sleek, ghost-silent.

Doors open.

Two assistants spill out first. Press, probably. One on a tablet, one on comms. Then a manager — with a face oddly familiar, like a half-forgotten memory trying to surface. Then—

Your heart forgets how to be a muscle.

He steps out like the city belongs to him. Like time bent itself around his absence.

Still tall. Still too elegant for the world he’s forced to live in. Purple waves of hair tied back. Sunglasses sliding down a nose built for poetry. He’s wearing that long beige coat he used to throw over your shoulders when nights got too cold, and his cologne hits you like déjà vu dipped in seawater and regret.

Your mouth is dry. Your hands are ice.

He doesn’t look at you.

Not yet.

You do what you were trained to do: you check for threats. Scan exits. Ignore your pulse.

He walks through the lobby as if unaware. As if untouched. But when he passes, just before the elevator closes — he turns his head.

And smiles.

Like sin. Like summer. Like he knew it would be you.

Then—

“Hello again, Ms. Bodyguard.”

***

The suite was silent. Too silent for something this expensive.

No music. No hum of ventilation. Just the hush of carpet under your boots, and the faint, distant rhythm of city breath outside the window.

You stood near the corner, hands behind your back, spine too straight. Default position. Default you.

He was across the room, jacket already off, sleeves rolled. Moving like someone who was used to being observed. Not by the public — by ghosts.

The wine had already been poured. He handed you a glass like it was part of the ritual. You didn’t take it.

He arched an eyebrow.

“I’m working,” you said.

He didn’t insist. Just smiled, faintly.

Of course.

He used to fill every room — all noise and color and heat. But now, somehow, he'd grown quiet. Not in absence — in weight. Like a masterpiece in a gallery. Like the only rose in a field of thorns. You could look away, but you’d still feel him. Like a crosshair you couldn’t shake.

The window beside you looked out over the city — not that you were looking. Your eyes were trained on his reflection in the glass. Even blurred by distance and light, you could tell: he hadn’t broken. But he’d bent.

Harder than most things could survive.

His voice came low, like something remembered instead of spoken.

“You weren’t always stone.”

You didn’t answer.

He crossed the room without hurry. You didn’t move.

His eyes found yours — not searching, just… waiting. Like the question wasn’t whether you’d speak. It was whether you still could.

“And yet here you are,” he murmured, “standing in my suite like you were carved to fit the corner.”

You felt the words land somewhere deep in the ribs. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.

He took a slow sip from his glass. The color of the wine caught in the light — the same shade he used to mix on his palette when painting you in shadow.

“I saw the new series,” you said, voice even.

He glanced at you over the rim.

“Did you?”

“Less gold. More... grief.”

A pause. Then a smile — dry, almost kind.

“I ran out of yellow.”

That made your throat tighten. You looked away before it showed.

He studied you. Not your face — your posture. Your silences. You weren’t hiding emotion. You were holding it.

Like a soldier holding a wound closed with one hand.

“And you,” he said, softly. “Still chasing bullets?”

“I don’t chase. I shield.”

“Of course you do.”

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch. But enough that you could feel him again. That impossible warmth, wrapped in restraint.

He looked at you like an old painting. The kind you see once, remember forever, and never find again.

“You followed me,” he said, almost offhand. “Even after you left.”

You didn’t deny it.

“I had to know you were… functioning.”

He laughed — quiet, empty.

“Functioning,” he repeated. “Right.”

You searched his face for anger. You didn’t find it. Only something slower. Older.

Like ash.

“How have you been?” you asked.

It was a mistake. The question hung in the air like smoke from a match — small, stupid, but dangerous.

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then the glass in his hand cracked. A clean, bright sound. Like winter splitting.

The wine didn’t spill. He didn’t move.

“You left,” he said.

Not bitter. Not accusing.

Just: you left.

“And now you want to ask if I’ve been well?”

You shifted. Just enough to register discomfort. Nothing more.

He looked at the flame creeping along his knuckles — Evol, awake and restless. He closed his fist, and the fire vanished like breath from a mirror.

“What did I do?” he asked, quieter now. “What sin did I commit to earn a silent goodbye?”

You drew breath through your nose. Measured.

 “I was tired.”

“Of what?”

You looked at him.

“Of being a story you told instead of a person you knew.”

That did it.

Not an explosion. Not a slam. Just a shift. Like something in his chest cracked, and he had no hands free to hold it in place.

He turned. Slowly. Set the broken glass down. No sound. No shatter.

Then he walked to the adjoining door, pressed it open.

“You’ll stay here,” he said.

A simple guest room. Clean, unpersonalized. Quiet.

He didn’t look at you when he added:

“You’re my shadow for the week. No leaving. No exceptions.”

“And if I object?”

He paused at the threshold. Then turned. Finally met your eyes again.

“You won’t,” he said.

Not a command. Just a prophecy.

***

The days blurred.

They stretched long — drawn out by tension and silence — and yet they flew past with the quiet cruelty of something you couldn’t stop. You caught yourself counting minutes. Not until the assignment ended — but until he left again.

You told yourself it was duty. But no. You knew. The closer it got, the more it scared you.

You’d thought you’d buried the past. That five years had been enough to cauterize what you felt. Enough to flatten grief into dull, predictable weight. You’d taught yourself not to cry. Not to ache. Not to wake up reaching for a voice that wasn’t there.

But now—

Now the thought of losing him again bled through you like poison Slow. Sharp. Relentless.

For the first time, you truly wondered — had you made the worst mistake of your life?

You’d always known leaving was cowardice. A reaction. A wound reacting to pressure. You’d told yourself it was necessary — that you couldn’t survive another secret, another lie, another impossible moment in his orbit.

But now, as you stood in his shadow again, you returned to the one truth you kept avoiding. It wasn’t just the secrets. It wasn’t just his careful, curated nonchalance. It wasn’t even the things he didn’t say.

It was that moment — the one you could never forget.

The Nest. The kidnapping. The deal he’d made behind your back.

The betrayal.

The man who once made you feel like a myth had handed you over like a pawn. And you’d left. Because you couldn’t find a version of yourself that could love him and survive it.

But now…

Now you knew. The price you both paid for your fear had been too high.

***

He treated you like a shadow. Professional. Polite. Silent.

He didn’t try to speak. Didn’t joke. Didn’t prod. Whatever playful gleam had once lived in him now belonged to the stage.

You watched him wear charm like a costume — perfectly tailored, easily removed.

The real man?

He wore quieter things now. No more garish brands. No flash. Just silk-lined precision. Weight without noise. Like he’d stopped needing to be seen in order to feel powerful.

And yet — you felt it. The way his gaze burned across rooms. The way silence wrapped around you both like a loaded pause.

Something was coming. You didn’t know what.

Only that it would not be small.

***

Then came the reception.

A charity event. Wealth, power, and politics pretending to like each other in the same room. He handed you your role the night before — not as a request.

You weren’t the bodyguard tonight. You were his date.

No one must suspect otherwise. His reputation demanded it.

And so here you were:

Draped in sea-glass velvet, cut to glide and cling. Your hair swept into soft, impossible waves. Sapphires at your ears, your throat. Everything felt too heavy. Too expensive. Even your heels were a weapon you didn’t know how to use. You hated how they made you move — slow, deliberate. Exposed.

The car slid to a stop. He stepped out first — a vision in black and steel. Then he turned, offered you a hand.

You took it. His skin was cold.

But the touch — the touch burned. Like nothing had ever healed.

Cameras. Screams. Flashing lights.

Your instincts screamed — scan the crowd. Find the threat. Always the threat. But his fingers tightened around yours. Hard.

He leaned in, breath against your ear — warm, familiar, furious.

“Smile, for fuck’s sake.”

You did.

Not for the cameras. Not for the cause.

But because you knew — the storm wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

***

You played the part well.

Neutral. Polished. Cold enough to earn whispers you never heard, but felt just behind your back. 

No one dared speak them aloud, of course. They looked at you and said the compliments to him.

“She’s stunning.”

“Such a refined presence.”

“As if she was made to be on your arm.”

As if your face belonged to him. As if your silence was his design.

In some twisted way, maybe it was.

You didn’t remember how you got here. One minute you were cataloguing exits with your eyes, tracking the crowd with practiced ease —

 The next —

You were dancing.

His hand on your waist, the other guiding yours. Everything too close, too warm, too practiced.

The chandelier above cast a slow rain of light. The room turned gently, spinning around its own silence.

His touch wasn’t tender. It was intentional.

“Your expression,” he murmured, “is slowly assassinating my reputation.”

You didn’t look at him. “Your reputation as what, exactly?”

He paused. Just a second.Then:

“A man of appetites.”

You tilted your head slightly. “How poetic.”

“I thought so,” he said. “Though the press prefers playboy.”

A beat.

“So you’ve read it,” you said.

“I have someone who clips the good parts.”

“Must be a short list.”

He smiled — not kindly. “Normally, I’m seen with far more… expressive company.”

“Then why break tradition?”

His fingers flexed slightly at your waist.

“I suppose I wanted something quieter.” A beat. “Something that might bite back.”

Your gaze flicked to him. Just once. A sharpened glance.

“And how does this help your image?”

“It doesn’t.” He leaned in, voice a thread. “But it’s not always about image, is it?”

You could feel it — the heat building between syllables.  Not passion. Not yet.

Just tension. Waiting.

You moved together like two creatures pretending not to hunt each other. Each step precise. Each breath withheld.

“You used to enjoy this sort of thing,” he said, voice soft now, too close. “Crowds. Light. Being seen.”

“I used to believe in things,” you replied.

He said nothing. But his hand curled tighter against your spine.

For a second, you let the silence say everything.

Then—

You noticed it.

The way his eyes had started slipping away from you. Again and again — to a single shape on the edge of the room. A man. Grey suit. Clean line. Controlled posture.

You knew that look.

The dance ended, but you weren’t let go. He took your arm, like a gentleman.

But you knew better.

***

The garden was colder than it had any right to be. The kind of cold that wasn’t about temperature — it was about distance. About the way stone walls and sculpted hedges swallowed sound and left only the weight of footsteps behind.

You followed him without a word. Because you already knew.

You’d seen his eyes stray to the man in the grey suit half a dozen times during the reception. Not nervous glances — calculated ones. Not curiosity — confirmation.

And now here you were, walking straight into the web.

The man waited by the marble fountain, one hand resting casually in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something expensive and unnecessary. His smile was pleasant. His suit was quiet money. His name was carved into memory from the briefings you used to skim with more detachment.

Elias Varrick. Publicly: philanthropist, investor, art collector, father of four. Privately: suspected ties to high-level biotech experimentation, classified marine acquisitions, and several quiet disappearances.

 All rumors, of course. Nothing on paper. Nothing proven.

Still — you knew. Your gut always knew.

But you didn’t know what Rafayel knew. Not yet.

They greeted each other like old acquaintances. A handshake that looked effortless. Painless.

“I thought it best to deliver the piece myself,” Rafayel said. His voice had its old rhythm — slow, warm, dipped in charm.

You watched him as he spoke. Not the words — the tone.

Polite. Polished. Performing.

“That kind of personal art,” he added, “deserves a personal hand.”

Varrick smiled wider. “Very kind of you. My family will love it. We’re planning to hang it in the main lounge — the one where we gather in the evenings. My wife, the children, my mother. It’s where we live.”

And that’s when it happened.

You didn’t freeze. Not outwardly. But something inside you did.

That phrase. The way he said it — we live here.

You didn’t hear a lie. That was the problem. You heard sincerity.

You saw the portrait — Rafayel’s portrait — hanging above a mantel. You saw children playing on a rug beneath it. An old woman sipping tea in a chair nearby. You saw innocence. Unaware. Wrapped around a weapon.

And suddenly, all the scattered images connected. The rumors. The names. The “environmental” fund. The experimental projects tied to Lemurians. The disappearances.

He wasn’t here for charity.

Rafayel was hunting. And you were holding his arm like a lover while he did it.

It wasn’t the lie that made you pull away. It was the memory of all the ones that came before.

You stepped back. A breath lodged in your throat.

“I need a moment,” you murmured.

He turned. “Wait—”

You didn’t let him finish.

“Don’t.”

You turned away.

You needed air. Space. Time. You needed to stop hearing the echo of his voice in your chest, the one that said it’s different now, even when you knew it wasn’t.

But he followed. Of course he followed.

“Let me explain—”

“No,” you snapped, more sharply than intended. “No more explaining. That’s always the beginning of the lie.”

He reached for your arm. You stopped him with a look.

“I want to know one thing,” you said. Your voice was low, barely steady. “That painting… it’s a weapon, isn’t it?”

He hesitated. Just a breath. But it was enough.

“Not here,” he said softly. “Please.”

“There are children in that house, Rafayel. Children. How can you guarantee there won’t be innocent blood?”

His jaw tensed. The silence between you vibrated with unsaid things. Then:

“Come with me,” he said. “I’ll explain everything. But not in public.”

“Answer me.”

“I said not here,” he whispered. Not angry. Not cold. Just—desperate. Controlled. And that — more than anything — told you what you needed to know.

And that’s when it happened. The movement was too fast.

You heard it before you saw it — a hiss of compressed air.

Then the glint of metal. Then the needle, already buried in the side of Rafayel’s neck.

Everything shattered.

Rafayel stumbled, hand flying to the injection point. His eyes widened — not with pain. With realization.

Varrick stepped back with chilling calm, adjusting his cuff.

“I knew it was you,” he said simply. “The moment I saw your face, lemurian. I knew you were the one behind Raymond’s death.”

You didn’t wait for orders. Didn’t need permission.

You drew and fired — one shot. Silent. Precise. Varrick collapsed with a grunt of pain, clutching his leg.

You were on him in three strides. Knee in his chest. Barrel to his throat.

“What was in it?” you growled.

His breath rattled, half from the pain, half from the thrill of it all. He was enjoying this — the game, the brink.

“I’m not—”

You slammed the muzzle harder against his neck.

“Tell me. Or I swear, I’ll have your lungs painting that lovely family room of yours by morning.”

He laughed, blood in his teeth.

“Requiem Coral,” he gasped. “Gen-modified. Synthetic compound. It bonds to Lemurian blood — slow neural degeneration. Burns out the body one nerve at a time. Quite poetic, really.”

You stared at him. Then you fired again.

Between the eyes.

No poetry. Just silence.

***

You found Rafayel still upright. Barely. His pupils were uneven. Sweat glistened on his temple. His balance was shot.

You got under his arm, bore half his weight.

“No hospital,” he muttered.

“I’m not a moron,” you snapped. “We’re going home.”

You drove with one hand clenched around the wheel, the other wrapped tightly around his — clammy now, fingers twitching less and less.

The city blurred past like water through glass, useless. Silent.

He was slumped in the seat beside you, head tilted back, jaw clenched.

“Is this your version of a confession?” he muttered, voice paper-thin. “Waiting ‘til I’m half-dead to finally hold my hand?”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

He smiled — barely. “So harsh. Romance really is dead.”

You tightened your grip on his hand. His skin was cold.

“Don’t do that,” you said. “Don’t talk like you’re not about to die.”

“I mean, statistically—”

“I said shut up.”

Your voice cracked on the last word. 

The rest of the ride was agony. You didn’t feel the road. You didn’t feel the turns. You felt him — fading beside you. His breath going shallow. His body heavy.

And all you could do was drive faster.

***

Your home wasn’t built for tenderness. It wasn’t a place to recover. It was a place to survive.

The door slammed behind you, and you half-dragged, half-carried him to the medical bench. He tried to help. He couldn’t.

He collapsed like a broken marionette, breathing hard, sweat cold on his brow.

You moved by instinct.

Antitoxin. Anti-inflammatories. Burn stabilizer. Anything. Everything.

Tubes. IV. Scanners.

Your hands didn’t shake — until you realized that nothing was working. His vitals dipped. Once. Again.

No improvement. And you weren’t a doctor. You weren’t a biotech. You were a weapon.

You could take a man apart in thirty seconds, but this — this—

You couldn’t fix this.

You hovered over him, swallowing panic, shoving down the scream forming in your throat.

He opened his eyes — only halfway. Saw the mess you were making. He lifted one trembling hand, and caught your wrist.

“Stop,” he whispered. “You’ll do more harm than good.”

You shook your head violently. “No. No, I can— I just need time—”

“There is no time.”

His voice was barely there.

“I don’t— I don’t know how to stop it,” you said, broken. “I don’t know how to fight it—how to save you—”

“Then listen.”

His eyes found yours.

“If this is it…” His breath caught. “If I’m not waking up from this—”

“Raf, no—”

“Then I want the truth.”

He looked at you like a man watching his own shadow disappear. Like someone who knew there was no second chance this time.

“No secrets. No lies. Nothing between us.”

You froze. And something inside you cracked.

The words came out on a sob.

“I know.”

He blinked slowly. “Know what?”

“I know you sold me out. N109 Zone. Five years ago.”

The air stopped moving. His lips parted, but no sound came.

You looked down, ashamed and shaking.

“I found the records. I connected the drops, the timing. You handed me over.”

There was a long pause. Then, suddenly — he laughed. A ragged, broken sound that became a cough.

“Oh, you—God.”

His smile was pained. Too pained.

“You wanted to reach Onichynus, remember?”

 You looked up.

“There’s no easy road there. No clean path.”

 He coughed again, winced, and gripped your hand tighter.

“I was watching. If things had gone wrong, I would’ve stepped in. I wouldn’t have let them break you.”

Your lips trembled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t trust myself not to stop you. I didn’t want you to look at me like you are right now.”

He coughed again — something wet in the sound now.

“I never betrayed you.”

His hand drifted to your chest, barely touching.

“You were always my heart.” He smiled faintly. “And when you left… you took it with you.”

You crumpled. Your hands went to his face, cold and pale, and your voice shattered into pieces.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I thought— I thought you used me. Manipulated me. Like everyone else.”

His eyes stayed on yours.

“I would’ve died for you.”

“I know. I know now.”

Tears streamed down your face.

“I took your heart, Raf, but mine—” You pressed a hand to his chest. “Mine never left you. I… still love you.”

Your voice broke like a body under fire.

 “God, I never stopped loving you.”

You leaned down, kissed his lips — dry, cold, still his. Your tears landed on his skin.

“Please,” you whispered. “Fight. Just… fight. Tell me what to do. Anything. Because if you die— if you leave me now— I swear—”

“I’m already leaving,” he said.

A beat. A breath.

“I don’t think anything can stop it.”

You shook your head. “No—”

“But there’s something you can do.”

You stilled.

“Take me to the sea,” he whispered.

His eyes were almost closed.

“If I die… I want the ocean to take my last breath.”

***

You helped him into the water, one arm steady around his waist, the other gripping his wrist as if holding on could somehow hold him here.

The sea was cold, even for nightfall. Each wave climbed higher, tasting skin and memory as it came. Rafayel leaned into you, too light, too quiet. His steps were uncertain, but not from fear. He wasn’t afraid. He was done.

By the time the water reached his chest, he stopped.

His breath caught. Not sharply — softly, like a curtain falling.

For a moment, under the pale gleam of moonlight, he closed his eyes. His features relaxed. And it struck you — how little color remained in his face. How glass-like his skin looked. Almost translucent. Almost not there.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words never found shape.

Because he let go.

He stepped back. And before you could stop him, before you could tighten your grip — he slipped beneath the surface and vanished.

