#slightly inaccurate lore

[atsucry]

Beyond The Thorn Vines

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝐈

Synopsis: A budding friendship between two magical beings, what could possibly go wrong?

tags: Childhood friends-->strangers-->enemies-->???

Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Additional Info: Both Malleus and reader are children, atleast in this part. Ages 10-12 in fae years. I don't know how to translate that to human years so...you do the math. Also this might be a little ooc.

content: fluff (for now...)

"Who might you be?" The young nymph spoke, peeking their head out of the river to eye the fae, that seemed to be around the same age as them. They've never encountered another person of each other's species before. It seemed that it was their first interaction with another child. Both were pretty much isolated, so it would be awkward to get about how to do this.

The prince twiddled with his thumbs. Perhaps he should've stayed in the confines of his castle, to continue to be isolated…to be surrounded by only gargoyles and walls.

"I am…Malleus. The prince of Briar Valley." It was a sort of balance with confidence and shyness. He'd read about nymphs in storybooks from his grand library.

"Hm…" You hummed. "I am (Y/N)." The child stepped out of the body of water to face and properly converse with the dragon fae.

"So you say you're a Prince? What do you have to do outside your castle?"

"I was just curious." Malleus turned his head to scan his eyes around the area. "And this seems to be within the bounds of my castle…I'm sure I haven’t strayed off so far." This was the first time Malleus actually held a conversation fairly well. Other kids often refused to play with him, not that he knew anyone else at all for the matter. He was only surrounded by adults.

You attempt to approach the boy, he exuded an intimidating yet also timid aura. Continuing to cautiously walk towards him, you reached just a few feet away from him before sitting yourself down on the forest grass. "Do you ever get lonely in that palace you say you live in?"

Malleus watched you speak to him with almost no hesitation, even sitting in front of him to ground yourself. He wasn't used to anyone coming near him without fear or apprehension. So you'd expect this to surprise him. Which he is.

He took a long pause before following your lead to sit down to be on the same level as you—it was strange.

"I only have books and my guardian; Lillia to accompany me. So you can only imagine." He sighed. "I've read about you in one of them before, What can you do?"

"I don't know…what about you?"

Malleus pondered that question for a bit. He was still so young and learning about magic. "I don't know either."

You purse your lips, the awkward tension slowly growing between you two. The only thing that you could relate to him was being sort of isolated and had no one else to play with. "What kind of stories did you read?"

"All sorts."

"Did you enjoy them?"

"Some, yes."

You two continued on with this back and forth question and answer, though, you were the only one asking. It was all just about superficial subjects. some small talk here and there.

You questioned him so much that every sentence practically used every word in the dictionary. All about eachothers endeavours, though little. Simple contact with another person was enough.

You told him all that you knew about your living environment. You only had your mother as company after all, she let you wander off sometimes since she trusted that you wouldn't get yourself in trouble. You knew your way back to her anyways, so it was all just fine. But you rarely get to meet someone else of your age of the same species. Which led to the other nymph ladies to treat you as somewhat royalty.

He seemed unsure whether or not to start asking. He gathered the courage and opened his mouth:

"...Are you the same as me? from the looks of it you don't have any friends either."

"I guess…I mean I can technically talk to water but…It's not really the same as talking to someone…who can talk back."

This information amused the young Prince. "I see." he paused in between. "I take it you live in this river? or some nearby lake?"

"No…I just so happened to be here when you came. I have free reign to explore as much as I want."

You lean back into the soft grass, tapping your fingers against the mushy soil, waiting for him to speak up.

"Free reign and no supervision from anyone else?" He inquired, his eyebrows raised as he leant forward in response.

"Your mom must know that you're somewhat a responsible person."

"I guess so."

"Well, I am a prince—almost all my actions are supervised."

He crosses his arms, looking down. He holds his title up highly of course and knows the responsibility that comes with it and accepts it. But that very same thing he holds proudly is what drives others away, to revere him.

"...So how are you out here then?" You sprung right back into questioning mode.

"The castle is quite large. And the guards know it, of course. They probably still think I'm in my room…studying…" he propped his elbow up on his knee, holding his head in his palm.

When he looked up, he saw that his companion was staring at him peculiarly. What was their deal? He couldn't tell whether they had all or nothing in their head. They looked similar to an owl, it made him almost feel embarrassed.

"I like your company."

He flinched at that sentence, why did he flinch? It wasn't anything scary or anything similar of the sort…just unfamiliar.

"I'd like to play again sometime." You suddenly said outloud. Gathering yourself to stand up with a grunt.