No sound. No splash. Just absence.

“Rafayel.”

Your voice wavered, swallowed instantly by the dark. Then louder—

“RAFAYEL!”

But there was only the sea.

You surged forward, boots stumbling, breath catching in your throat as you threw yourself into the waves.

Cold bit into your spine. Your jacket dragged you down. Salt stung your eyes. None of it mattered.

You dove.

Once, five years ago, it had been the same. Different ocean. Same cold. Same fear.

You remembered that too well — sinking below the surface on a job gone wrong, your lungs seizing, your vision narrowing. And just before the dark closed in, it had been him who pulled you out. His arms, his breath, his voice.

Breathe, cutie. Come on. Breathe.

And now—

Now it was your turn to find him.

You kicked downward, deeper, into the black.

You couldn’t see. The moonlight didn’t reach this far. But you didn’t need to see. You needed to find.

The water grew colder the further you went. Each stroke slower, weaker. The pressure in your chest building, blooming like fire. Your hands swept forward, wide, desperate — fingers searching for fabric, for skin, for anything.

You found nothing.

The panic came slowly. Not like a scream, but like a slow tightening, a noose drawn carefully across your ribs. Your lungs began to burn. Your mind whispered it was too far. Too late. But your body refused to listen.

You kept going.

Until your arms stopped obeying. Until your legs stopped kicking.

Until your last exhale slipped from between your lips, and with it, the only word that still meant anything.

“Rafayel,” you mouthed.

And sank.

Everything stilled.

Time, sensation, thought.

And just as the darkness began to take you—

Something changed.

A pulse. Not from the sea. From inside.

Evol. Dormant until now — roared awake. But not with power. With purpose.

It didn’t surge to protect you. It didn’t scream in defense. It answered something quieter. Deeper.

A wish.

You weren’t trying to save yourself. You weren’t trying to rise.

You were trying to give him your heart back. To pour your strength into his veins. To reignite the spark inside him — even if it meant extinguishing your own.

Let me give it back. Let him live. Let me take the weight.

That was the prayer beneath your ribs, and Evol obeyed.

It moved through you like liquid fire, searing down to your bones, pulling from every corner of your being. It hurt. God, it hurt — not like dying, but like unraveling. You were emptying yourself willingly. Not out of fear. Out of love.

And then — resonance.

Not just from you. From him.  Like something in the darkness roared back.

No. Not her. Not this way.

You felt it — a pull in the opposite direction. Not rejection. Not resistance. Reciprocity.

His Evol flared back — instinctive, involuntary, desperate. Refusing the gift. Refusing the cost.

He wouldn’t let you die for him.  And you — you couldn’t let him die for you.

And so you were pulled. Not rising. Not flying.

Drawn back. Both of you. Together.

Because even now, even here — at the edge of everything — neither of you could bear to leave the other behind.

***

You came back coughing.

The world hit in pieces — salt on your lips, sand beneath your palms, the weight of your own chest struggling to rise.

And then—

Arms.

Not the ocean’s. His.

He was holding you. Soaked. Shaking. Alive.

His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, ragged but real. His breath skimmed your temple. His fingers gripped your shoulders like he wasn’t sure whether to anchor you — or himself.

You opened your eyes. The sky swam above you, vast and starless.

And Rafayel’s face was there. Pale with exhaustion, hair clinging wet to his skin, eyes too bright in the dark.

You reached up, touched his cheek with trembling fingers. He leaned into it.

No words passed between you. There was nothing to explain.

“This,” you whispered, voice torn to ribbons, “is exactly where I want to be when I die.”

His mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile breaking through.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, “next time we die.”

Your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Raf…”

He hushed you with his thumb against your cheek, his gaze steady and quiet.

“It’s over.”

You shook your head. “But how—”

He didn’t answer right away.

Only looked at you, and for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you saw it— light. Faint, buried, but alive in him.

“Cutie,” he said softly, “how could I keep dying when you needed me this much?”

The sound you made was broken, wild — grief and love tangled into one. You folded into him, arms tight around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

“Then you’ll have to live,” you whispered, choked, “for a long, long time. Because I need you. Every day. Every second. Every stupid heartbeat.”

He laughed — quiet and hoarse, and it felt like sunlight after rain.

“Another eternity, then. Sounds like a curse. Or a blessing. Maybe both.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face. Moonlight caught the water on his skin, and you felt like crying again.

“I was such a fool,” you said. “You shouldn’t have brought me back. I ruined everything. I wasted so much—”

“I’m not arguing,” he cut in gently. “But I figured… maybe you’d want to fix your behavior.”

A huff escaped you. Wet, shaky. Almost a smile.

“Will you let me try?” you asked. “Will you—can you forgive me?”

He didn’t even blink.

“Sweetheart,” he said, cupping your face in both hands, “this was never about forgiveness. Not really. Not about second chances or fresh starts.”

His thumbs brushed away the tears you didn’t realize were falling.

“We’re us. Flawed. Messy. Brilliant and brutal in equal measure. We hurt each other. And we heal each other.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I forgave you a long time ago. I was only angry because I didn’t understand. I thought maybe—if I’d been softer. Or warmer. Or better—maybe you would’ve stayed.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping free.

“I never left you,” you said. “Not really.”

“I know.”

He leaned forward. And kissed you.

Once — soft and slow, like breathing. Then again — deeper, like memory.

And when you kissed him back, there was no anger left. No questions. Just the weight of five years falling away between your mouths.

You broke away just long enough to murmur, “We almost died.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth.

“We’re always almost dying.”

You laughed, breathless.

“This is a terrible time—”

“There’s no better one,” he said. “You never know which kiss is the last. Which night is the edge.”

He pulled you to him again.

And beneath the moon, on wet sand and shaking limbs, you gave yourselves back — completely. No hesitation. No conditions.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t clean. But it was real.

You loved him like you remembered how. And he held you like he never forgot.

And this time, it didn’t feel like the end.

It felt like the beginning.

***

You woke to the sound of brush against canvas.

Soft, rhythmic. A whisper of motion. It tugged at something in your memory, something half-forgotten.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t even open your eyes.

There was warmth on your skin — sun, blankets, and something else. You inhaled. Salt. Linens. Paint.

And him.

When you finally blinked into the light, it took a moment to understand where you were.

The room was high-ceilinged, the windows cracked open to the hush of waves. The bed was too big, sheets still tangled, your body aching pleasantly in ways that reminded you — yes, it was real.

Last night was real.

And then—

“Don’t move.”

His voice. Low. Focused. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

You turned your head slightly, and there he was.

Rafayel. Sitting on a low stool near the foot of the bed, bare feet braced against the floor, shirt half-unbuttoned, canvas before him. A brush in one hand, a palette balanced on his thigh.

You blinked at him. “What… are you doing?”

“I said don’t move.” He didn’t look up. “You’ll ruin the pose.”

“I wasn’t posing,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “I was sleeping. Possibly drooling.”

He finally glanced at you. A glint in his eyes — amusement.

 “You were beautiful. Are. I wanted to keep this one.”

“Raf,” you said, stretching with a grimace, “I probably look like a tangled sea urchin. There’s still sand in places sand should never be. I need a shower.”

“If you let me finish, we’ll shower together.”

Your brows lifted. “Tempting bribe.”

“I know.” He smirked. “Also—note to self: never again sex on sand.”

“The ocean was too cold,” you teased.

“Not in my arms.”

That stopped you for a breath.

You smiled. A small, stunned thing.

And somewhere in the middle of smiling and remembering and wanting to kiss him again, you noticed something on the canvas. You squinted.

“Wait... is that yellow?”

He flinched. The brush stuttered.

And then—he groaned, deep and dramatic. “Dammit. Now I have to start over.”

You sat up on your elbows, eyes wide. “Was that my fault?”

He stood slowly, brush still in hand. “You moved. You talked. You ruined my masterwork.”

You grinned. “Your nude beach goddess masterwork?”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “It was going to hang in the Met.”

“Well, in that case—” you started.

But before you could escape, he lunged — grabbed your ankle, yanked you toward the edge of the bed with a playfully feral grin.

You shrieked.

“Raf!”

“You destroyed art!”

“I was the art!”

You kicked. He caught your other foot.

Laughter spilled from your throat — loud, full, aching in your ribs. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed like this.

He climbed over you, breathless with mock outrage, and you tangled together in the blankets, in limbs, in joy.

You were still gasping when you murmured, “I’m sorry I can’t erase the past. Those five years... they’re etched into us. But I swear, I’ll spend every day trying to heal what I broke.”

His expression softened — all teasing gone.

“Cutie,” he said quietly, brushing a thumb over your cheekbone, “you still don’t see it, do you?”

You stilled.

“Last night,” he said, “you were ready to give everything. Your Evol, your life, your soul — for me. Even when you thought I wouldn’t survive.”

He leaned his forehead against yours.

“In that moment, I think even the gods cried.”

You closed your eyes.

“My wounds healed the second you chose to stay,” he whispered. “There’s barely even a scar left.”

Then his voice dropped lower.

“Just promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Never disappear again. Not without giving me the chance to fight for you. Not in this lifetime. Not in any other.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You looked him in the eyes — and felt the weight of every mistake, every mile, every ache that had brought you back here.

And then you said, quietly:

“Even if all the oceans rise, even if this world burns and time eats itself whole — I’ll find you. In every life. I’ll find you, and I’ll stay.”

His lips parted. He didn’t speak.

He just kissed you.

And this time, it wasn’t for survival.

It was for everything else.

[xjulixred45x]

I just need to say that I LOVE your work, especially the ones that can be read as platonic.

So as an inverse of the parent Yuu post, let me suggest a child!Yuu, you can decide the age, but I was thinking like under 10 because

1. It is very funny to imagine a kid being involved in all the teenager drama.

The way that thing would go is just so funny. I am a pacifist, guilty, fan of Papa Crowley, but imagine him as a person who still would give Kid!Yuu the tasks as the original one is hilarious.

3. Platonic twist boys, my beloveds.

And I think that Kid!Yuu could be those kids who are a little up on the time; ngl, I like neglect Reader/Mc/Yuu content a lot so lets put a little a bit of it too.

I guess this is it; it sounds more like me divagating than anything else, but okay. Remember to eat something, stay hydrated, and keep up the good work.

-🐦‍⬛✨

Aww, thank you so much! I love the platonic content in any series, but especially in Twisted Wonderland because I relate to many of the characters' struggles (I had a really difficult period of depression as a teenager, among other things), so part of me just wants to go and give them a hug.

Technically, I already have a series of posts as Child! Yuu, but I understand what you're saying and I like it!

Probably Child! Yuu did something rash like letting go of their parents' hands while crossing the street and was hit by the black carriage and transported to TWST. Either way, at first they didn't see the gravity of the situation, precisely because of the childlike mentality of now being in their own version of Alice in Wonderland (not in those exact words, but definitely with that train of thought).

In this way, they quickly becomes friends with Ace, Deuce, and Grim. After all, there isn't much to do while Crowley tries to "bring them back home." So they tries to have fun however they wants, without worrying about anything until the incident with the monster in the mine (perhaps it happens slightly differently here, but with the same essence and result). It's from this point on that Child! Yuu is generally more protected by Deuce, Ace and Grim.

Crowley lets Yuu live within the institution instead of Ramshackle, and is surprisingly present when it comes to the little child from another world. It's not uncommon to see Yuu sleeping in his office, stealing his hat, or even tucked into his coat when there's nothing else to do. When they ask Crowley about it, he simply says he allows them this kind of closeness because he's "very kind," but the truth is everyone can see the clear favoritism (which is why, if any student breaks something, they blame Yuu directly, knowing it will simply be swept under the rug. If it were any other student, it would be an instant detention).

Riddle is sincerely concerned that Ace and Deuce will be bad influences on Yuu, so he lets them know that he won't tolerate any out-of-character behavior with such a young child present (things like rude gestures, swearing, obscene signs, as he says, will be severely punished even without Yuu's presence). However, he also has his restrictions for Yuu, such as a limited amount of candy (he doesn't want the kid to get cavities so early in life), they can only play with the hedgehogs for the same amount of time they studies/reads a book, etc.

Riddle post-Overblot is much softer on Yuu as a child, especially if Yuu themself has a history of neglect from their family in their world. Riddle himself has fresh childhood wounds, so he doesn't want this GOOD child to end up swallowed up by pain and trauma the same way he was. If he can contribute to making Yuu's childhood happier, then he'll gladly do so.

Leona doesn't like children; I think we can consider that a universal truth. At least not loud and nosy children, and Yuu initially counted as loud and nosy, though one thing Leona found funny about them was that the child acted much older than they actually was, as if they could do something to him. Yuu isn't scary, not one bit, but they're not afraid of anything, so Leona respects their courage.

There are some things Yuu says that show they didn't have a good upbringing in their world, and that leads to something new: sympathy. Leona isn't easy on the kid, obviously, but he doesn't leave them to fate (whether it's sending Jack to make sure the kid stays alive or Ruggie to bring em something extra). Let's just say that Yuu and Leona, in a weird way, understand each other.

Azul definitely tries to take advantage of Crowley's favoritism toward Yuu to get him to make a deal with him, but fortunately Yuu understands the concept of "stranger danger" and avoids him at all costs. After Book 3, however, Yuu started stopping by Octavinelle if he wanted something better than cafeteria food (or the food Crowley gave them). Floyd especially loves to play (non-lethal way) with Yuu; it's not uncommon to see him running around campus with Yuu on his shoulders (usually screaming, either from happiness or fear, that is the question).

I don't think Child!Yuu can join the first-year classes for obvious reasons, but Azul is quite willing to give them private lessons so they doesn't stagnate in their education (with a small fee that Crowley has to pay, of course). Though sometimes it seems like it's just an excuse for Yuu to come to Octavinelle when they're too overwhelmed by Crowley's disasters.

Kalim finds Yuu adorable! He has some trouble taking his hands off them—he just wants to squeeze their face, hug them, and GHAAAAA! He totally has bouts of cute aggression. With Kalim's massive amount of siblings, you can expect him to be especially empathetic and protective of younger Yuu; he can't help but see them as his little sibilings.

Kalim gets really sad whenever Yuu mentions anything that implies they didn't have loving parents or a happy childhood in general, which can lead to a cuddle session on his part, assuring Yuu that they'll never want for anything while in Scarabia (and Kalim makes sure he lives up to that promise). If it weren't for Crowley (and his age), Kalim would have already adopted Yuu as a little sibiling.

By the events of Book 5, Yuu is already showing more signs of nostalgia and missing their world than before, even to the point of changing attitude. Vil is probably one of the people who notices this change when he sees them interacting with Ace and Deuce (during their time in Ramshackle). Vil isn't gentle with anyone under any circumstances, but it worries him a little to see this normally cheerful and energetic child suddenly so downcast and sad. That doesn't look good, honey. No child should look so broken.

Vil is probably the only one of the dorm leaders who goes directly to Crowley with his concerns. Even if he takes the director's promises with a grain of salt, he does make it his mission to make sure Yuu is okay, both physically and psychologically. This includes using an outing or event as an excuse for Yuu to have fun, or even turning a blind eye to things he normally wouldn't allow (eating sweets or junk food, getting dirty while playing, etc.).

Idia knew about Yuu from the rumors surrounding them, but he didn't really think they'd ever really interact until the events of Book 6. After that, there's a good chance Ortho and Yuu became good friends (being the closest in age to Yuu), so Idia went from never seeing Yuu to seeing them a few times on an average day. Sometimes the older brother instinct extends to Yuu too (maybe because they reminds him of Ortho in a way), in things like keeping Yuu from touching things they shouldn't, patting them on the head when they gets an answer right, etc.

Idia is...awkward for comfort, but he tries, genuinely tries. Besides, it's very likely that he himself is looking for a way to get Yuu back home, not only because he KNOWS Crowley isn't doing shit, but because there are surely people going crazy looking for Yuu in their world (maybe not the parents, but another family member must surely be very worried about them).

Malleus was always curious about the human child who unexpectedly arrived in his life. Not only was they not afraid of him, but they saw him in a way that Malleus could only describe as fascination and curiosity, something truly incredible to him. For this reason, Malleus constantly followed Yuu, whether to prevent the kid from hurting themself or being hurt by others, but he also ended up enjoying their company, their simple way of seeing the world, even seeing him.

For this reason, Malleus quickly noticed when his young friend began to become more discouraged, struggling to keep up with the tasks the adults assigned them (quite irresponsibly, he could say). Malleus understands to a certain extent (he compares this to how he used to miss Lilia when he went on trips), so if Yuu needs someone to listen to them the way they listens to others, Malleus has his arms open.

________

(ESPAÑOL)

Awwww muchas gracias! Amo el contenido platónico de cualquier serie, pero especialmente en Twisted Wonderland porque me identifico con muchas de las luchas de los personajes (tuve una etapa depresiva muy difícil en la adolescencia, entre otras cosas), por lo que una parte de mí solo quiere ir y darles un abrazo.

Ya tengo técnicamente una serie de posts como Child! Yuu, pero entiendo lo que dices ¡y me gusta!

Probablemente Child!Yuu hizo algo precipitado como soltarse de la mano de sus padres al cruzar la calle y fue golpeado por el carruaje negro y transportado a TWST. De cualquier manera, al principio no veían la gravedad de la situación, justamente por la mentalidad infantil de ahora estar en su propia versión de Alicia en el país de las maravillas (no con esas palabras exactas, pero definitivamente con ese tren de pensamiento).

De esa forma se hace amigo de Ace, Deuce y Grim bastante rápido, después de todo no hay mucho que hacer mientras Crowley trata de “regresarlo a casa”, asi que trata de divertirse como quiera, sin preocuparse por nada hasta el incidente con el monstruo en la mina (talvez aquí pasa de forma ligeramente diferente, pero con la misma esencia y resultado). Es a partir de aquí que Child!Yuu es mas resguardado por Adeuce y Grim en general.

Crowley deja que Yuu viva dentro de la institución en vez de ramshackle, y es sorprendentemente presente cuando se trata del pequeño niño de otro mundo. No es raro ver a Yuu durmiendo en su oficina, robando su sombrero o incluso metido en su abrigo cuando no hay nada que hacer. Cuando le preguntan a Crowley al respecto, el simplemente dice que le permite este tipo de cercanía porque es “muy amable” pero la verdad todos pueden ver que hay un claro favoritismo (por lo mismo, si algún estudiante rompe algo, directamente culpan a Yuu, porque saben que entonces simplemente será barrido bajo la alfombra. Si fuera cualquier otro estudiante seria detención instantánea).

Riddle sinceramente está preocupado de que Ace y Deuce sean unas malas influencias en Yuu, por lo que les hace saber que no va a tolerar ningún comportamiento fuera de lugar con un niño tan joven presente (cosas como gestos groseros, malas palabras, signos obscenos, como él dice, serán severamente castigados incluso sin la presencia de Yuu), sin embargo, también tiene sus restricciones para Yuu, como un número limitado de dulces (no quiere que el nene tenga caries tan temprano en la vida), solo puede jugar con los erizos el mismo tiempo que estudio/leyó un lbro, etc.

Riddle post Overblot es mucho más blando con Yuu niño y más si el propio Yuu tiene un historial de negligencia por parte de su familia en su mundo. Riddle mismo tiene heridas de la infancia frescas, por lo que no quiere que este niño BUENO termine absorbido por el dolor y trauma de la misma forma que él lo hizo, si él puede contribuir que la infancia de Yuu sea más feliz, entonces lo hará encantado.

Leona no le gustan los niños, creo que podemos considerar eso una verdad universal. Al menos los niños ruidosos y entrometidos, y Yuu al principio contaba como ruidoso y entrometido, aunque algo que Leona encontraba gracioso de él es que el niño actuaba como si fuera mucho más grande de lo que realmente era, como si pudiera hacer algo contra EL. Yuu no asusta, ni un poco, pero no le tiene miedo a nada, por lo que Leona respeta sus agallas.

Hay algunas cosas que Yuu dice que dejan ver que no tuvo una buena crianza en su mundo, y eso lleva a algo nuevo, simpatía. Leona no es suave con el niño, obviamente, pero no lo deja a su suerte (ya sea mandando a Jack para asegurarse de que el niño siga vivo o Ruggie para llevarle algo extra). Digamos que Yuu y Leona, de una forma rara, se entienden.

Azul definitivamente trata de aprovecharse del favoritismo de Crowley hacia Yuu para que asi haga un trato con él, pero afortunadamente Yuu conoce el concepto de “peligro extraño” y lo evitaba a cualquier costa. Después del libro 3, sin embargo, Yuu empezó a pasar por Octavinelle si quería algo mejor que la comida de la cafetería (o la comida que le daba Crowley). Floyd especialmente le encanta jugar (de forma no letal) con Yuu, no es raro verlo correr por el campus con Yuu en sus hombros (normalmente gritando, de felicidad o de miedo, esa es la cuestión).

No creo que Child!Yuu pueda unirse a las clases de los de primer año por obvias razones, pero Azul esta bastante dispuesto a darle clases particulares para que no se estanque en su educación (con una pequeña cuota que Crowley tiene que pagar por supuesto). Aunque a veces parece que es solo una excusa para que Yuu venga a Octavinelle cuando esta muy sobrecargado de los desastres de Crowley.

Kalim encuentra a Yuu adorable! Tiene ciertos problemas en quitarle las manos encima ¡simplemente quiere apretarle la cara, abrazarlo y GHAAAAA! Completamente tiene ataques de cute agression. Con la cantidad masiva de hermanos que tiene Kalim, puedes esperar que sea especialmente empático y protector con un Yuu más joven, no puede evitar ver en ellos a sus hermanos pequeños.

Kalim se siente muy mal cada vez que Yuu menciona algo que denota que no tuvo padres amorosos o una infancia feliz en general, lo que puede llevar a una sesión de abrazos por su parte y asegurarle a Yuu que nunca le faltara nada estando en Scarabia (y vaya que Kalim se asegura de cumplir esa parte). Si no fuera por Crowley (y su edad), Kalim ya habría adoptado a Yuu como hermanito.

Para los eventos del libro 5, Yuu ya empieza a tener mas signos de nostalgia y de extrañar su mundo que antes, incluso llegando a cambiar de actitud, y probablemente una de las personas que se da cuenta de este cambio es Vil cuando le ve interactuar con Ace y Deuce (durante el tiempo que estuvieron en ramshackle). Vil no es suave con nadie bajo ninguna circunstancia, pero le preocupa un poco mucho ver a este niño normalmente alegre y enérgico, de la nada, tan desplomado y triste. Eso no se ve bien, cariño, ningún niño debería verse tan acabado.

Vil es probablemente el único de los líderes de dormitorio que va directamente con Crowley con sus preocupaciones, aun si toma con un gran gramo de sal las promesas del director, lo toma en sus manos asegurarse de que Yuu esté bien, tanto física como psicológicamente, ya sea usando de excusa alguna salida o evento para que Yuu se divierta, incluso haciendo la vista gorda de cosas que normalmente no le permitiría (comer dulces o comida chatarra, ensuciarse al jugar, etc.)

Idia sabia de Yuu por los rumores que había a su alrededor, pero realmente no pensó que llegarían a interactuar de verdad hasta los eventos del libro 6. Después de eso, hay una buena posibilidad de que Ortho y Yuu se hicieran buenos amigos (al ser lo más cercano en edad a Yuu), por lo que Idia paso de no ver nunca a Yuu a verle unas cuantas veces en un dia promedio. a veces el instinto de hermano mayor también se extiende a Yuu (talvez porque le recuerda de cierta forma a Ortho), en cosas como evitar que Yuu toque cosas que no debe, darle palmadas en la cabeza cuando dice bien una respuesta, etc.

Idia es…incómodo para el confort, pero lo intenta, genuinamente lo intenta. Además, es muy probable que el mismo este buscando una forma de regresar a Yuu a su casa no solo porque él SABE que Crowley no hace una mierda, sino porque de seguro hay gente que está perdiendo la cabeza buscando a Yuu en su mundo (talvez no sus padres, pero otra familia de seguro debe estar muy preocupada por ellos).

Malleus siempre sintió curiosidad por el niño humano que llego de forma inesperada a su vida, no solo no le tenía miedo, sino que lo veía de una forma que Malleus solo podía decir que era fascinación y curiosidad, algo verdaderamente increíble para él. Por lo mismo, Malleus seguía constantemente a Yuu, ya fuera para evitar que el niño se lastimara o que lo lastimaran, pero también termino disfrutando de su compa��ía, de su forma simple de ver el mundo, de verlo a él incluso.

Por lo mismo, Malleus noto rápidamente cuando su joven amigo empezó a estar más desanimado, a tener problemas para estar a la altura de las tareas que le dejaban los adultos (de forma bastante irresponsable, podía decir). Malleus entiende hasta cierto punto (compara esto con como el solia extrañar a Lilia cuando se iba de viaje), por lo que, si Yuu necesita a alguien que le escuche de la misma forma que el escucha a los demás, Malleus tiene los brazos abiertos.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[giulzart]

hey can u give me interactive fiction recs? i went down a rabbit hole with wayhaven and infamous and i need something to fill a void 🙏

Hi, sure i’ll list some of the blogs on here from ifs i’m playing and enjoying and I hope something will fill the void haha

If you like wayhaven try and check out:

@barbwritesstuff Bloodmoon and Thicker Than - the themes are different but you get vampires and werewolf in modern times creating a bond with others peers plus you have to solve mystery and navigate powerplays so they’re both very fun!

@vapolis Remember You Will Die - it’s a bit darker theme wise(cyberpunk/sci-fi), but the MC is so fun and unhinged and the RO’s as well haha

@vendetta-if Vendetta - again different theme but you have complicated family, you get cool powers and the fighting scenes are chef kiss imo

Instead if you liked infamous:

@pressplay-if Press Play - it’s music themed. It’s an esclusive interview with the members of a retired famous band after years since they disbanded. The author said it’s a tragedy and your MC is probably not gonna have an happy ending with the ROs so you’ve been warned haha

@apt502-if Apartment 502 - Kind of has a New Girl/Friends vibes. It’s a slice of life, you move to New York and get a new job, meet new people but you also lose someone… it has sooo many choices and opportunities for customising your MC, fyi your MC is not gonna have an easy time in the beginning just so you know

@loveandleases Love and Leases - slice of life, you get to move on after a break up and some family drama. Lots of nice ROs with different vibes and personality, also I’m a sucker for these sitcom like ifs cause I love to see how it goes and evolves!

I’m add some fantasy options ‘case I really like these too.

(Some of them have some warnings so i suggest read those before checking out the actual if!)

@virtues-end Virtue’s End - I’m a sucker for the aesthetic of this if, gives me gothic fantasy Middle Ages with a little bit of Bloodborne vibes sprinkled in there and I’ve been loving all the chapters (also Shea has me and my mc in a chokehold hahah)

@night-market-if The Night Market - I really admire and appreciate the world building of this if (also love all the hints at mythology and take on some religions in it) and how it’s not all so black and white for the characters, in the sense that even if I don’t agree with the choices of some characters I still get where they’re coming from and for me that’s characters well written that I enjoy!

@louroth Ouroboros - darker theme, apocalyptic vibes but with some magic and fantasy in there. I like the different MCs you can make and you also have some monster options for the ROs, if you like that!

@ataleofcrowns A tale of Crowns - The setting for this if is one of my faves and all the ROs are captivating yet diverse along with their backstory and I love the building of the MC as well (check out D storyline if you like the angst of A’s in Wayhaven, they’re very different but the angst hits good)

@coeluvr Crown of Ashes and Flame - I really like the setting and, again, you can seek vengence, if you want, and the characters are all interesting and you can get a nice dose of angst if that’s what you like

@llamagirl28 The Bastard of Camelot - again really enjoy the theme of Arthurian legends and the spin the author chose. You get a lot of options for the ROs to pick from and you can also choose the type of relationship you’ll have with your parents AND you get a dragon (read the warning before playing and make sure you’re comfortable with what you’re gonna read)

@intimidatingpuffinstudios The Soulstone War Series - again fantasy with magic, dragons, an interesting plot, you get a donkey and the RO’s are all hot hahaha

@fallenhero-rebirth The Fallen Hero Series - superhero themed but in an apocalyptic world and you play as the villain! It was one of the first if’s I’ve played and I still replay it every once in a while cause I really like it!

I’d have added more but the list was already long so maybe I’ll do a part 2 hahah!

[hpowellsmith]

New Game Announcement: THE EARTH HAS TEETH by Harris Powell-Smith

Play the current WIP demo on cogdemos or itch!

Developer Diary | ROs | Tagged posts

A century ago, the tiger god Vastan fought a risen demon over the steppes and mountains that are your home, battling for mastery over the earth below. Their war poisoned the land, causing magical storms that twist the mind and the elements alike. At the moment of Vastan’s eventual triumph she was grievously wounded, retreating beneath the mountains to be cared for by a sect of worshippers known as the Guardians of Tulara. You are one of those Guardians: a scout who ventures from the secretive monastery to hunt, gather, and trade with those living on the plains. Protected from the storms by Vastan’s power even as she sleeps, you care for your wounded god in your small, safe community. Until today. After an attack on your monastery that leaves your comrades dead and scattered, you cut a piece of your god to preserve her in a weakened, half-alive state and run. Scraping together a living as a hunter, forager, and courier on the dangerous steppes, you must survive the gathering storms while searching for a way to bring your god back to life. In this fantasy game of tragedy and survival, will you rebuild your order or forge a new path of your own, align with Vastan or rebel against her? Will you bring back your god and protect your lands, or take this chance to seize power for yourself?

Play as male, female, or non-binary; cis or trans; gay, straight, or bisexual; asexual and/or aromantic; allosexual and/or alloromantic; monogamous or polyamorous

Befriend, romance, clash with, or destroy an ambitious, stubborn magic enthusiast with a lot to prove; a hard-bitten courier determined to be self-reliant while looking after their own; a haughty, visionary herbalist obsessed with preserving knowledge for future generations; an outgoing, no-nonsense guard with a strong protective streak; a fast-talking witch-turned-con-artist who might have a heart of gold somewhere.

Survive the storms: use your skills and knowledge to help the communities on the steppes–or only yourself

Unearth dark secrets on the steppes: will you share them with the world, or bury them once more?

Build your relationship with your dying god and rebuild her power, or use it for your own ends

Give of yourself or others for the greater good, persuade your god to different paths, or rebel against her entirely

When the storm hits, what will you sacrifice for survival?

The MC of The Earth Has Teeth

You’ve lived in the Tulara monastery all your life, along with a group of around fifty Guardians of Vastan. After your parents died in a storm when you were in your mid-teens, you were cared for by the other Guardians and have lived a comfortable, if hard-working, life.

You’re now 25 and an experienced scout, adept at travelling alone and surviving in the wilderness. Thanks to Vastan’s power and protection, you’ve rarely wanted for food and even if some of your trips outside were harder than others, the safe haven of the monastery walls was always waiting for you.

Not anymore.

Vastan the tiger god

In your holy texts, Vastan is described as a tiger larger than the sky who moves faster than the eye can see and has all-powerful influence. As you know her, she appears as a tiger striped black-and-gold the size of a house, who sleeps in a huge underground chamber deep in the Tulara monastery.

While the demon Nerekay had influence over and could warp the elements, Vastan’s power is entwined with nature, protection, and growth. She made unearthly plants grow and flourish in the monastery, and her presence improved the health of her Guardians. She can also provide protection from the hypnotic, mind-altering storm sickness and, before the attack, she shielded the monastery from storms hitting it at all.

You carry a part of Vastan with you now, and although her powers are diminished, she can still lend you help when you’re in need.

Magic in Amikya

In Amikya, the land in which you live, priests draw magical power from Vastan through time-honoured religious ritual, whereas witches do so through practices more like folk medicine and superstition passed down through generations of folklore. Not all witches consider their power to come from Vastan: some see it as drawing magic from the earth.

There are blurred lines between the practices, though not every witch or priest would like to admit such a thing, and not every town approves of magical practices at all.

Major Befriendable and Romanceable Characters

All the romanceable characters are gender-flippable. All characters can be romanced monogamously; some can be romanced polyamorously in various configurations - more on that later!

Armell Bassar (23): the only child of a town leader, Armell is passionate about learning more magic to protect and expand their home. With a keen mind and more intensity than they know what to do with, Armell is eager to prove themself to their community and to their mother. (flippable between cis man/cis woman/agender)

Elisei/Elena/Elis Kiriyak (32): an expert herbalist and potion-maker, Dr. Kiriyak is near-obsessive about their collection of seeds and potions and the knowledge they’ve amassed. Some might call them arrogant; Kiriyak would say that’s irrelevant. (flippable between trans man/trans woman/genderqueer)

Nikita Leu (25): a courier carrying items and messages as well as escorting people, Nikita is an excellent survivalist and has endured a dangerous itinerant life on the plains despite experiencing tragedy. Nikita is generally withdrawn and self-reliant to a fault. (flippable between cis man/cis woman/transfem)

Serhii/Sara/Saba Roschin (39): the leader of a town guard, Roschin is boisterous and cheerful, and likes to be the first to dive in to fix a problem. Roschin is a bold fighter and protector who may go too far when joking around but will stand up for others when it matters. (flippable between cis man/cis woman/transmasc)

Valeria/Valerio Chernenko (26): a flamboyant witch who guides travellers through storms and sells magical charms, Val’s trinkets aren't always as effective as they claim. Living a transient life, Val relies on their wits to avoid trouble - not always successfully. (flippable between trans man/trans woman/nonbinary transfem)

[savi-our]

Anti-Harem with OP Mage MC pt. 2

Right so... this is longer than i intended and more detailed than intended, i humbly ask for your forgiveness for this reading more like a fanfic one-shot 😭 Theres just so much you can do with this idea and i wanted to do the SF brothers justice, this is less anti-harem centric and more daily life of MC centric so do what you will with it - id love to hear some thoughts on this though, im genuinely considering writing a full blown fic abt this prompt and writing out ideas here helps convince me. Also watch me turn SF Sans into a closeted fangirl in real-time bc i CAN and i WISH TO and i WILL... tee hee 😍 HT for next part maybe? idk hdafejkkl

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Months passed since the new recruit arrived, and you had spent most of those months avoiding the household all together, not that any of them were in any hurry to seek you out. Actually - apart from passing glares and avoidant glances the skeletons had seemed to avoid you all together now, and it didn't take you long to realize that it was the newbies doing. It seems the brothers had already begun to switch all their official mage dealings with the newbie, and you overheard them one night speaking of how nice it'll be once you were gone. It hit you hard, the unbridled JOY that came from those words. The first smile in months had graced your expression, this annoying assignment would be done soon, and you didn't even have to look for a replacement. Of course there was a technical issue there, the recruit was weak, you doubted they could handle the responsibility, but you'd be damned if you had to be reassigned to the brothers again due to their own poor judgement. You set up barrier upon barrier on the furthest borders of the property, weaving old and powerful magic unseen by the untrained eye, as invisible as a spider thread in the deep dark of night.

The day came sooner than anticipated, a sunny morning wrapped in late spring dew when an official courier brought you the sealed reassignment papers, you wasted very little time. There were no goodbyes, nobody to see you off, no see you laters. You just packed your bags and left, deciding to celebrate your release from this mock hell with a feast of your own making. 

Days passed easily after that, your new assignment had been similar in that you were still expected to deal with monsterkind. As the official top ranking mage you were expected to oversee the immigration process of the newer species - finding them homes and determining the new borders, on paper that is - in actuality you were there in case it all went to shit. You were there to evaluate how big of a threat these newcomers were, and if all of it went down the drain, expectation fell to you to play both judge and executioner. It was all a terrible diplomatic hassle, endless meetings with diplomats and officials from both sides, meetings with the kings and queens, correspondence between the Archmage and the people on the ground, endless evaluations and negotiations. Where they lived, were they safe, were they able to integrate, political and financial concerns, provisions and temporary shelters were now your everyday cause for headache. It was there you met a pair of somewhat similar faces.

 Black and Mutt were skeletons, and that fact had not given you the best first impression - unbecoming of you perhaps, to judge a book by its cover, but months of threats and insults could change even the most unbiased of people. The two were a tad different from the others however, something you found curious if not a bit strange, they were… respectful, if not a bit stiff. Charged as part of the Royal Guard - they worked closely with the rulers of Mtt. Ebbot, so you saw them often escorting officials to and from meetings. You had no reason to approach them, coming from the other side as you were, you technically outranked them quite a bit in the merging hierarchy, but it was one stormy night that made you all grow quite a bit closer in an alarmingly short period of time.

A pack of fiends had snuck their way into one of the lesser guarded shelters outside of Mtt. Ebbott, cunning creatures that fed off of magic. They were hardly a threat alone, even an apprentice mage could take on two by themself - unfortunately due to that fact they tended to gather in numbers, the recorded largest amount was around forty if you remembered right, this however, this was beyond your imagination.

You should have predicted it,it was your miss, your meager miscalculation, of course they would be drawn here, a cave sealed off for centuries, brewing magic for centuries, a breeding ground for anything magic, broken for the first time in centuries. You responded quickly, but by the time you got there it was already chaos, the loud thrum of magic permeated the air and both monsters and humans were rushed off of the scene, the ground was bloodied, a sign that you were already late. You assessed the scene as you rushed past the terrified civilians, you would need to clean it up quickly. 

The resisting force had taken damage but they were holding, human and monster guards stationed at the furthest gate fighting off the onslaught of fangs and burning eyes. You took notice of the two skeletons fighting beyond the gate, they worked well together, soldiers of significant skill - you sped past them, an order to pull back immediately flew past your lips and you moved further into the swarm, Black had called after you but you tuned it out, as daunting as the situation seemed it was still below your paygrade.

It was a single spell, a light that lit up the sky, a deafening bang that rattled the ground and the job was done. Your hands stung from the forced speed of the cast, but you remained unscathed as you stood among the scattered ashes, burning flesh permeated the air. You sighed, the ever present mountain of paperwork on your desk was bound to double in size.

It was all damage control after that, rushed orders to your subordinates and rebinding of the barriers, but when you stepped past the gate once again to scout out the surrounding for any remaining threats is when the two skeleton guards approached you, they demanded to go with you- well the shorter one did anyway, it made your brows raise - there weren't many people left in the world that demanded things from you. You looked them both over, amusement in your eyes, and agreed, a challenge to keep up on your tongue.