"...Is this your idea of 'playing'?"

"Of course not!" you chuckled, reaching out a hand for him to take. "I'll tell you all the games I know tomorrow…If you're up for it."

A bewildered face looked back up at you, his eyes blinking a few times before finally taking your hand so he could stand, too. He dusted off his pants to clean off any dirt that could give away the idea that he's been outside.

"...I agree to your request. I'll meet you here again, same time tomorrow, that is, if I know my way back to this place…I'll make sure I know my way back here." He promised. "A fae always keeps their word."

"I've seen mortals make 'pinky promises' to solidify the deal. They interlock eachothers smallest fingers at the end of their palm." You curled all fingers but your pinky, holding it out.

"Oh, I see…"

As you both proceeded to pinky promise, the wind around you seems to turn, then calm down. As if the orbit of the world has been reversed with one simple, childish action.

You waved to each other goodbye as you retreated to your respective residence. Disappearing in the shades of the trees and the dark of night. The sound of your footsteps fading away as the moon marked the time of slumber.

Note: scariest experience of my life bru I'm actually writing a series.

Another note if I made any errors please excuse them, this was made on a school night����

[bonus-links]

WOO, finally got this ref chart together! the art's actually kinda old by now (I started this back in february) but I didn't feel like redrawing everything outside outfit changes sooooo,,,,,my apologies 😅 here's the main cast! you can find individual refs in this masterpost

[messiahzzz]

[altarcup]

sam’s almost convinced himself that the tape just randomly fell into his hands last night. 

it’s a bleeding morning ;  orange light and creeping shadows,  spindly fingers stretched across the horizon.  he’s picked frost–dry knuckles raw in an effort not to resort to the crumpled pack of smokes at the bottom of his bookbag.  corinne has mentioned that getting caught with cigarettes at school could get him in bad trouble.  namely,  detention   ‒‒‒‒‒   which seemed a far less attractive concept before sam heard levi hayes be sentenced to it for caving some kid’s face in.  wiping clammy palms on porous denim,  sam stares holes into the asphalt between his scuffed shoes,  remembering ( ... ) as the floodlights on the football field die in favour of the rising sun. 

he couldn’t have done it himself,  what levi did   ‒‒‒‒‒   sam’s never fought back against or stood up to anyone.  except once,  but that rebellion left no one bleeding but himself.  he’s jealous and awestruck and sorry,  and there’s not a chance in hell he’ll be able to play that casual at all.  because this is a pretty big deal.  limited edition.  and sam (very famously,  to his own detriment) hasn’t really talked to anyone at school yet.  he’d prefer to have saved that for graduation.  or the next time he needs to find weed.

but by the time levi’s car peels into the parking lot,  coming to a stop all crooked between the pale white stripings,  sam has made up his mind.  it’s cool,  after all.  he just coincidentally found the tape laying around when he was closing up shop,  and his sister didn’t want it anymore,  and he himself for some reason doesn’t,  either,  so he brought it here.  because he also coincidentally remembered that levi would break someone’s nose for that tape.  and that,  coincidentally,  meant something to sam when that cover began to haunt him from its place on the shelf.  it’s meant something to him since levi’s fist hit its target,  all the way up to now. 

with a minute shiver and the cloudy exhalation of a bad word,  sam pushes off the hood of corinne’s car and grabs the very offering he intends to make with the shrug of his shoulders,  like it isn’t a big deal at all   ‒‒‒‒‒   like that tape doesn’t weigh a ton in his hand and he can’t feel bile rising in his throat.  all cool. 

he’s tapping on the driver’s side window before he can think better of it.  or think about booking a flight home.  behind the glass, with helpless eyes   ‒‒‒‒‒   this poor,  poor thing,  barely a person yet ;  pale skin,  wispy hair and dark circles in the newborn winter light.  he takes some empty breaths,  then proffers the tape like a magical boon,  a shield to guard him.    ❛❛  i heard you lost yours.  ❜❜

﹙   ＊   ﹚      &*  @daevilhorns:      𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙.

[thatchaotictiefling]

I wasn't tagged but this maker is extremely cute

i also wana start a picrew chain so just tag as manny ppl as you can and make a little guy of yourself

little guy maker｜Picrew

mine

@sad-trash-pigeon @hyperbolic-havoc @literally-maria @willprobablychangethis @willows-woes @heartstopperstuff @sproldenlover @pessimistonsteriods @person4924 @katelyn-heartstopper @artsimmys @acuteobsession @apersononearth011 @faulty-radio @linavloger

[fangdokja]

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and you’re the captive—lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 4,707

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm

♡ Mr. Reca.