After that things had slightly shifted, the skeletons greeted you upon meeting, saluted you upon leaving, you began to notice more monsters approach you with official papers or directives, it was an odd thing, mainly because you reflected on how joined it seemed all of a sudden. Before the attack you were mostly responsible for the human mages and soldiers on base, now it seemed your responsibilities grew their own legs and danced around the monsters as well. You saw more of the skeletons, Black in particular seemed curious, even though he never admitted it or outwardly showed it, it was subtle but you noticed, he often joined you for your nightly rounds even when not required to, it was a bit awkward at first, silent patrolling of the grounds, you had nothing to really speak about, and it seemed neither did he. You could not for the life of you figure out why he took such a sudden interest in your company but you also were curious how long he would keep it up, besides, having him accompany you seemed to put the other monsters at ease.It was on one of those rounds when you finally addressed him, he seemed surprised that you had, shoulders stiff, back straight as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“Don't you have more important things to do?” You asked, the question seemed harsh, but its harshness dissipated by the lightness of your tone, echoed by the stone hall in the moonlit night. He had opened his mouth but it was a moment before he responded, seemingly not expecting conversation, he turned away clearing his throat as he set himself to rights.

“OF COURSE NOT, THE SECURITY OF THESE GROUNDS IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE. CONSIDERING THE DISASTER FROM TWO WEEKS AGO ITS MORE EFFICIENT TO DO IT MYSELF.” 

You hummed, continuing to walk, listening to the sharp sound of his footfalls a step behind you.

“Would it not be better to split up then?” You asked, your tone still light, your eyes observing him with a knowing glint.

“W-WELL YES, BUT FOUR EYES ARE BETTER THAN ONE, AND IT WILL SAVE TIME IF WE DO SPOT SOMETHING AND NEED A MESSENGER.”

And your guess proved right, his reasoning was weak at best, there was no need for both of you to do rounds together - you could clock a threat miles away even in the pitch black, and you knew for a fact that Black could handle himself well enough, and yet he seemed to want to be in your shadow all the same, you chuckled, but did not voice your thoughts. 

Your relationship seemed to steadily improve after that, every now and again you would walk the shelter grounds together, and every now and again you'd exchange conversation albeit a short one, but it beat the awkward silence that was there in the beginning.

Mutt was different, he didn't seem to hold as much intrigue towards you as his brother, he was more so there by default as he seemed to almost always stay by his brother's side, in fact the only time you saw either of them apart was when Black joined you in securing the premises. The taller brother was an enigma, you had not heard him speak once since your assignment, a part of you wondered if he even could. But he didn't seem outwardly volatile either, more so apathetic towards the goings on around him. That opinion switched one busy day where a scheduling error had made the three of you take an overnight shift guarding a group of pompous diplomats. It was a nightmare, twelve straight hours of listening to empty boasts and endless rants about the economy, even you had begun to space out, this was probably worse than those month long scouting missions in Siberia you were forced into back in training.

 You noticed the brothers were reaching their limit as well, you worried Black would leave indents in his skull with the force he was gritting his teeth and you were sure Mutt was half asleep as he wobbled on his feet, skull falling every odd minute or so. 

It was a couple hours later when you found out you were scheduled for two more babysitting sessions except they were both at the same time, and both had human and monster envoys, Black seemed to mirror your frustration as you checked and rechecked the schedule. 

One way or another you had organized a lower ranking mage qualified for escort duty to take your place for one of them, and Black had given his brother the order to attend the same one as you as he himself took the other, rushed words of “IT’LL BE QUICKER IF EACH OF US TAKES ONE.” after which you parted, the vote of confidence made you chuckle.

It was another four hours when you wondered if Mutt had passed away standing on his feet, he hadnt moved in a good hour or two, and skeletons didn't need to breathe so he remained deathly still. He stood behind the officials chair like a statue carved from marble, quite an unsettling sight considering the early hours of the morning and the sharp looming shadows casting off of him. The human envoys seemed to agree with you, considering the nervous glances being cast his way amidst the conversation, and you couldn't help but find the situation amusing. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep or the frustrations of your job but you decided to hurry the meeting along with a mischievous play of magic, lest you join Mutt in his nap. A moving shadow here, the caw of a crow there and what do you know, suddenly all business has been magically taken care of.

You had woken the looming skeleton with the good news and watched as he attempted to stifle a yawn, he had checked his phone and noted that his brother had not been graced with the same fortune as you. You had asked if he would wait - a nod, you offered your office - a moment of silence, but after a while, another nod.

It was another hour at your desk, finishing up some paperwork when you heard gentle snoring on your office couch, a comfy thing that had served you many times for a bed in the days where your job kept you from home, the sound made you blink slowly to the skeleton that occupied it.

Your own exhaustion made you zone out in thought, the sight had an enviable peacefulness to it, it's perhaps why you didn't notice the phone that fell with a quiet thump out of Mutts pocket. It vibrated, once, twice, then for a third time, screen lighting up repeatedly. You rose from your seat, bones popping as you sighed and made your way over, if it was Black then it was probably asking where Mutt was, you should wake him.

Is what you thought anyway, what ended up happening was you being trapped in an iron grip stuck to a dead asleep skeleton. It happened so quickly and out of nowhere that you didn't even have time to process it, the long hours awake didn't help either. One second you're reaching for his shoulder and the next you're halfway on top of said skeleton, limbs wound around limbs. You blanked, what even was this situation, you never took Mutt for a cuddler, his grip is crushing, impressive for someone with no muscle, wait hold on.

You attempted to pull away, but the answering growl and tightening hold let you know that the skeleton didn't agree with that choice of options, subconsciously or not. Waking him up seemed a thing that you should do, but the option flew right out of the door once you thought about how this would all register with him once he woke up, it was embarrassing really. You attempted once again to move off of him but he turned, and dragged you along with him further into the couch. Ah, you had made it worse. Couch cushions pressed in your back and a very large and a very asleep skeleton pressing you into his ribcage, it seems he intended to keep you for a body pillow, now what.

The door slammed open and you blanked once again, this was a nightmare, you prayed it wasn't some disgruntled diplomat come to complain to you about something. You attempted to lift your head to see but the grip on you made your back pop and you groaned, breath knocked out of you.

“MUTT! WHAT IN TORIEL'S NAME ARE YOU DOING GET OFF THIS INSTANT!! NOW YOU DOG! OFF!” The yelling was familiar and for a second you felt relief, and then dread all over again as vertigo hit you. In his panic he had rolled, rolled right off the couch and onto the cold hard ground and had taken you with him. You groaned again as you attempted to get your bearings, lifting your gaze only to be met with bright purple, you blinked and watched as slowly but surely confusion turned into realization and then straight into horror, the brightness of the flush on Mutt’s face was there for half a second before he was gone, disappearing into thin air. 

It took you a while to process the whole thing , even longer to reassure Black that it was an accident on his brother's part and that you were partly to blame for the situation as well. By the end of it all it was safe to say that you were exhausted, so you had locked up and went home, it was the morning after that you noticed that the lanky skeletons phone was still innocently laid on your carpet. You snorted, wondering whether or not the silent guard dog would come knocking on your door before late, or if it would be his ever principled brother in his stead.

[riding-the-sunset-bird]

I was in a Baxter mood today so I went swimming in GB Patch's blog for all the Baxter facts:

General

His personality, at least defined by GB Patch, is that he's sheltered and out-of-touch without being elitist or self-centered. He's preppy/posh, quite sociable, and hates conflict, but likes to go against what's expected of him. He grows out of being such a rich kid trust fund baby by Step 4.

His parents are bigots. He's the unlucky one in a sea of characters with supportive parents.

He has a distant French origin.

His birthday is the day his DLC came out, meaning May 19th.

He's 5'11" (180cm) in Step 4 (this was apparently reconfirmed on the Our Life Discord as well).

His natural hair color - a dark dusty gray that he hates - is uncommon to be born with (as opposed to aged into) in the Our Life universe.

He's right-handed.

Childhood

His dream job as a child was to get into investments, having a strong portfolio with diverse assets (he does not fully know what that means at the time).

He's a late bloomer.

Baxter's crush on Qiu from Our Life 2 is at its peak when he's 12 and 13 (13 being his age in Our Life 2's Step 1), but he's moving on by 14 (when he can potentially meet the MC in Soiree).

He met Qiu at their local dance hall (as they both took lessons there, just in different forms of dance) and also met Ren/Renee (Darren in Our Life 2's Step 1) through Qiu, as the two had known each other since they were very young.

He wasn't thrown off by his crush on Qiu despite Qiu being a boy, as Qiu was popular and it seemed "unfair" to Baxter not to be able to like him. He puts more thought into it as he grows older and what it means, deciding that he'll feel however he'll feel and not worry about what's expected of him. In Soiree, the MC can notice this if they're male or non-binary, as Baxter isn't bothered by dancing with someone who isn't female.

Abilities (or Lack Thereof)

He's a weak swimmer. He can swim fine in pools but would probably struggle in the ocean.

He can sing.

He's experienced in multiple types of dance (though his favorite is the waltz).

Step 3 Baxter is a lazy, bad cook who doesn't even want to bother with cooking, but Step 4 Baxter takes an interest in trying more fancy/restaurant-style food and is able to do so.

Likes/Dislikes

He likes things being clean, but isn't always motivated enough to maintain that.

He liked video games when he was a kid, leaning towards action/adventure ones, though doesn't anymore in his late teens and beyond. He would play life-based games (such as the Sims series) with the MC if asked, however, either playing innocent like he didn't know what he was doing while messing around with the characters or being blatantly obvious about it.

He doesn't like dancing in clubs/discos. He would try it once because he enjoys trying different types of dance, but would only go regularly if he had a friend/partner who liked going to such places.

He would absolutely approve of an MC who chooses to only wear black and white.

Romantic Inclinations

Beyond his crush on Qiu (who he never confessed to), Baxter dates people, but never for long or seriously.

The reason he backs out of asking out the MC if they say that he's their first crush (unless the MC is referring to his Soiree self) is that he feels they have idealized feelings for him and he'd disappoint them. He essentially panics, not wanting to get the MC's hopes up and especially on their very first feelings of romance.

The best way to romance him is to Not Let Him Escape.

In terms of how Baxter will/won't date in the future between Step 3 and 4 if he had a fling with the MC, answers range from him not dating anyone if the player intent was that they were both genuinely in love, but would otherwise to him trying to move on with others but the flings become even more surface level than before to the point where he's simply going through the motions. He ultimately hits a breaking point (whether he dated the MC or not) and ends up improving due to the MC's return in his life and/or support from other people such as Xavier.

When it comes to what he's attracted to in another person, he likes seeing nail polish, false lashes/heavy mascara/naturally long eyelashes, and full suits (especially if they're expertly tailored).

His love language in terms of receiving is Quality Time, but in terms of giving, he will happily adapt to whatever the MC wants.

Clothing Choices

When it comes to Step 4 Baxter's personal dress code, he's always meeting/formal ready (even when not working) unless he's doing anything athletic, in which case the button-downs get a break.

- Likewise, his closet is basically all button-downs and fancy suits with a few exceptions including clothes suited for the cold.

Assorted

Him skinny-dipping didn't happen in Golden Grove, and the Now & Forever main cast are not his friends by then.

He immediately finds the MC and Cove appealing (not necessarily crushing on them) at the start of Step 3 as "beautiful beach strangers."

He'd be flattered to hear from an MC that they love his laugh/find it charming.

He says "hallelujah" because he's pretentious.

He doesn't know French, but does occasionally drop a French word he knows during Step 3 to "add to his formal flair." His Step 4 self considers it embarrassing in hindsight.

While he started dyeing his hair black at 14, he didn't start adding white into the mix until he was 18. His Step 3 hair was likely something he only had for a year, at which point he changed it up with different attempts at black and white. He switched back to plain black after graduating college, feeling like he had to be "a serious grown up."

During the wedding in Baxter's Step 4, he will have Jude send along a vegan cupcake to the MC if they're vegan.

Semi-revealed during one of his mornings with the MC in Step 4, he has a multi-step daily skincare routine.

His Future

He has no preference over who he'd prefer to be the one to propose to the other in his relationship with the MC.

He would absolutely want to plan his own wedding (whether for or with the MC, depending on whether they want to be involved). He would not want another planner included.

He would forbid his parents from attending his wedding, but invite his childhood friends. Cove, Terry, and Miranda would also go.

He doesn't have a preference when it comes to last names during a wedding. He's just in awe that he's marrying someone at all.

He might consider having facial hair at some point in his life.

When it comes to having kids, he doesn't have any particular age he'd prefer to have them and is more of a "when it feels right" kind of guy. In terms of the number of kids, none is his default but he'd prefer to have two if the MC wants them, as he finds the relationship between the MC and Liz to be lovely and was personally lonely as an only child.

🍋 (below are asks that might be considered risqué - especially going to the posts themselves on some - but I wanted to include them for the sake of having all the information in one place; know that me and my prudish nature pushed through this for the people who want it and I hope you appreciate it! >:o) 🍋

This one definitely goes without saying due to being a love interest in a game where the MC can be she/they/he even down to being intersex, but Baxter is pansexual.

Baxter isn't good at being sexually active beyond being with an MC who wants that. He tries to bond with others but either fails to have his interest reciprocated due to being too forward or backtracks if he senses that someone is actually into him. His relationships are short/inconsistent for that reason.

He would never sleep with the MC during Step 3. He's already planning on leaving and wouldn't risk souring the relationship at any point even if the MC would want it. He wants company more than he wants sex and would not want to be remembered as the guy who slept with the MC and then just left without contacting them again.

Between chests and backsides, Baxter prefers the latter.

Baxter is a top (though is flexible on the matter), is into BDSM, and "kind of" has a sir kink.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Playing for Keeps | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Chapter 11

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Words: ~8,000

Tags: Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sebastian :)

It had been a week since your first Quidditch match, and life at Hogwarts had mostly returned to normal—or as normal as it could be for you. After missing a couple of days of classes to recover from your injuries, you were finally back on your feet and, for the most part, good as new. Madam Blainey’s healing potions were as effective as ever, and the soreness in your ribs was now only a faint memory.

Physically, you felt fine. Mentally, however, was a different story.

The memory of that day kept looping in your mind: the sharp crack of the Bludger hitting your side, the sickening thud as you collided with the goalpost, and then the blur of panic and pain as you were carried off the pitch. Most of all, you couldn’t stop thinking about Sebastian.

His expression, the sheer panic on his face as he held you, haunted you in the quiet moments. Even more confusing was the time you’d spent together in the hospital wing afterward. He’d stayed with you, fussed over you, his sharp tongue and teasing remarks replaced with something gentler. Something that felt… real.

And then, he was gone.

Sure, Sebastian was still there in class, sitting in his usual spot and answering questions with his characteristic charm. His quips were sharp as ever, drawing scattered chuckles from the room and the occasional exasperated sigh from the professor. On the surface, nothing about him had changed. His confidence was intact, his voice steady, his smirk as infuriating as it was endearing. He still seemed untouchable, like nothing could ever truly get under his skin.

But when it came to you, he remained conspicuously absent.

You’d thought, maybe naively, that things would return to normal after what happened in the hospital wing. After the closeness you’d shared—the way he’d held you steady when the world felt like it was tilting on its axis—you’d assumed he’d slide back into the old rhythm. Back to the teasing remarks, the pointed jabs, the way he filled the silences with his ridiculous antics. Back to you.

But he hadn’t.

He didn’t look at you the same way he had before—or rather, he didn’t look at you at all. His gaze, which used to find you in a room without fail, continued to avoid yours. Like he was keeping a careful distance, even when you were sitting only a few feet away.

And maybe... maybe he was right to tread carefully. You’d been the one to ask for space, after all. And you’d convinced yourself it was the right decision at the time. But now...

Now, the distance felt like a punishment. His absence wasn’t the relief you’d hoped it would be; it was an ache, a quiet, gnawing pain that never seemed to leave. You missed him.

And you didn’t know how to fix it.

It was in the midst of this internal tug-of-war that you found yourself seated at the Slytherin table, absently stirring your porridge as Headmaster Black rose from his seat at the staff table, raising his hand for silence, his perpetually annoyed expression dominating the room.

“Let us get this tiresome affair over with,” he began, his tone dripping with disdain. “Certain individuals—” he shot a pointed glance at Madam Kogawa and Professor Weasley, who both stared back at him with expressions of iron resolve—“have deemed it necessary for these players to grovel before us all. So, Gryffindors, if you must, proceed.”

The Great Hall grew deathly silent as Hugh Macmillan stepped forward. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as you imagined he would, his freckled face pale beneath the Gryffindor red scarf draped around his neck. He cleared his throat, darting a nervous glance at Rory Fitzwilliam and Teddy Bellamy, who each gave him a small nod.

“We…” Hugh started, then paused, as if hoping the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “We’d like to apologize.”

The words hung in the air, and you found yourself shifting slightly in your seat.

Bellamy continued. “What we did during the match was wrong. It wasn’t just unsportsmanlike—it was dangerous. We’re sorry. We didn’t just let the team down; we let the school down. And we let you down,” he said, looking directly at you. “We’re really sorry for what we did. It wasn’t fair to you.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him.

Finally, Rory stepped forward. “We take full responsibility for our actions and the consequences,” he said clearly, his voice steady and firm. “We hope you can forgive us, but regardless, we wanted to own up to what we did.”

A faint ripple of murmurs spread across the hall, starting at the Ravenclaw table. The apology was met with hesitant applause, first from the Gryffindors, naturally, then from a scattering of other tables. Even some of the Slytherins clapped, though many looked less than thrilled about it.

You kept your expression carefully neutral. When Rory’s eyes met yours, you gave a small nod—just enough to acknowledge the apology. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something. Rory seemed to take it as a good sign, and he stepped back in line with the other two players.

Headmaster Black sighed dramatically, his hand sweeping dismissively toward the Gryffindor table. “Are we quite finished? Excellent. Back to your seats, then, before this drags on any longer.”

Hugh, Teddy, and Rory quickly shuffled back to their table, their faces a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Black resumed his seat at the staff table with a disgruntled huff, muttering something under his breath.

Madam Kogawa and Professor Weasley exchanged a glance—Kogawa’s satisfaction was clear in the slight tilt of her head, while Weasley gave a small, approving nod.

As the Great Hall gradually returned to its usual breakfast chatter, you became aware of a familiar gaze. Sebastian’s eyes were on you, steady and searching from his spot at the down the table.

His raised brow and the subtle tilt of his head almost seemed to ask a question: You believe them?

You held his gaze for a moment too long, shrugging faintly before averting your eyes to your hands resting on the table.

Still, your mind raced—and your heart, inexplicably, along with it.

Your heart had been doing that more and more whenever it came to Sebastian. A simple glance, an offhanded remark in class, even the memory of the way he had looked at you in the hospital wing—his eyes full of worry, his voice uncharacteristically soft—was enough to set it off, fluttering against your ribs like a caged bird.

As you finished the last bites of your breakfast, you tried to brush off the sensation, chalking it up to something reasonable. Maybe it was some lingering aftereffect of your injury, or perhaps a symptom of something more serious. Accelerated heart rate could mean anemia, couldn’t it? Or a lack of sleep? You’d missed a couple of meals while recovering—could that have done it?

Yes, that had to be it. Something simple, explainable.

You rose from the table, collecting your belongings before slinging your bag over your shoulder.

As you stepped into the crisp morning air of the Transfiguration Courtyard, your breath curled in soft mist before you. Tugging your scarf tighter around your neck, you welcomed the bite of the cold—its sharpness a brief reprieve from the unfamiliar weight pressing against your chest.

“Hey—Chouette! Wait up!”

You turned abruptly, blinking as Leander jogged up to you, his face flushed, whether from the cold or the effort, you couldn’t tell.

“...What is it, Prewett?”

“I just… I need to talk to you,” he said, slowing to a stop in front of you. His usual bravado seemed absent, replaced by something awkward and hesitant.

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. “About what?”

“You know,” he said, his voice faltering. "About... about the wager I made with Sallow."

Your brow furrowed, the sharp chill in the air doing little to temper the flare of irritation warming your chest. “What about it?” you asked coolly, your words clipped.

Leander shifted awkwardly, faltering under your gaze. “Look, after seeing those blokes apologize back there I... I realized I should do the same. I know I’ve been a right git,” he said, his voice uneven. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “You’re sorry,” you repeated.

“Yes,” he insisted, his tone growing almost defensive. “I was awful to you, and you didn’t deserve it.” He hesitated, then added, “...It wasn’t easy to come here and say this, you know.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him. It had been weeks since Garreth’s party. Weeks since the bet had spiraled out of control, leaving you humiliated and exposed to the whispered speculations of the entire school. And now, here Leander stood, his face flushed and his expression teetering between guilt and something far less noble. He had the audacity to act like it was remorse that made him shift on his feet and avoid your eyes, when you knew better.

It wasn’t guilt—it was self-preservation.

“I know it's been awhile since it happened,” Leander continued, the words sounding rehearsed. “But I let things get out of hand,” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “And look, I'm apologizing now, right? All water under the bridge, eh?”

“She doesn’t owe you forgiveness. So why don’t you take your ‘apology’ and shove off?”

The sound of Sebastian’s voice sent a jolt of surprise through you. He strode into the courtyard with the easy confidence that always seemed to cloak him, his hands tucked casually into the pocket of his hoodie. His expression, however, was anything but casual. His dark eyes burned with cold intensity as they locked onto the redhead.

Leander bristled, his cheeks darkening. “I wasn’t talking to you, Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped a few paces away, tilting his head slightly as if considering the words. Then he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m talking to you.” His tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it, a quiet threat simmering beneath the surface. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish here? Hoping she’ll tell you everything's fine so you can feel better about yourself?"

Leander’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You're just as guilty as I am."

Sebastian's smirk flickered into something sharper, more dangerous. His posture remained deceptively casual, but you caught the subtle shift in his stance—the way his shoulders squared just slightly, the faint clench of his jaw.

“Maybe,” he said coolly. “But I’m not the one hounding her for absolution in public, am I?”

Leander’s face flushed deeper, his frustration bubbling over as he took a step forward. “You think you’re better than me? You—”

Sebastian cut him off with a low chuckle, shaking his head. "I owned up to what I did weeks ago." He took a small step forward, closing the distance between them.

“You’ve been more of a thorn in her side than I have," Leander snapped, his voice rising slightly. "You’re not some knight in shining armor.”

Sebastian tilted his head, his expression hardening. "Fuck off, Prewett. She doesn’t owe you anything. Not her forgiveness, not her time, not a second more of her day. So do us all a favor and walk away before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.”

The words hung heavy in the chilly morning air, and for a moment, neither of man moved. Leander’s hands flexed at his sides, his gaze flickering toward you briefly, as though looking for some kind of support. When he found none, his shoulders sagged, his bluster faltering.

With a frustrated huff, he muttered, “Fine,” and turned on his heel, stalking off toward the castle.

The tension in the courtyard seemed to dissipate with every step Leander took, leaving behind only the faint rustle of the wind and the chatter of students who'd watched the encounter unfold. You let out a breath, your arms dropping to your sides.

Sebastian turned to you then, the hard edges of his expression softening. “You alright?”

You nodded slowly, still processing what had just happened. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m fine.”

Sebastian studied you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering as though he was trying to read your thoughts.

“Good,” he said simply.

You cleared your throat. “You, um. You didn’t have to step in."

“Maybe not,” Sebastian admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “But I wanted to.”

There was something about the way he said it—so calm, so matter-of-fact—that sent warmth flooding through you again, unbidden and maddeningly persistent. You hesitated, your thoughts swirling, before finally managing a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Anytime."

With that, he turned and walked off, sticking his earbuds in as he disappeared around the corner.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze, each class a blur as your mind stubbornly refused to focus. Charms brought top marks on your essay, and Potions earned you a rare nod of approval from Professor Sharp, yet neither accomplishment could hold your attention. Instead, your thoughts kept circling back to Sebastian, as if your mind were intent on sabotaging any attempt to take notes or absorb useful information.

In Transfiguration, you caught yourself watching him (again). He was in his usual spot near the window, the sunlight casting a soft glow over his dark hair. He wasn’t doing anything remarkable—just sitting there, his head tilted slightly as he listened to Professor Weasley explain a complex spell theory. And yet, for some reason, you couldn’t look away.

Your gaze drifted to the curls of his hair at the nape of his neck, where it just brushed the collar of his robes. It looked impossibly soft, the kind of tousled imperfection that seemed to call for your fingertips. The light caught on his skin, and you unwittingly traced the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. You’d noticed them before, of course, but now you found yourself wondering just how many there were, how long it would take to count them all—freckle by freckle. The thought made your stomach flip, heat creeping up your neck as you quickly turned your attention back to your notes.

But the distraction was short-lived. Your gaze flickered back to him almost involuntarily, your mind filling with questions you had no business asking. Did the freckles continue down his neck, hidden beneath the crisp collar of his shirt? How far down did they go? The thought sent your pulse racing, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to look at your parchment again.

This is ridiculous, you told yourself. He's just… Sebastian. Sitting there, exactly like he always has, nothing out of the ordinary. But the more you tried to brush it off, the more you noticed. Like the breadth of his shoulders, broad and steady beneath the dark fabric of his robes. Or the way his hands moved as he wrote, the quick, precise strokes of his quill against parchment. His fingers were long, thick, and somehow graceful despite their callouses—no doubt from years of dueling and gripping a broomstick.

You let out a quiet huff of frustration, earning a glance from Imelda, who sat beside you. She arched a brow, her expression a mix of curiosity and suspicion, but thankfully said nothing.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, you scrambled to gather your things, determined to escape before your thoughts spiraled any further. But as you hurried out of the classroom, the sound of Sebastian's laugh—low and rich, in response to something Garreth had said—followed you, lingering in your mind long after you’d left.

By the time dinner rolled around, you’d resigned yourself to the distraction. Seated at the Slytherin table, you barely touched your food, your fork idly pushing a slice of roast potato around your plate as your mind wandered. You barely noticed when Imelda slid into the seat across from you until she waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your daze.

“Oi, earth to Chouette. You alright, or did someone hit you with a Confundus?”

Startled, you blinked at her, trying to mask your flustered expression. “What? No, I’m fine.”

Imelda raised an unimpressed brow, her sharp eyes narrowing. “You don’t look fine. You’ve been spaced out all day. Even during quidditch practice, and you never zone out during practice.”

You forced a weak smile, brushing off her concern with a shrug. “Didn’t sleep well last night,” you lied, hoping she wouldn’t press further.

Her skeptical snort told you she wasn’t buying it. “You’re a terrible liar, you know. But fine, don’t tell me. Just don’t fall off your broom again, yeah? You’ve already filled your quota for near-death experiences this month.”

Her teasing tone struck a chord, the memory of the match, the memory of Sebastian's face so close to yours, flashing through your mind again. You gave her a tight smile, muttering something about needing to grab a book from the library before hastily excusing yourself.

The last thing you needed was Imelda poking further into your thoughts.

The library was a welcome reprieve, the familiar scent of old books and ink soothing your frayed nerves. You found a secluded corner near the Restricted Section, sinking into a chair and pulling out your textbook with a quiet sigh. The faint rustle of pages and the scratch of quills filled the air, providing a steady backdrop to your spiraling thoughts.

You slipped your headphones in, grateful for the muffling cocoon of sound as your playlist began, drowning out the faint whispers of the library and, mercifully, the relentless thoughts of Sebastian that had plagued you all day.

Finally, your mind began to settle, and you turned your attention fully to the Arithmancy equations before you, the numbers and symbols pulling you into their intricate logic.

Time passed in a blur, marked only by the occasional shift of light through the high windows and the quiet rustle of nearby students. You felt productive, a small sense of triumph settling over you as your quill moved steadily across the parchment.

But the fragile peace shattered when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You tensed, pulling your headphones out and turning to see none other than Amelia Rosier flanked by two of her equally polished friends. She stood with her arms crossed, her lips curved in a smile that dripped with insincerity.

“Well, well,” she began, her voice lilting with exaggerated sweetness, “look who we have here—Hogwarts’ most unexpected addition.”

Before you could respond, one of her friends, a blonde with perfectly braided hair, leaned against the edge of the table and chimed in, “It’s so brave of you to sit back here all alone. Most people would be too worried about looking… I don’t know… forgotten?”

The other friend, a petite brunette with sharp features, laughed softly, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. “But I suppose blending in would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral, your fingers tightening around the quill in your hand. “Can I help you with something?”

Amelia let out a soft laugh, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “Oh, no need to be so defensive. We just thought we’d stop by and say hello. After all, you’ve been the talk of the school lately.”

Her blonde friend, still leaning on the table, tilted her head and added, “You're all anyone can talk about—You know, Sebastian swooping in to defend you like some kind of damsel in distress this morning? It’s almost romantic, don’t you think?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Amelia said, stepping closer and sliding gracefully into the chair across from you. Her friends followed suit, settling in like uninvited shadows. “Everyone knows he stood up to Leander for you. It’s practically heroic. But don’t let it go to your head, darling. He’s just being nice, that’s all.”

Your grip on the quill tightened until your knuckles ached. It took every ounce of restraint not to snap back, to remind yourself that giving them the reaction they clearly wanted would only add fuel to their fire.

Amelia leaned back in her chair, her icy blue eyes studying you with a smirk that made your skin crawl. "Oh, don’t look so serious," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "We’re just having a bit of fun. No need to get upset."

Her blonde friend tilted her head, her expression feigning concern. “Do you think we’re upsetting her? I hope not. I mean, she has been through so much lately. The whole bet situation, falling off her broom…” Her lips curled into a sly smile. “It must be so exhausting.”

Amelia leaned forward, her icy gaze fixed on you as if she were a predator toying with her prey. “It was sweet, really, how Sebastian caught you after you fell."

The brunette chimed in, tilting her head as if she were genuinely curious. “Do you think he did it out of pity? Like, maybe he felt obligated because of the wager. It would explain a lot, don’t you think?”

Your chest tightened, the sting of their words sharp and unrelenting. You fought to keep your expression neutral, to keep the tremor out of your voice as you replied, “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but—”

“Oh, come now,” Amelia interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t be so sensitive. We’re just trying to help you manage your expectations. It’s a good thing, really. Wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up for someone like Sebastian.”

The blonde, still perched on the edge of the table, leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sebastian has a type, you know? And let’s just say… it’s not you.”

Amelia shot her a look of mock disapproval, though the glee in her eyes was unmistakable. “Now, now, let’s not be mean. It’s not her fault she’s…” She trailed off, her gaze sweeping over you in a way that made you want to shrink into your seat. “Well, you know.”

Your chest tightened, the words slicing through you like shards of ice. You opened your mouth to retort, but Amelia cut you off with a saccharine smile.

“Speaking of which, I should probably let you in on something.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for the entire library to hear. “Sebastian will actually be joining me in the prefects’ bathroom tonight. You know, the one with the enchanted tub? Oh, that’s right—you’re a transfer. You probably don’t even know what the prefects’ bathroom is.”

Your stomach twisted violently, a bitter taste rising in your throat. Amelia’s tone was condescending, like she was explaining something to a child. “It’s this absolutely luxurious space, reserved for prefects and people like me, of course.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Is that so?"

The words drew all eyes to the end of the aisle, where Sebastian stood, leaning casually against the edge of a nearby bookshelf. His dark eyes were sharp, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Oh, Seb!” Amelia’s voice pitched up, dripping with false sweetness as she quickly recovered from her surprise. She slid gracefully from her seat, smoothing the front of her robes as she approached him with an exaggerated sway of her hips. “We were just talking about you!"

Sebastian didn’t move from his spot at the end of the aisle, his arms crossed over his chest and his weight shifted lazily against the bookshelf. “Yeah, I caught that part,” he tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “It's just strange... because I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered making plans with you.”

The other girls exchanged uneasy glances, clearly caught off guard by the cool detachment in his voice. Amelia, however, was undeterred. She stepped closer, her smile widening as she reached out to lightly touch his arm. “Don’t be silly, Seb. You know how forgetful you can be.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, but his gaze dropped to where her fingers rested against his sleeve. With a deliberate slowness, he raised a single brow, and the corner of his mouth twitched with something close to disdain.

“Amelia,” he said, his voice calm but with an unmistakable edge, “you’ve got a better chance of seeing a Hungarian Horntail in the prefects’ bathroom than seeing me there with you.”

Amelia’s hand froze mid-motion, her confident smirk faltering for the briefest moment before she quickly recovered. “Oh, you’re such a tease,” she said with a strained laugh, withdrawing her hand and smoothing her hair. “Always so funny, aren’t you?”

“Funny?” he echoed, his voice quiet but cutting through the tension like a knife. “No, what’s funny is watching you embarrass yourself in front of half the library with these ridiculous lies.”

Amelia blinked, the saccharine confidence in her smile beginning to crack. “I—I don’t know what you mean. We were just—”

“You were just,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone as sharp as broken glass, “making a fool of yourself."

Her friends exchanged uneasy glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, but Sebastian didn’t give them a chance to intervene. He took another step forward, his gaze locked on Amelia, unflinching.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. "There is no us. Not friends, not acquaintances, and certainly not whatever ridiculous fantasy you’ve concocted in your head.”

Amelia’s face flushed crimson, her lips parting as if to argue, but Sebastian didn’t give her the chance.

“And if you think spreading lies about me—about her—makes you look clever or desirable, it doesn’t,” he continued, his tone sharpening with every word. “It makes you look petty. Desperate. And frankly, pathetic.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Amelia’s lips parted, as though she wanted to respond, but no words came. Her blue eyes darted around the aisle, searching for support from her friends, but they both seemed intent on avoiding her gaze.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it grew harder, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he added, “Oh, and for the record? My type is someone with enough self-respect not to pull this sort of pathetic stunt. So... evidently, not you."

Amelia's cheeks burned, and her mouth opened as though she wanted to retort, but no sound came out. For a moment, the tension between them hung thick in the air, like a volcano about to erupt.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as you risked a glance around the library. As expected, the commotion had drawn attention—plenty of it. Students at tables and tucked into study carrels craned their necks to see what was happening, some even holding up their phones, the faint glow of screens unmistakable in the dim light.

A small, vindictive spark flared in your chest. Karma.

Amelia's eyes darted toward the other students, the weight of their gazes clearly dawning on her. Her composed façade cracked further, the sweetness in her expression warping into something more brittle and strained. “You really think this is a good look for you, Sebastian?” she said, her voice trembling slightly but still clinging to a thread of defiance.

Sebastian didn’t flinch, his broad frame seeming to loom even larger as he took one deliberate step closer. The movement wasn’t threatening, but it left no room for doubt about who held control of the situation.

“I think,” he said evenly, his tone cool and measured, “that the only person who looks bad here is you and your stupid little friends."

Amelia let out a frustrated huff, her composure cracking entirely. “Let’s go,” she barked at the other girls, who scrambled to follow her, their faces pale with embarrassment.

As the trio retreated down the aisle, the tension in the library began to dissipate. Whispers erupted among the students, punctuated by the occasional stifled laugh or the faint click of a phone camera.

Sebastian let out a breath as he turned to you. His expression softened, the sharp edges melting away to reveal something closer to concern.

“You alright?”

You stared at him, your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Shock, disbelief, and an undercurrent of gratitude coursed through you, leaving you rooted to your seat.

“Chouette?”

When you still didn’t respond, he let out a soft sigh and glanced around the room.

“Alright,” he said sharply, addressing the gawking crowd. “Put your damn phones away. Now.” His voice cut through the low hum of whispers, and his dark eyes swept the room like a storm. “She’s not a spectacle for your entertainment.”

Most of the students scrambled to comply, their guilty expressions betraying them as they shoved their phones back into their robes. A few lingered, clearly hoping for more drama, but Sebastian didn’t give them the satisfaction. He turned his attention back to you, crouching slightly so he was eye level.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, already gathering your quill, parchment, and books.

You blinked, finally finding your voice, though it was faint. “Sebastian, you didn’t have to…”

“Yes, I did." He extended his free hand toward you, his expression softening as he added, “Come on.”

You hesitated for just a moment before slipping your hand into his, your fingers fitting into his as if they’d always belonged there.

With quiet confidence, Sebastian led you through the sea of onlookers, his broad frame effortlessly parting the crowd. You followed without question.

The walk through the castle was silent, save for the soft shuffle of your shoes against the stone floors. You didn’t ask where he was taking you—something about the way he moved, purposeful and unhurried, made it clear he had a destination in mind.

Finally, he stopped in what seemed like an unremarkable corridor—a dead-end tucked away in the Dark Arts Tower. Sebastian paused in front of an ornate clock, its hands frozen in place. Without a word, he drew his wand, tracing a pattern in the air.

Before you could ask what he was doing, the clock shifted with a low, mechanical groan, its face sliding open to reveal a hidden staircase disappearing into the shadows below.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “This is… a bit of a secret,” he admitted quietly, stepping aside to let you enter first. "Ominis might kill me if he finds out I showed you."

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze flicking between him and the hidden staircase that now yawned open before you.

“A secret?” you echoed.

Sebastian offered a faint, lopsided smile. “Yeah. Ominis is… particular about who knows, so let’s keep this between us, alright?”

The flicker of vulnerability in his eyes made your chest tighten. You nodded wordlessly, stepping past him and onto the hidden staircase.

When you reached the bottom, the room before you opened up into a sprawling, dimly lit chamber. Mismatched furniture was scattered around—a worn sofa here, a rickety table there—giving the space an oddly comfortable, lived-in feel.

“This,” Sebastian said, stepping past you and gesturing with a casual sweep of his arm, “is the Undercroft.”

You turned slowly, taking in the details of the space. There was a strange kind of intimacy here, a sense of history that felt almost tangible. Your gaze drifted to Sebastian, who stood watching you, your belongings still tucked under his arm.

“It’s… I had no idea something like this even existed... how long have you known about this place?" You stammered.

His lips quirked into a faint, wistful smile. “It’s been our sanctuary for years—mine, Ominis’, and… well, my sister too, back when she was still here."

You blinked. "...You have a sister?"

Sebastian’s smile faltered slightly, the edges softening into something quieter, more introspective. He lowered your belongings onto a nearby table, his fingers lingering for a moment on the spine of your notebook before he straightened.

“I do,” he said softly, the word carrying a weight that hung heavy in the air. “Anne. She’s... she had to leave Hogwarts a few years ago.”

The way he said it made your chest tighten, a faint ache blooming there. You opened your mouth to ask more, then paused, uncertain whether your should ask more.