"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my film—my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."

The universe had always been a canvas to him—a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.

But you—oh, you—you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.

You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasn’t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientist’s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.

It began subtly. At first, you didn’t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frog—so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a child’s toy—hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.

He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mind’s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeon’s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.

You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.

He didn’t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.

No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.

You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And he—he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didn’t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.

He didn’t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didn’t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.

“Your dreams are fascinating,” he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. “I could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?”

His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hunger—the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.

When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. “Ah, but do you really have a choice?”

You didn’t, of course.

The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.

The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldn’t have been—your door had been locked—but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. “You feel it, don’t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?”

In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.

His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.

But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. “The way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesn’t want to?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. “I could keep you here forever,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Inside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?”

You would care, of course.

You fight him, or at least you try. But he’s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesn’t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.

His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire you’ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.

“You want this,” he says, his voice a velvet knife. “You want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.”

His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. “And when I’m done with you, when there’s nothing left of you but what I’ve created, you’ll thank me. You’ll beg me to keep you.”

The horror of it all is that he doesn’t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.

He tells you that you’re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.

Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?

And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.

You are not his muse.

You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.

But no one will ever hear your screams.

He’s made sure of that.

After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and he’s already written your final scene.

♡ Mydei.

"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. I’ll carve my name into your soul, and you’ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."

It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturally—always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; it’s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.

And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. “You’re trembling,” he says, though there’s no concern in his tone.

It’s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.

He doesn’t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocating—his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. It’s low and guttural, almost amused, but there’s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that he’ll savor every inch of your fear.

He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. “You should be,” he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. “Fear keeps you alive… but not from me. Never from me.”

He lies, of course.

The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesn’t see you as prey to consume in haste.

No, he sees you as a possession—a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something he’s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.

When he finally touches you, it’s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. There’s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand: you’re his.

The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.

“You can fight,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, “but we both know how this ends.”

And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.

The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, he’s there—everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if it’s a territory to be conquered, claimed.

The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. “Do you know how easy it would be?” he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.

“To tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you? By the time I’m done, you won’t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.”

His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.

And yet he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reacts—fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingers… it’s a symphony to him, a melody of submission he’s determined to conduct to its crescendo.

When he finally takes you, it’s not an act of love—it’s an act of dominance, of ownership.

His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, doesn’t let you escape into the safety of darkness.

No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you do—when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tears—he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.

His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. “Every breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veins—it all belongs to me.”

And yet, even as he tears you apart, there’s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.

Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, there’s a flicker of something more—a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he can’t voice but demands nonetheless.

When it’s over, he doesn’t release you.

His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.

And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesn’t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.

But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, and it’s not a question.

It’s a command, a promise, a threat.

“You’ll stay because there’s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leave…” His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.

You nod, because what else can you do?

And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.

There is no escape. There never was.

And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if you’ll ever want to leave at all.

♡ Anaxa.

"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughts—your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."

The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.

You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyes—one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatch—were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.

He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.

"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. I’ve seen them. I’ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.

Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.

No, his torment was subtle—a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.

You didn’t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poison—so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuary…all of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.

"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.

"It’s wasted on anyone else. They’ll never understand you—not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.

Almost.

Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.

Anaxa didn’t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if it’s the only way to make you stay."

And you knew he meant it—not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.

The moments of intimacy—if one could call them that—were no less haunting.

His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.

His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.

"You’re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.

"Beautiful because you’re broken. Broken because you’re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.

"They said I’d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."

The nights were the worst.

In the darkness, you felt him even when you didn’t see him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. He’d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

"You should sleep," he’d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we’ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."

And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.

When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.

Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.

"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthy—not even you."

And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasn’t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.

And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was love—or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.

"You’ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.

"Even if you try, even if you run…I’ll always find you. You’re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."

And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.

♡ Phainon.

"Every strike I make, every victory I win—it’s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."

The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isn’t kind.

It’s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before you—the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.

Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.

He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see it—heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.

His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.

“You don’t understand, do you? You’ve never understood.” A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. “I don’t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step I’ve taken, every blow I’ve struck, has always been for you.”

His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.

He hasn’t cleaned it.

He hasn’t even sheathed it.

The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.

You can’t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.

He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.

You back away instinctively, but there’s no escape.

His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.

“Run if you want to,” he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. “I won’t stop you. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

There’s no malice in his words, only certainty—a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.

His hands are stained too.

Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.

Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.

You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost human—almost.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.

“And I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when you’re far from me.”