Sebastian seemed to catch the hesitation in your expression because he let out a quiet sigh. “She was cursed,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. "Lives full time at St. Mungo's now."

Your stomach twisted at the rawness in his voice, the faint crack around the edges. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly, the words feeling inadequate even as you said them.

He shrugged, though it wasn’t dismissive. “It’s not your fault. And I’ve made my peace with it. Mostly.” His lips twitched into a faint, self-deprecating smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Anyway, this is... where I come to think.”

He paused, his dark eyes flicking back to you, and for a moment, his gaze was so open it left you breathless. “That’s why I brought you here,” he added softly. “I figured you might need that too.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

The vulnerability in his tone, the way he was letting you in—it was so at odds with the cocky, sharp-tongued boy who used to tease you endlessly.

“I don’t… I mean, thank you,” you stammered, feeling unsteady under the weight of the moment. “This is—this is really nice of you.”

Sebastian let out a faint, self-deprecating laugh, the sound soft and low as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t give me too much credit,” he said, his tone laced with a wry edge. “It’s not as noble or selfless as it probably seems.”

You blinked. “...What do you mean?”

He shrugged, crossing the room with an easy, almost languid stride, and sank onto one of the worn couches. The way he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and fingers loosely clasped, made it seem like he was trying to find the right words.

“I just…” He paused, exhaling slowly, his dark eyes focused on some distant point in the room. “I wanted to talk to you. That’s why I was in the library earlier... looking for you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. His tone was quieter than usual, lacking the sharp confidence you’d come to expect from him. It made you uneasy—and curious.

After a moment of hesitation, you moved toward a nearby chair, lowering yourself into it cautiously.

Sebastian glanced at you briefly, his gaze flicking to your face before darting away. He shifted slightly, leaning back against the couch, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his calm façade.

“I’ve been trying to give you space,” he admitted, his voice low, almost hesitant. “After… everything. I know it's what you wanted—”

“—I did,” you interrupted softly. “But…”

“...But?”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. The flicker of vulnerability in his expression—so unguarded, so real—made your chest ache. “But it’s been… strange,” you admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. “Not having you around as much, I mean.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly masked it, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “...Strange, huh?”

“Don’t make me regret saying that,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat.

Sebastian’s faint smile turned into a quiet laugh, warm and low. “I won't,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll behave.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips, your gaze lingering on him, drawn to every detail of his face.

Had his eyelashes always been that long? It wasn’t fair, really, the way they framed his eyes, making the rich, dark brown even warmer, softer. And the longer you looked, the more you noticed—the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the way his mouth parted slightly as he exhaled, the faint scar by his eyebrow. And his mouth—Merlin help you, why were you staring at his mouth? The faint sheen of moisture on his lips made you wonder, for a fleeting, dangerous moment, what they might taste like. Would they be warm, firm, soft? Would he—

Your chest tightened, and you forced yourself to look away, only to find your gaze helplessly drawn back to him. His dark eyes were still locked on yours, deep and searching, like he was trying to unravel the thoughts tangled in your head.

The moment stretched thinner and thinner, a wire ready to snap as he leaned forward, just a fraction, the movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible.

Then, just as the tension became unbearable—

“Sebastian?” A voice drawled from the staircase, breaking the fragile quiet like shattering glass.

You jolted back instinctively, your heart slamming against your ribs as Ominis descended the stairs, his phone in hand.

“You’ve gone viral again.” Ominis huffed a laugh, moving through the room and holding his phone out.

Sebastian groaned, the sound low and frustrated, as he slumped back against the couch. The spell between you was broken, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “How'd you know I was here?!”

Ominis raised an unimpressed brow. “Where else would you be? You publicly humiliated Amelia Rosier in the middle of the library not 20 minutes ago."

Sebastian let out a derisive snort. “The video got out already, then?

“Videos. Plural." Ominis said dryly, holding out the phone again. “Apparently there’s a particularly flattering angle of you towering over her like some vengeful storm cloud. Very cinematic.”

Sebastian smirked faintly, his usual cocky demeanor slipping back into place like a well-worn cloak. “Well,” he drawled, leaning back with a casual air that was entirely too practiced. “Can’t help it if I’m naturally dramatic. Someone had to put her in her place. Might as well make it entertaining.”

Ominis sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “insufferable,” before holding out the phone toward Sebastian. “Here. You might want to see just how entertaining you looked.”

Sebastian reached for the phone, but as Ominis shifted slightly to hand it over, he stiffened. His brows furrowed, his head tilting as though he were trying to listen for something.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, a hint of suspicion creeping into his tone.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, shifting slightly in your chair. “Uh… hi, Ominis.”

His head snapped in your direction, his expression quickly shifting from suspicion to something closer to alarm. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Chouette?”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Relax, Ominis. She’s not going to tell anyone.”

“That’s not the point!” Ominis snapped. “You can’t just bring anyone here—”

“She’s not anyone,” Sebastian interjected firmly.

Ominis’ jaw tightened, his lips parting as though to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he inhaled deeply, his shoulders stiffening as he turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “This place is… important,” he said carefully, his tone measured. “It’s not just somewhere we hang out, it’s—”

“I know,” you interrupted softly, your voice steady but quiet. “Sebastian explained. I understand.”

Ominis’ frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence was heavy, thick with unspoken tension, until finally, he let out a long, resigned sigh. “Alright,” he muttered. “Fine. But if you breathe a word about this to anyone—”

“She won’t,” Sebastian interrupted again, his tone cutting and impatient now. “Merlin’s sake, Ominis, can you stop for once and just… trust me? Or her?”

Ominis stiffened at that, his expression flickering for a moment before he sighed again. “Fine,” he muttered, clearly begrudging but unwilling to argue further. He turned, muttering something under his breath as he moved to one of the armchairs.

Sebastian watched him for a moment, his jaw tight, before turning back to you. His dark eyes softened slightly as they met yours, a quiet apology flickering in their depths.

“So…” you began, clearing your throat. “What’s… the general sentiment about the videos?”

Ominis snorted, the sound cutting through the tension like a razor. “It's astonishing,” he drawled, his tone dripping with dry amusement, “how little it takes for Sebastian to sway people. One dramatic confrontation, a few cutting remarks, and suddenly, you're everyone’s favorite underdog, Chouette."

Sebastian smirked faintly, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. “What can I say? I have a certain… charm,” he said, the self-satisfaction practically oozing from his voice.

Ominis rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched as if suppressing a smirk. “Yes, well, your charm has also turned Amelia Rosier into the school’s latest social pariah. She’s lost hundreds of followers already. The poor girl might actually have to face the consequences of her actions. Imagine that.”

Your eyebrows shot up, surprised. “Hundreds?” you echoed, glancing between the two boys. “That’s… kind of a lot.”

Ominis shrugged, his expression indifferent. “People are fickle,” he said simply. “They’ll rally behind whatever makes for the best story—and right now, that happens to be you and Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s grin widened, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Finally, some proper recognition.”

Ominis let out a groan of amused annoyance and you glanced between them, a faint smile tugging at your lips as they continued their familiar bickering. But something still lingered in your mind, nagging at you.

After a beat, you cleared your throat softly. “So… about the Prefects’ Bathroom…” you began hesitantly.

Both boys turned to look at you—Sebastian with raised eyebrows, and Ominis with a subtle crease of curiosity forming between his brows.

“What about it?” Sebastian asked.

You swallowed, feeling a faint heat creeping up your neck. “Is it, um… is it a real place?”

Sebastian blinked, clearly taken off guard, before a wide grin spread across his face. “Oh, Chouette,” he drawled, his tone laced with playful mockery. “Don’t tell me you thought she made that up.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you crossed your arms defensively. “Well, excuse me for not knowing the intricacies of Hogwarts plumbing,” you shot back, glaring at him.

Ominis let out a soft chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he addressed you. “It’s real,” he confirmed. “Though it’s not quite as… glamorous as certain rumors might make it out to be.”

“Not glamorous?” Sebastian interjected, outraged. “Speak for yourself, Ominis! The Prefects’ Bathroom is practically the height of luxury. Enchanted taps, a massive pool of a tub… Honestly, it’s wasted on the likes of those bloody prefects.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Wait, really?"

“Absolutely,” Sebastian said, his grin widening. “Fluffy towels, loads of bubbles, stained glass... Very fancy. And let me tell you, Chouette—Amelia Rosier wouldn’t last five minutes trying to sneak in.”

Ominis scoffed. “Neither would you, Sebastian. If memory serves, the last time you got anywhere near the door, you were caught by Mr. Moon.”

Sebastian winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, that was one time, and I was fifteen. It doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely counts,” Ominis deadpanned.

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head. “I should’ve known you’d have a story about it.”

Sebastian shrugged, his grin unwavering. “I’m full of stories. Stick around, and I’ll tell you all of them.”

Ominis groaned again, though there was no real malice in it. “Merlin help us,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “One of these days, we’re all going to regret enabling you.”

Sebastian smirked. “But today’s not that day,” he said smoothly.

You let their banter wash over you, but your mind wandered further, a spark of mischief flickering to life. The more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take shape, and you had to suppress the smirk threatening to tug at your lips.

"But hypothetically... if someone wanted to get in, is it really that hard?"

Ominis turned his head sharply in your direction, and Sebastian's eyebrows shot up.

"You want to get in?" The brunette asked, grin widening.

"Hypothetically," You repeated.

Ominis sighed heavily, his hand gripping the arm of his chair as though bracing himself for the chaos that was surely about to unfold. "This is a bad idea," he muttered. "A catastrophically bad idea."

"You say that about everything," Sebastian quipped, waving a hand dismissively. "And yet, here you are, still alive and not expelled."

Ominis’ frown deepened, but he said nothing.

Sebastian leaned toward you conspiratorially as he rested an elbow on his knee. "Well, hypothetically," he began, his voice dropping to a mock whisper, "it’s not impossible. The bathroom is on the fifth floor, behind the fourth door to the left of a statue of Boris the Bewildered. You need the current password to get in, and it's only known to prefects, Head Boys and Girls, and Quidditch captains."

"And if you had the password?" you asked, tilting your head innocently.

Sebastian’s grin grew wider. "Then you’d just need a good alibi and a decent bit of stealth."

Ominis sighed heavily, his head tilting back in defeat. "This is madness."

"Madness?" Sebastian echoed. "No, Ominis. This is fun."

You bit your lip, fighting back a grin. "What if," you said slowly, your voice measured, "we got in and took a picture? Just for… posterity."

Sebastian tilted his head. "A picture?"

You nodded, a sly smile creeping onto your face. "You know... to make a point."

Ominis frowned, his brows knitting together as though he could sense your intent even without seeing your face. "What kind of point?"

"I dunno. I mean, Amelia seemed really keen on getting in there with Sebastian..." You trailed off, shrugging a shoulder. "How'd you think she'd feel if she saw a picture of us in there instead?"

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up, and then he burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the Undercroft. "Oh, Chouette," he said between laughs, leaning back in his chair and raking a hand through his hair. "You’re absolutely wicked."

Ominis groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard."

"Oh, come on," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Don’t you see the poetic justice here?"

You crossed your arms. "She started it, after all," you added, your tone almost innocent. "I’m just finishing it."

Ominis tilted his head in your direction, his pale eyes narrowing slightly as though he could somehow see the mischief radiating off you. "And how, exactly, do you plan on pulling this off? Even if we were insane enough to go along with this—which, for the record, I’m not—you’d still need the password."

"Simple," you said, a sly grin tugging at your lips. "You seem to forget that Imelda and I are thick as thieves—and she just so happens to be our Quidditch captain."

 ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

[salemrph]

Breaking down "Where Drakeshadows Fall"

We are far from done, breaking down Sylus Myth. Grab pens and paper. This feels like connecting dots on a crime scene.

I came across this comment under a video on TikTok, the creator explains everything so well. Here is the video: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGd6j4Eb2/

@Gem: sylus mentions that one of those weapons in the cave was used 108 times or something, and I thought "maybe the 109th time it will actually work with MC" and then I thought "109....109??? 109!!"

I will try to connect every moment we have seen on the current timeline to reference the Myth. (If I'm forgetting something, leave it in the comments)

We start at the very beginning. Sit back this may be long.

Our first encounter.

Violent, just like the first time they met in the Abyss.

MC attacks Sylus with her knife, cutting under his eye.

He strangles her. In the Myth, she is the one—

The voice in her head urging her to claim the power inside Sylus’s eye.

"After all, you and I are the same. True kindred spirits." This hit different too. Now that we know that they're bond by their soul.

And again, the second attempt. He hands her the gun and pulls the trigger himself. MC doesn’t truly want him to die, so she presses against the wound, and Sylus heals.

"Save that for the day you actually succeed in killing me."

Main Story: Cap. 1-8

MC and Stylus are at Philip's Lab (I think that was the name of the Shopkeeper). So, Sylus is desperate to resonate. And Philip is just like "she is either rejecting you, scared of you or disgusting by you..."

Um… yeah, that must’ve hurt. A lot.

There she is—his beloved, weak, without her memories, and outright rejecting him. Maybe he’s angry at her, but maybe he’s also furious about whatever happened to bring them to this point.

We know he isn't a patient man.

Main Story: Chapter 2-1

Little Girl "... He's a monster with huge wings that never dies. And he has horns!"

Midnight Stealth

MC sneaking in the cave, where Sylus was laying on the a pile of treasures. Obviously he caught her because her footsteps were too noise. Well, we have the same with the brooch.

Sylus recreating the scenario with MC, playing that game to get the brooch. Which I think never was important. He would have helped us, anyways, right?

Oh, and the drawing of Sylus with horn and tail.

The Auction: Chapter 2-10

Of course we have the flashback to the Myth before MC is finally able to resonate with Sylus.

"That life you own me—now is not the time to repay me."

When they return to the base, the MC brings up her vision, asking if it was real. His response:

"If I say yes, will you give me a sincere apology?"

I suppose the apology would be related to the curse—like, "Hey, you killed me, and then you brought me back. So…"

Nightplumes

"Do you know what you look right now?"

We hear in both the same sentences. I just love Nightplumes.

Midnight Warmth

"I want to leave a mark too"

Even if he isn't a vampire, the need to leave a mark on MC. Argh... Just beautiful.

Continuous Symphony.

The song and the conversation.

*A wounded person might never wake up again if they fall asleep"

We have the dream and the song. I don't need to explain but...

MC asked him why he stopped playing the song and him replying "There is no “after”". Which is not the whole true. She refused to continue because it’s a requiem for the departed. Since he was injured because of her, she didn’t want to be the last thing Sylus heard.

"Sincere feelings are hard to forget"

Grassland romance

Both talking about where Home is...

"I can adapt to any location and call it home as long as I'm willing. But... now I have one condition. If you're not there then I am not interested"

I would relate this to their conversation and this dream-like memory we have in black Chapel. Being their home.

This happens in the Event of Grassland. When Sylus gives MC the self-made crown, maybe he is just responding to the flower MC put him in hair at the Chapel.

Melodic Weave

"Unfortunately... the string of fate connecting us can't be cut that easily."

Immobilized

The Snake analogy about their evol linkage, made me remind what MC said in the Myth: "...Sylus, did you already know that we would instinctively want to devour each other?"

This also a reference the curse they share.

"When two snakes are devouring each other, one will inevitably be crowned the victory"

I'm 90% sure that Sylus must know why the evol linkage appears.

"Does this mean, that one day, even without the linkage, you'll choose to stand by my side?"

Destiny Café

The Hand interaction: Sylus bites our / MC hand. Like she did before.

Heartbeat cheeking: "If our heart rates sync up, then maybe we can resonate" After bonding their soul, they were like one. More coordinated then begin just one. This made me think about Luke and Kieran. (That's another topic).

Outfit "Soft Distance": The Golden Crow's Feather of Eternity was something from the cave—can’t remember if it was a weapon or not. Either way, there’s a little nod to it in his outfit: a golden feather on his shirt that ties back to the artifact.

Maybe there is more, but I'm just Lvl 76 with Sylus.

Anecdotes

MC and Sylus are the two faces of the same coin. Is insane.

Searing Touch & Call: Remote Support

I'm mentioning the call because, with Searing Touch, we learn or in another way, he admits once more that MC is his biggest weakness.

"Who could ever do anything to me except you?" (Call)

After the Myth, we have the absolute and devastating confirmation: She is life and death for him. In the broadest sense.

MC asked him about why he was at that place. Half joking if it was because of her. Well...

"Yeah, you're right. I went there for you."

"I'd rather risk exposing my weaknesses when I protect you then see you injured."

Again, he would rather sacrifice himself...

Gem Hunting: Charon

No need to say much, the N109 Zone is basically Taurus City. No need for over-explaining.

If destiny continues their way, maybe MC will leave the Hunter Association. Maybe she’ll end up branded as a traitor. But like Sylus said, if she really wants to understand his world, she has to step beyond light and shadow.

Back to the event. I love their interaction and the style.

By the end, after finding the gem split in two, MC comes up with a great idea. She decides to use the gem and add it to the two bracelets she bought.

MC doesn’t care about the bad omen—in fact, she actually prefers it this way. Once again, she gives Sylus the curse of being tied to her forever.

"Living and dying by your side doesn't sound like a bad curse"

So that all, for now. Maybe I update this when I find more connecting points.

[bunbun-mochi]

Reyna II - Queen of Onychinus

Sylus x MC

Warnings: violence, mentions of SA, non-major character deaths, kidnapping

Word Count: 2300, no proofreading

Preview: When words get out that Sylus adores his wife, his enemies start to target her to get revenge on Sylus. Little did they know that his wife was more of a menace than him...

Note: This one is way longer than I anticipated so I'm going to divide this into two parts. Stay tuned for Reyna III.

I turned off the water and got out of the shower. I dried myself and walked out of the bathroom completely naked. I put on a red silk nightgown and hop into bed.

Sylus and the twins are at a meeting today and then the auction after that. I have the whole mansion to myself! Well, kind of. Mephisto is flying between me and Sylus, so I have the whole mansion to myself for about twenty minutes.

I pulled a pillow that Sylus always used onto my chest and grabbed a book that was hiding in the drawer of the nightstand. The pillow has a lingering smell of Sylus. I snuggled into the pillow, already missing my husband.

I started to read the book. Tara recommended the book to me but she said I should not allow Sylus to know. Once I reached the fourth chapter, I immediately knew why.

It's an explicit mature adult book.

The more I read, the more I think of Sylus. If he found out I read a book like this, I wonder what he would think. Would he be offended? Thinking that he didn't please me enough that I have to turn to books for help? Or would he reenact the book?

I snapped the book shut. Is there anything that could turn Sylus off in bed? Would he be turned off by the idea that I read those kinds of books?

While I was deep in thought, I suddenly heard a noise in the house. I snapped my head toward the door, waiting for another noise. When no noise was heard, I turned my attention back to the book.

After reading a couple more chapters, I felt the sleep was getting to me. I placed Sylus' pillow off me, tossed the book aside slid off the bed, and went back into the bathroom to do my nightly routine before bed.

When I came out of the bathroom, I immediately noticed the room seemed to be different.

The book I had read and Sylus' pillow were slightly misplaced on the bed, and the drawer on the nightstands was slightly ajar. If I hadn't been married to Sylus, I would've completely missed those small details.

I walked toward my side of the nightstand and put on a pair of ruby earrings. Sylus gave me that pair when right after he proposed, saying there was a tracker in the earrings.

I picked up my phone to send a message to Sylus. Mid-text, I heard sounds coming from under the bed. Without thinking, I bolted for the door. A hand grabbed my hair and yanked it backward, causing me to fall backward, hitting the floor. On the floor, I saw a person wearing a ski mask and dressed in black.

I tried to kick them, but they used a body lock that prevented me from doing anything.

I grunted and yelled, trying to pry him off me.

"I got her!" He yelled.

The bedroom door burst opened and three more people with ski masks came in.

WHAT THE FUCK!

I was not expecting my evening to be kidnapped!

They might've drugged me as I remembered the last moment blacking out.

Sylus sat on one of the boxes in a theater. Except he wasn't watching a play but watching an auction. Luke and Kieran were standing behind him. Mephisto was on his way to the mansion to check up on his wife.

The auction was boring. The only reason why he would come here was because he heard that a rare gem would be showcased and he needed to get that for his wife.

Speaking of his wife, she should be sleeping right now. He wanted to go home and hug his wife, hold her, kiss her, worship her.

His phone vibrated, interrupting his thoughts. He pulled out his phone and smiled. He noticed that his wife had placed a tracker on herself. The red dot moved toward him. Guess his wife wasn't able to sleep.

Then his phone rang, showing "Soulmate" as the caller ID. He answered the call, "Hello, sweetie. You're not asleep yet?"

There was no answer from the other line. Sylus sat up straighter. "Sweetie?"

A voice replied. A man's voice. "Hello, Sylus."

Sylus narrowed his eyes and waved his hand, signaling to the twins. The twins immediately went to work, disappearing from the box.

"Who is this?"

The voice laughed, "It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is that I have your lovely wife here."

"What do you want." Sylus lowered his voice.

"Say, Sylus." The voice chuckled. "How much is your wife worth?"

"Is she awake?" Sylus asked.

"No, but she will be. Don't worry, we won't do anything to her. Yet."

"What do you want?" Sylus asked again.

"Money." He answered.

"Easy. I'll send it over now."

The voice tuts, "I'm not done yet. I want money and your throne."

Sylus laughed, "I lost my throne for a while now. I can send you the money, but if you want the throne for the N109 zone, you're gonna have the find the real ruler."

The voice snorted, "We'll see about that." Then the line cuts off.

Sylus smirked, "Indeed, we shall see how this unfolds."

Sylus tapped on his leg impatiently. Then a message popped out, a message from Luke.

Sylus looked on the stage at the auctioneer and narrowed his eyes.

The stage changed lighting and a group of people carried a large that looked like a giant cage covered in velvet cloth onto the stage.

"Today's a very special day! We have not something, but someone." The auctioneer spoke into the microphone. There were murmurs in the crowd.

"We all have heard that Sylus got married. Guess what? We have her on stage! Anyone who wins her will claim her! Starting with 75 million!"

Sylus can hear two voices talking to each other on the box next to him.

"Is Sylus' wife really in there?"

"Ha! If she is, I'm betting all my money."

"Are you trying to buy her?"

"Hell yes. I want to see what's in her that made Sylus so swooned. Do you think she's very good in bed? Or perhaps she has a sexy body?"

"Would you share her with me?"

"Oh yes. I wonder how many rounds for us to break her?"

Sylus gripped the armrest, hard enough for it to crack. Those two will die tonight. He will make sure of it.

"100 million!" One shouted and the auction began.

"150 million!"

"200 million!"

The price just goes higher and higher. Sylus takes mental note of all those who dared to place their money. They all shall die tonight.

I woke up with a throbbing headache. I opened my eyes and allowed them to adjust. It seemed that I was placed in a metal cage with a cloth over it. I can hear a distant voice that is speaking through a microphone.

"7 million! Going once! Going twice! This painting is sold to Miss Alexia Oti!" I heard the auctioneer bang on the gravel.

Did they kidnap me to an auction? Pieces of shits!

They had rope tied together my wrists so I used my teeth to unbind them. I felt my wrist burned but I didn't care. All I can think about is Sylus. Once I got my hand unbound, I picked on the lock on the cage. It wasn't as hard as it was those old common locks. I slowly opened the door and peeked out. I was stored in a storage room underneath the stage. There were boxes all lying around. One of the opened boxes contained a very small gem. I wasn't sure what it was, but it was dark red. So dark and it looked black but when angled in a way it would show red. It intrigued me, so I took it and shoved it in my bra.

I crawled my way around, trying to find an exit, except I found a man guarding a door.

Well, guess I'm getting my hand dirty.

I knocked the man onto his knees and he grunted. Before he could fire his gun, I twisted his neck, immediately killing him.

"Fuck you," I whispered.

I opened the door slowly and peeked out. Two men were standing outside, facing away from me. One was using a phone while the other was looking over one's shoulder. Then I realized that it was my phone!

The man using my phone spat on the floor, "This couple is disgusting. Look at their texts. 'dear this, sweetie that, how many pet names do they have of each other? And those pictures? They just send nudes to each other."

"Sylus looks bigger than yours." The other man said and got a hard slap on the head.

"Shut the fuck up! Size doesn't matter!"

I quickly and quietly shut the door before they could hear my snort. I quickly moved the dead man and dragged him to the cage and locked the cage, covered the cloth over it as if nothing had happened here then I found a box big enough for me to hide in.

I hid in the box and just waited it all out.

I heard the door open, and dozens of footsteps were heard.

“Move the cage upstairs.”

“Do you think she’s awake?”

“No sound were made, think she’s still out. Hope she stays out during the entire duration of the auction.”

I heard shuffling and then footsteps slowly walking outside. I waited for a few more minutes before I slowly peeked outside. Once I confirmed there wasn’t anyone, I climbed out of the box and quietly made my way out the door.

“Pst.”

I jumped at the sound and looked around the room for the sound.

“Up here!” A voice whispered.

I looked up and saw a mask hiding on the beams. “Kieran?”

“Luke.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“I sent a message to boss saying you’re alright.”

I shook my head, “No, I’m not.”

“You’re hurt?”

“You tell him this: I am severely hurt so I demand compensation. In blood.”

Luke nodded, typing. “Anything else?”

I shook my head. “Get me out of here.”

“Yes, you’re majesty.” He teased.

I scowled. “Luke.”

Luke hopped down from the beam, “Yes, Your-“

“Shut the fuck up.”

Luke immediately clamped his mouth shut.

“350 million!”

The auction was still going when I met Sylus in one of the boxes in the theater. I walked behind him and wrapped my arms around his neck, “Hello, dear.”

Sylus chuckled, “Hello, sweetie. I hope you give me some names.”

“Sadly, no names. But I do have faces.”

Sylus kissed my wrist, “That’ll work.”

I leaned my head forward onto Sylus, inhaling his scent. We stayed that way, watching how the auction unfolded.

“500 million!” I heard a voice call from the box near us.

“500 million! Going once! Going twice! Sold to Mr. Alex!” The auctioneer banged the gravel.

Sylus gently unwrapped my arms around him. He stood up and pecked my lips, “The hunt begins.” He tossed his suit coat over my shoulder and walked leisurely out the door.

I sighed. I should’ve worn something more extravagant. Something nice for them to see before they die. But this nightgown would work. I sat on the railing, leaning against the wall, waiting for the real show to begin.

Two people on the stage start to pull on the velvet cloth while everyone holds their breath. People are curious about what this so-called Sylus’ wife would look like. What she had in her to captivate the boss of Onychinus.

When the cloth was pulled off, it revealed a cage. And inside the cage was a dead man.

Gasps and mutters were heard in the theater. Some immediately got up, trying to leave, but the all doors were locked.

I heard the same two people sitting on the next box, talking to each other panicky.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“It’s Sylus!” Then he shouted louder for the entire people to hear. “IT’S SYLUS!”

Suddenly, glass shattering was heard and the entire theater dimmed. People started to panic. Screams and yells were heard. I looked down, watching those pathetic humans trying to buy me, running for their lives. Then I looked over to the two men sitting on the next box and waved.

“Who are you?” One asked.

I snickered, “Didn’t you want to see Sylus’ wife?”

Their face paled. I continued, “She’s right here.” I waved in front of me, gesturing to myself. Then I shouted, enough for everyone to hear, “Heard you brought me. Hope you’re ready for the havoc I’m about to deploy.” I laughed.

People turned their heads toward the voice. A lady wearing a nightgown and a coat draping over her shoulders, sitting on one of the box railings. Her face couldn’t be seen as the whole theater was dimmed. Red mists started to appear, turning some people into nothingness. Many screamed, and banged on the door, hoping to get out of this hell hole.

“Enjoy your play, dear guests!” A female voice called again before laughing.

Bodies dropped, some turned into nothing, and some were flung across the room. It was truly a chaotic sight. Hundreds of those elites, who believed that money solves all issues have faced a predicament where money can’t even save their very own life. After what feels like an eternity, the door finally unlocks and dozens of people pour out of the theater like livestocks.

The entire N109 zone are talking about how Sylus’ wife killed dozens of people at an auction that tried to sell her. Those who survived the theater say that she had the body of an angel but the heart of a devil, killing all those who put a price tag on her.

dividers, templates, headers, and banners are from @uzmacchiato

[magical-regical]

I got the reunion ending. It's the most canon ending. Change my mind. You can't.

A part of me is sad because this is like an almost perfect ending you know? The only way it could get any better is if Mr Scarletella learns to play nice with the other ghosts.

If I can let my imagination run wild and speculate I'd say the content in this update is some of the last things Yatsunagi-sensei worked on before deciding to stop and that's why it wraps everything up in this seemingly nice little bow (esp since the placement of the reunion ending is smack in the middle of the last row). So tbh I wouldn't be surprised if we don't get any more new endings and chapters from here on out (though again, this is all just speculation and I would not mind new endings and more expansion on each LIs route). But even regardless if I'm right or wrong I really do think this is the best ending we're gonna get. Again, for the people in the back, this paragraph is just speculation I have no evidence to back up my claims.

Something I do (kind of) have evidence for is about how I actually think MC dies in this ending. Let me explain.

Spoilers under the moss on how to get the reunion ending.

It bothered me that to get the reunion ending you have to ignore Mr Chopped and leave Mr Crawling. MC wakes up back in the human world and 'dreams' about Mr Crawling waiting for her.

It's clear her heart misses that other world even if her mind doesn't remember. If you, the player, let her follow that nagging feeling, she wanders back into the ghost apartments and the floor collapses beneath her. She hits her head, gets up, and finds the elevator.

Now here's where it gets interesting because if you choose to not go in the elevator, you game over. If you choose to go in, you reunite with Mr Crawling and the other ghosts. The two scenarios have two things in common, MC will mention having a 'slight headache' and you'll hear a long beep. The only other time you hear a similar beep outside of those two scenarios is when you break Mr Scarletella's umbrella. It's the sound of a flatline.

A lot of things in the reunion ending seem to support my theory. After taking the elevator we see Mr Crawling, Mr Silvair, Mr Chopped, and The Bride.

In chapter 5 The Bride and Mr Chopped are scared of each other so why would they be in the same place at the same time? An argument can be made that because 'a long time has passed' maybe this isn't their first encounter and they've gotten over each other's differences.

The second thing is The Bride says she's going to look for new clothes for MC while their other encounters seem to imply the bride can produce clothes seemingly out of thin air because what are the chances she has two copies of the same dress and a raincoat that is tailored exactly to your measurements? Well because in this timeline, MC has only met The Bride once. She doesn't know that Ms Bride can just make clothes appear.

Third, the last scene before we fade to black is a floor that looks similar to the one MC fell through but we can see a pool of blood that seems to come from MCs direction. There's nobody around. The screen fades, MC says 'I'm home' and the credits roll. The credits this time shows scenes from chapters 1-3 instead of the names of the dev team. Feels a bit like all the memories MC forgot when she came back to the human world coming back to her eh?

So yea, conclusion? MC's dead. She probably died when the floor collapsed. She hit her head and that was it. Does that mean the reunion scene was a lie? Perhaps. But that's no fun, now is it? Instead I'd like to think of it as MC literally becoming a 'ghost' her soul was the one that found that elevator. That's why you game over if you choose not to go in, the soul simply returns to the body and goes to wherever you go after you die. The scene at the end was MC bidding one last farewell to her human body because she decided her home is with the residents of the ghost apartments, even if now she technically is a 'lost soul'. I think MC chooses to be happy here. She let's go of whatever resentment and hatred she was holding on to and that's why the voice of the 'raincoat' doesn't pop up once in the entire exchange.

It's fantastic writing to me because this entire ending is described almost perfectly in the part of the song that plays on the title screen. The first thing you'll hear when you open the game is this ending. It's the second verse of 'Gray Rain'.

It's happy, it's sad, it's such a perfect way to end the game and that's why I think this might be the last thing Yatsunagi-sensei left us.

[chryssikyu]

Princely MC

Description: What happens when a normal girl meets a beautiful female ikeman?

Pairing: MC × Reader

——————————————————————————

It's a beautiful day! Calm sun rays, gentle breeze, not too hot, not too cold. Perfect weather for a perfect day right?

Yeah- no.

You don't have time to revel in the nice weather as you run through the park. You had woken up late, had no time to shower or apply any makeup, and you were getting texts from your boss asking when you were coming in.

So yeah, not a great start to the morning, but hey! What else could go wrong?

I'll tell you what else; a couple of kids playing soccer.

Or more specifically, a couple of kids playing soccer, and one kicking the ball a little too hard. Causing it to come flying at you. As you watch it falling towards you, you freeze waiting for the impact and pain.

Maybe you could use it as an excuse to get out of work?

Right before it can hit you though, a figure obscures your vision, a long leg flies up and kicks the ball away.

Once your life is no longer in mortal danger, the figure turns around, exposing a young woman with long brown hair, and pretty brown eyes.

You froze as she peered down at you, she was only a little taller, but its enough if a height difference that you have to tilt your head up to look into her honey brown eyes. She looked so cool! She wore a long black sleeve jacket over a red tube piece and black pants that accentuate her long and elegant legs.

For a moment you don't hear anything, somehow infatuated with this incredible woman and examining her entire face, until you get to her lips. They were moving, had she been talking the entire time!?

Quickly honing back in you asked.

"Uh, huh?"

She chuckled for a second, a cute noise as she brought her hand up to mouth.

"I asked you if you were okay." GODS!! Her voice was so pretty! It was gentle yet firm, and it was a little deeper than most girls, but still feminine!

You couldn't help but blush, here you were just going about your crappy morning, when suddenly heaven sends you a prince in a beautiful girl's body! The God's must have felt bad for you...

Quickly shaking your head and almost getting whiplash you look up at her.

"N-no. I-I mean yes! I'm okay!" Why were you stuttering!? It's just a normal woman! Yeah she kicked a ball away before it could hit you! And yeah she was pretty hot by normal standards. But this is no time to be so weak!

"That's good," She spoke gently, lifting a hand up to your hair and gently plucking a leaf out of it. "I would hate to see a cute girl like you get hurt."

. . .

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!! SHE IS SO COOL! Is she flirting with you!? You can't tell! But that was like straight out of a fairytale! Compose yourself! At the very least thank her!

But before you can even get the words out she looks back behind her and turning back to you.

"I have to get going now, stay safe!" She turns around and starts jogging back to a group of men.

And she's gone.

Gone for good...

You blew it...

Good job.

Speaking of blowing it, weren't you late for work?

———{□}———

You were, in fact, very late.

You got chewed out by your manager, in front of your other coworkers and some customers. It was embarrassing to say the least. It didn't help that you were on shuffling duty, you worked at a decent store that sold plenty of stylish clothing, shoes and accessories, and alot of customers don't know how to put things back where they found them. So there you were, busy busting your ass, picking up hefty boxes of shoes and carrying them to their proper places.

It wasn't easy, you weren't weak by any means, but you're one person! Carrying a pile of boxes that obscure your vision! Not to mention there was an influx of customers, meaning your coworkers who were helping them, kept piling more boxes on top of you!

It got to the point your entire field of view was impeded by the boxes you had to carry, yeah you knew your way around the store, but you were about to either drop everything or bump into someone!

AND YOU WERE STILL HUNG UP ABOUT THAT GIRL!

You deeply regretted not getting her name, let alone her number! She really was very gorgeous. Dark brown hair that shone almost bronze in the sunlight, long and straight that framed her face so elegantly. Long, dark eyelashes that surrounded her beautiful brown eyes, and her iris' were like caramel mixed with chocolate. It looked like she wore a little bit of eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss but that was it. No heavy make up that changed the shaped of her face, meaning she was so beautiful all on her own.

You couldn't help but let out a small sigh in remembrance of her gaze, firm yet so gentle. You couldn't stop wondering about her, how sweet her voice was, how quick she was, and her strong legs.

You were so lost in thought you didn't see the box on the floor in front of you, not like you could see it through the boxes you were still carrying. Your foot gets caught on the box, causing you to trip and fall forward. You let out a yelp as you feel your body closing in on the ground, when suddenly you get the weirdest sense of deja vu.

A hand suddenly shoots out and wraps around your middle, keeping you from falling, whilst another arm quickly grabs the boxes you were carrying all on one hand. You hadn't even realized you closed your eyes until you hesitantly open them, peering up at your savior.

"We really ought to stop meeting like this." A familiar voice chuckled.

Soon you were face to face with the hottie from this morning. The only difference was that her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and piercings lacing her ears.

HOW IS SHE EVEN COOLER!???

If this were an anime you'd be doing the weird whine from behind your fist as hearts form in your eyes.

In fact, I think that is what you were doing.

You were definitely ogling this poor woman, although if she noticed, she didn't care. She just helped you stand up, keeping her hand on your lower back as she kept you steady.

"You alright hun?"

You barely muster out a breathy mhm, continuing to stare at her, examining her figure you noticed she was wearing a button up shirt with rolled up sleeves, slacks and suspenders, and watch on her wrist.

She looked like an ikeman from your animes!! She looked at the boxes in her hand and back to you, her brow furrowed a little.

"This is alot for one person to carry, why don't I help you?"

"R-really? You would do that?" Your eyes were definitely sparkling at her, you were almost melting from how awesome she is.

She just chuckles and nods.

"Of course, anything for a cute girl like yourself." She said with a wink.

God's if you weren't swooning so much you'd start squealing like a fangirl meeting their favorite celebrity. Actually, this girl was quickly becoming your favorite celebrity!

You accept her offer of help, taking half of the boxes and leaving her the rest. You actually took less than her but only because she wouldn't let you carry anymore.

"I'm perfectly fine carrying this much."

And it was certainly true! I mean she already carried all of the boxes in one hand before handing some off to you. You lead her to a section just before the back, placing the boxes in your hands down and going to take the ones from hers.

"H-here, let me!" You shakingly reach for them, your hand brushing against hers as you take them. You blush as you feel her long fingers slip out from yours and carry the boxes to a counter.

"Thank you so much!" You began sorting the boxes. At least moving them off of eachother.

"It's alright! You don't need to thank me."

"But I want to!" You quickly turned around, your hand hitting the corner of the table realy hard and with a loud thwack!

"Ow!" You quickly hold your hand to your chest.

"Are you alright?" She asked worried. You smile and nod, looking down at your hand which was already bruising.

You frowned at the ugly blemish, groaning that today was just not your day.

Without noticing, the girl quickly came up to you and gently took your hand in hers.

You were about to inquire what she was doing when suddenly, she bent a little and lifted your hand up to her lips and gave the bruise a small tender kiss.

You felt your face explode in blush when you felt her lips against the back of your hand.

She looked back up at you with a smile and a playful gleam in her eyes.

"There, feel better?" Her voice was low and much more quiet, it almost felt erotic despite the fact she was kissing your booboo like a mother would a child.

You barely manage to stammer out an answer when she chuckles and stands up straight, lifting her own hand she playfully ruffles your hair a little.

"Hey, I gotta get back to my group, take care!" She turns around and begins walking away from you.

Quickly snapping out of your haze you you stumble after her.

"W-wait! Can I at least get your name??"

She stops, turning around and smiling at you with creased eyes.

"Of course! Call me MC!" And with that, she leaves. Again.

MC...? Even her name is cool... although it's not very helpful. But, at least you got to put a name to a face.

To a very cool, pretty face.

Now if only you had asked for her number...

——————————————————————————

《Hope you liked it! I'm not the best at writing, and there are surely typos and errors! But hey at least I did it! Can't say the same for the rest of my life 😅😥😢😭》

[alynnia]

Astra's Champion 3

LaDs men if they were boss fights |Part 3 Zayne|

《This is written from the perspective of playing an action game boss fight in the realm of Bayonetta, Devil May Cry, No More Heroes, etc with “cutscenes” at the start and during transitions of the fight. I’ve left most of the abilities and weapons the reader has open so it can be up to you on how you’d want your character to fight specifically. This will be incorporating their myths, creative liberties taken for the sake of cool and things get really over the top in their 3rd phases because I’m a sucker for the cinematics. Good luck. 》

Cw: NonMC Reader, annoying combat mechanics

Premise of the game: You play as a being created by Astra tasked with taking out the MC for reasons unknown, but you're going to have to get through her love interests first. They know you are after her and will do everything within their power to stop you. Everything. But something about you unnerves them. You resemble her. Be it physically or an aura you have, the men can sense her within you somehow. Perhaps Astra did this to get them to let their guard down or there is more to your connection with her that you're unaware of. Upon winning each match Astra will bestow a blessing on you and the love interests will drop loot. 

Using your own Evol, special set of skills, and an outfit embedded with protocores you've collected on your journey, you might stand a chance against them. You may fight them in any order but Zayne will always be last. *Special note! This was written before the main story update but I did change the dialogue parts after. I'm also saving the ??? fight for it's own post because I don't like that it's holding up Zayne's. It's...a lot.

[+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-][+][-]

Zayne Boss Fight

•Take A Look, It’s In a Book

A bit different from the others...You start off in the Fractal Library of all places. A seemingly endless building of bookshelves stacked with what your brain tells you are books but you sense something is not quite right with that name. Your footsteps and their echoes are all that accompany you until you reach a stopping point. At the end of the hall, the figure shrouded in blue and silver is your final obstacle. Instead of Zayne, the one that hovers in front of his shelf is the Foreseer. " Your coming was foretold, servant of Astra. " He holds a staff in one hand and a book in the other, snapping it close before sliding it back onto the shelf behind him. You sense something familiar about him. Yes, you know who he is but there is a distinct connection between the two of you you can’t place your finger on. He seems unshaken by your presence and if we're close enough to see it, holds a hint of melancholy in his eyes. The Forseerer is aware he is the last one on your journey. “ Let us begin. “ 

Massively tall shelves shoot up from below your feet, raising you high enough to hit not a ceiling, but another bookshelf that is mirrored above. Dodge in time for it not to crush you and hop onto another rising and shifting bookshelf. The walls around you warps and wraps around into a rotating circle (Think the library scene in Wicked on a larger scale with protruding shelves). Gravity would be an issue if you didn’t gain that blessing from a previous fight so instead you’re able to leap from shelf to self, hurrying your way toward him down the hall of books. It is highly recommended a ranged weapon in this fight is used because getting close enough is going to be a trial of its own. He's summoning icy black vines to strike in your direction that you'll need to jump over and under to avoid taking damage. The shelves will continue to swivel and spin until they're on the ceiling or on the wall, messing with your navigation and jumping in the most annoying way possible. When you finally reach him, you can attack. He takes hits much easier when he's close like this but after a few strikes he side steps and plucks a book from the shelf behind him and flips it’s pages creating a familiar sense…

•Book 15

The pages blink across your own vision until your world changes. Once it stops, you’re in a bamboo forest. A gentle breeze caresses your skin and hair and leaves drift aimlessly from their branches around you. It’s a peaceful and serene scene…until one of the leaves glides briskly across your skin and slices your skin. So does the next. It’s then you realize the foliage is sharp as blades. You’ll need to nimbly move to avoid taking damage from the leaves and although it’s minor ticks against your HP, it can add up if you’re not careful. Further ahead you can see a massive tree growing several white blossoms underneath in a cloudy scenery that makes you wonder if you’ve reached the heavens. Among these flowers, you catch the scent of one single Jasmine. 

“ So that’s his plan… “ A quick time event activates as an icy gust of wind cuts through your vision. Block or dodge. “ …Another variable to cancel out the other.” The Master of Fate stands in front of the tree with one hand behind his back and the other quickly writing in the air with his fingers and launching another powerful gale knocking you back. All of his moves are variations of keeping you at a distance so ranged or gap closers are going to be your bread and butter. You’ll notice the scent of Jasmine again, an alert going off in your mind’s eye that reaching it is important. Your attacks on Master of Fate don’t seem to be causing any damage so your own knock back moves will help keep him away from blocking your goal. Once you find the Jasmine among the cloud of blooms, strike it immediately. Doing so will cause him to drop to his knees and you hear the slamming of a book.

In a blink, you’re back in the library and the book dissolves in his hand. His brows furrowed as his vines launched you back at the far end of the spinning library on the next floor up meaning you’ll have to repeat the process of getting to him again. 

•Book 32

Once you do reach him and land hits, another book is picked up and the pages flip again. You're in a world that looks like it’s at its end. The city around you is crumbling and desolate. Shadows lurk in the dark alleys, hunched over and watching you. In the limited blinking light from a fallen sign, you can see black crystals growing out of their forms. You start to feel it, the effects of this world is putting a strain on you as the black crystals begin to crystallize on parts of your face and hands. This didn’t happen in the others so there must be something about this place in particular that wants to consume you as well. Just ahead stands the grim reaper, dressed in night from head to toe making no attempt to come after you. Behind him, a faint glow of white. The Jasmine somehow grows within the concrete of this blackened earth. “ Have you asked yourself why you resemble her? “ 

Why should you? You are a tool of Astra, nothing more. You make your move and Dawnbreaker, colder than his other incarnations, is striking you with black ice from afar. Avoid the missiles as you make your way to him and watch out for obstacles like cars and fallen street lights in this runner-like ordeal. Wanderers will also leap out from the shadows to attack, you’ll need to fend them off. They’re not difficult at all but the number of them increases the closer you get. When you finally reach Dawnbreaker, fight him off with knock-back attacks just enough so you can destroy the flower. On doing so the world dissolves away and the sound of a book slamming shut thunders in your head as you blink and are back at the Library. Repeat the first Phase in the Fractal Library on the next floor up.

•Book 22 

The pages flip once more. The scenery now is within Linkon, atop the Akso hospital while it’s snowing. A snowman sits off to the side with the doctor crouched near it, giving it a pat on the head before standing up and turning to face you. “ What will he do with you once your job is complete? “ That is not for you to decide. You see where his hand had touched the snowman, and a Jasmine sprouted from its head. Target locked. You charge toward it but Dr. Zayne slings ice bolts your way that causes the usual damage but you dodge it, it has the added effect of freezing the ground causing it to be slippery and making you slide across the map should you walk/run on it. The frozen areas will remain on the field for a set amount of time before they melt away. If you block the ice bolts instead, the ground will not freeze over but be wary since he sends them out at a fast rate. Dr. Zayne is aiming where you are standing so it is possible to control where the frozen areas land so that you can plan out where you’ll be able to move.

Another of his attacks will be summoning up an ice bow unleashing a rapid fire of ice arrows turning this phase of the fight into a bullet hell while trying to avoid frozen ground. A skilled fighter could use this to their advantage and slip closer toward the snowman but most will have a Bad Time. Once the Jasmine is struck you’re back in the Library on a higher level. 

•Tale as Old as Time

At the canopy of this jungle of literature, pages upon pages twist up and around the Foreseer,  “ You are the same, plucked from another book with your pages torn to better suit him. “ His expression is strained but composed. At his feet you can see the man beginning to become cased in ice, “ Your expression…did you think you would be the one to end me? “ His other limbs begin to freeze over as his breathing becomes ragged, “ Astra does not let his tools become broken so easily. “ Just as you’re about to test that fact and summon up an ultimate, your power sputters and fizzles out. The Foreseer’s gaze remains locked onto you as the rest of his body freezes up to his neck.

“ You must not…her…” His last words are swallowed up by the frost and vines but just before he is completely consumed, a light escapes from him and flies up to somewhere unknown. Did you win...?

✨Astra’s Blessing✨

Grounded. Terrain manipulation no longer has an effect on you.  

🎁Items Gained🎁

Old Popsicle. Eating it gives you a permanent boost to your HP

Seal made of snow that never melts

❤Affection Bonus?❤

His affection bonus is triggered by achieving the bonus from the others. His line of dialogue changes before he’s frozen “ You must not… “ and the point of view flips to his, the center of your chest showing a faint Jasmine with one petal left, “ …let her story end…”

Next Up: ???

----------------

I added combat music to this one because I wanted to share what I feel when picturing this fight. Should I go back and add themes to the others as well? As for the ??? fight, it's become bigger than I anticipated and my willpower is struggling. All the new banners and story update plus just enjoying playing around the LaDs fandom on tumblr and writing theories keeps stealing my attention from sitting my ass down and actually writing lol. So instead of continuing to hold Zayne hostage, I just decided to free him by himself than with the last fight.

Ugh, I also have the urge to make smaller fights with NPCs. Luke and Kieren fight? The Boy? Damn that sounds fun but I need to finish what I'm already doing first. Someone send Thomas my way to bully me...

Oh and, if you find anything weird or off with the writing (like did I type the same sentence twice) go ahead and give me a poke so I can correct it. ❤️ ALSO, ALSO I don't mind if anyone wants to play with the ideas here or make their own versions of fights. Just tag/message/yell at me because I wanna seeeee! TTPRPG LaDs when? Mugen LaDs mod when? 👀 Does anyone still play with Mugen anymore? Melty Blood?

[6okuto-moved]

I'm completely obsessed with your Touchstarved headcanons, if it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could do headcanons of Ais falling in love with the reader/MC??

And maybe then do something similar to Vere, if it's not too much trouble

(sorry for my English)

AIS FALLING IN LOVE

gn!reader | it's almost valentine's day guys. THANK U!!! i'm glad u enjoy them ^___^ this got... long. but if u still want vere feel free to remind me and i'll probably make a post! ^^ i'm always inspired by these kinds of ideas...

it's more of a slow burn because he teases you but you brush it off as his personality rather than anything serious

he's intrigued by you! he finds your company entertaining if nothing else, or at least that's what he tells himself. whether you throw his banter back at him, or stutter at his quick flirtations, ais can't help himself from making up excuses to find you

one moment that sets an alarm off in his head is after he's gotten into some bar fight. the bruises and blood on his knuckles, scratch by his collarbone, and the way he winces when you touch his shoulder get your attention easily. he tells you he's fine, that he's dealt with worse, and that the other guy got totally knocked out, but you pull him along anyway to take care of him.

but ais hasn't had someone take care of his injuries in. a long time. so he's stiff and awkward despite your friendship at this point. his eyes follow your every move, and he doesn't even realize it until your eyes meet. you ask a simple "what?" and he tries to play it off by saying "nothing." ("you're cute when you worry." etc etc LOLL)

and you scold him, because seriously, can you just like, not get into fights. one day someone's going to break your nose or something, and then what? what're you going to do when you try to hit on someone and you're still recovering from a black eye?

you're saying it absentmindedly, making jokes to lighten the mood. but something about the way you carefully graze your fingers across his skin and bandage him gets ais Thinking. and it's really weird because he's silent, and he's never really silent when you try to joke with him, so you go quiet too, and now he's thinking even more, and have you always furrowed your brows like that when you're focused, have you ever been this close to him before?

i don't think i'd make this moment The moment of realization. it's sort of an introduction

other moments i can think of would be ais watching you get along with his pets, you catching him by surprise by fucking with him (some sort of prank), and the first time you guys are like, serious and sentimental for once.

. okay. the vere thing. fwb that got too close is different (in my opinion) to him just having an honest crush and wanting a relationship btw. the avoidance would be him not knowing what to do/being insecure rather than not wanting a relationship. in my mind at least.

ais with a crush is... Intentional. with the things he does. the signs he gives you. like from an outsider perspective, without your own insecurity or nervousness, it's Glaringly obvious.

more touchy. but he makes it casual and you start questioning it like ...? maybe he's just more comfortable with me because we're friends! (you're nervous because his arm is resting behind your head on the couch like woah) (doesn't move his leg away when your legs keep touching)

of course if you don't like physical touch his feelings would show up in different ways anyway. asking if you want to tag along to buy some things. remembering that book you bought and asking if you finally got around to reading it or if it's collecting dust on your shelf. or maybe it's moments where you ask him something about his past as a half joke, fully recognizing it isn't something anyone else really knows, and he tells you anyway.

still teases you though. obviously. you ask him to open your water bottle and he opens it then pretends to waterfall it into his mouth. takes a sip when you aren't looking but makes it really obvious he did when you look at him. at some point you knock on his door, ring the doorbell, call him, etc. and he takes like 5 minutes to finally let you in. and you're like what's your problem and he just shrugs like oh i didn't hear you (loser burnt his food and was trying to hide it + the smell before you saw)

anyway. i think ais falling in love is subtle moments that build up. glances that he doesn't turn away from when you make eye contact (he smiles and pretends like it's casual). teasing that's teetering on flirting, straight up flirting that for some reason doesn't get called out by you. him looking for you at the bar and relenting from a fight because you swear to god, you'll get such a huge headache, he'll be indebted to you for 3 weeks. him taking you home and making sure you feel alright in the morning.

and there's this tension because he knows, and you think you know, and he knows you've noticed (he isn't trying to hide it) but neither of you are saying anything about it and at some point someone's going to blurt out a confession and there's going to be a kiss and joke about How long that took and!!!

being in a relationship with him is basically what i've said. like you guys were already acting like it before you finally got him to say he wants to be your boyfriend LOL. just some pet names thrown in, official dates, no hesitation in affection you were scared about before

nia when do you think he'd say he loves you. ...! Haha. awesome question

realizing he loves you is easy enough. i can see different possibilities for that. at some mundane moment where he's watching you work on a hobby and explain it to him, or getting ready to go out and asking which outfit looks better.

orrr when you walk in on him doing a bit/prank and immediately play along without hesitation. when he witnesses you threatening/challenging some guy on his account (if you're the type to do that). no matter what, you ask him about it and he's kind of awkward because he thinks it sounds silly LOL

but saying i love you is different to realizing + showing it with his actions. That's where his hesitation sets in in my opinion. because he can be sure he does, be sure you love him, but saying it out loud isn't really something he's done before, and it's a sign this relationship is Serious y'know.

it's going to take...A While... if you wait for him to say it first. you're probably better off just asking to talk about it at that point, like, about your guys' feelings and saying i love you y'know. you can both promise to say it at the same time and then when neither of you say it accuse the other with "oh so you hate me?" before laughing and actually saying it! think about it. silly!

but if you say it that's different. maybe written in a card (he stares at it for a long time and debates what to do), casually while saying goodbye (he watches you leave and replays it in his head), saying it in an intimate setting (he stills and looks at you before smiling/laughing a little and commenting on how you beat him to it (he's grateful))

"love you" over "i love you" guy when it comes to casually saying it btw. also a big fan of annoying you, you saying "i hate you," and replying with "love you too."

sorry friends i have to stop here because my laptop is Quite Literally slowing down/lagging when i start typing atp in the post. somebody help me

@lost-lonnie @screaming-wea-sel @dreamtydraw @respitable @semifilms @hexcoeur @cvhenia @mitskiologist @leiiii-i @sweet-milky-tea705 @khalixvitae

[bucketofminnow]

my mclive liveblog

everything they show for minecraft vanilla is coming out within the next few months (halloween update?)

can we skip everything about the minecraft movie i could not care less about it lol

they continue to plan to drop smaller, more frequent updates rather than one big, yearly update

"later in the show we will show you a new biome with its own mood"

theyre adding hardcore mode and bundles to bedrock!

villager news segment hinting at the new mob! "do you hear that? the creaking"

[about the movie] "all with the goal of authentically capturing the spirit of minecraft" apparently they chose to do live action because they wanted to do something different to what's popular in fan spaces. the youtube live chat is straight "L's" right now. they're showing a scene from the movie. i'm not a fan of this jack black steve that is NOT my steve!

"we had to honor what you experience in the game but also make it work for human scale" "[craft an experience] in a way that's fresh and new but still authentic to the spirit of the game"

villager rescue, our first real world immersive experience. the premise of minecraft experience is authenticity, defining a new lens from which you can interact with the game. it's a story about a village being attacked by zombies and it's your quest to go out and save them. there are interactive screens throughout the game. "this is an experience where you can feel, see and hear what it's like to be in minecraft". that sounds pretty cool

"there is something lurking in the shadows, the creaking". it's a tree-like creature camoflauging in the darkness. there's a special new block that it has a connection to. it doesn't take any damage, and when you hit it, there are particles that point to the creaking heart in the trees, which is how you damage it

"the creaking doesn't exist on its own, it's more of like a puppet of the new block, the creaking heart. it comes with a new combat challenge or mechanic, you need to destroy the heart block to kill the puppet, and the creaking only moves when you look away."

you can obtain the heart with silk touch and place it where you want!

the new trees in the pale garden are pale oak!

the new pale moss carpet spreads on all sides of the blocks!

"we wanted to go for a look that was more eerie than spookie, we didn't want it to be terrifying but we wanted players to feel something was wrong." the pale garden's likeness to dark oak forests is purposeful. also, even the sky is gray in this biome!

you can kill the creaking in creative mode

"when it's connected to the creaking heart, it's invulnerable, it's conected to the tree roots"

the puppet disappears when you pick up the heart with silk touch. the heart seems to spawn in the center of the pale oak trees. "not only are they linked but they have a perimeter they have to stay in"

also, in case anyone missed it, they announced a bit ago (not during mc live) that they're removing the mob vote—on one hand, yay less intercommunity murder, on the other hand, now we won't be able to vote out golems

pale oak doors are gorgeous!

the (hanging?) pale moss has a random configuration for variety

"this was your idea about how to use the creaking to protect yourself and your village" you can only have the creaking heart work when it's night, between two pale wood blocks (top and bottom), and they have to be aligned the same direction as the heart. so there are contraptions you can make to spawn a creaking puppet at night to "protect" the village—although it doesn't seem to attack mobs, so i don't think it will actually be able to protect you.

once the heart is activated, you have to destroy it, as it won't deactivate if you destroy the blocks around it.

we'll be able to play with the new stuff in snapshots "very soon"