When his lips press against yours, it isn’t a kiss—it’s a conquest.

His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isn’t tender; it’s possessive, frantic, like he’s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

And that’s when his patience snaps.

His grip tightens, dragging you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, it’s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. “You don’t understand how far I’d go for you. What I’d destroy. Who I’d become.”

He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark—a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like he’s savoring the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? You’ll scream for me, cry for me... but you’ll never leave.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifying—but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.

It’s sick.

It’s wrong.

But it’s real.

Phainon knows it too.

He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.

He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.”

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s just solved.

“You’re mine,” he says again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”

And you believe him.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay

———

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[nymphaea-blue]

Love and Deepspace boys as dads

Info : 3.1k+ word count whole (around 650 - 900 per part), includes : Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, reader is female, reader and LIs are married, mentions of arguments, possible lore spoilers or slightly inaccurate lore references.

Notes : I did my best to keep the parts even :D They are all so supportive, I love the game because of this so I had to include that in the fic as well <3

Rafayel

﹒　⁺ I see him as a girl dad, he would probably have twins.

﹒　⁺ He loves his little daughters more than anything! They are the light of his day, even when they mess up sometimes. He has no issues taking care of them if you aren't able to because of missions.

﹒　⁺ Rafayel would be very patient. Yes, he has his moments when even he loses a little control, but overall your kids would be well behaved so there rarely were moments when he needed to get angry at them.

﹒　⁺ The playful type. He likes to take them out somewhere fun, perhaps to go swimming or maybe to a nearby amusement park, or even on a small vacation in a different country with you by their side of course.

﹒　⁺ They would be half lemurians! The girls are naturally excellent swimmers and they are very loyal, as well as interested in arts, but they look human and don't have a tail. He loves to sing them lullabies in Lemurian and he would try to teach them a little about Lemuria as well.

﹒　⁺ After they grew up, he was even more invested in their lives. He knew all the drama, everything that was happening in school and you bet if your daughters ever came home crying he would be quick to do something about it. Rafayel would also not mind doing skincare with all of you! He did it even before he knew you (in this lifetime) so now he just got to do it with the entire family.

﹒　⁺ He still makes sure the two of you get plenty of time together and he takes you out on dates, even well after he became your husband. He does his best to split the responsibility 50/50 but with how frequent his exhibitions seem to be, it’s hard, though he is always fully supportive of you and appreciates the effort you make for the family.

“Mommy look, look!” Your daughters called out to you as you were relaxing on a towel nearby. Since you were free from work and Rafayel finished his pieces for the exhibition, it was a perfect day to spend it on the beach, especially because the weather was warm and it was right in front of your home anyways.

As you looked over at where the girls were, you could see a sandcastle being built, with your husband, Rafayel, helping them with it. It was very visible which parts Rafayel worked on and which ones the girls did, but it was endearing since they tried to replicate what he did. 

“Awh, it looks wonderful! Good job, girls!” You cheered them on, they were trying their best and it was all that mattered, they had fun with their dad too, it wasn't surprising since they got a little bit of his artistic spirit from him.

“Heyy, I'm here helping them as well, you know.” Your husband pouted playfully as he got up and walked towards your resting spot.

He kissed your forehead gently after he adjusted your parasol to make sure the sun won't blind you.

“How are you doing, cutie?” He checked in on you, the beach day was also a way for you to take a break and relax, with constant either work or motherhood activities you felt very tired out as of late so Rafayel decided that he would keep the girls busy for a while so you would be able to relax a little. He does his best to help out daily but you understand that he is in fact a world famous painter so his job does keep him busy sometimes. “Much better, thank you Rafayel.” “Don’t thank me, I’m your husband and they are my kids too you know. Just let me know if you ever need a break, okay? I don’t mind ignoring Thomas every once in a while if it means I can spend some more time with my favourite girls.”

Zayne

﹒　⁺ I think he would have both a girl and a boy, with around a 4 year gap between them.

﹒　⁺ Ever since your oldest son was born, he took a lot more rest days from his job. His job was important, yes, but family came first, especially after you got pregnant with a second child. Zayne was very active in their lives and he was there to keep the entire family in check - especially when it came to health.

﹒　⁺ I think he picks up the kids from school almost daily and he is never late. He makes them school lunch while you handle breakfast for the family and later on he gets the kids dressed when you prepare yourself for the day. The responsibility is very even and no one feels left out or overworked.

﹒　⁺ He fully believes in raising kids to be smart, kind and helpful but also responsible. I feel like he would be against giving them a phone or access to the internet before he was sure they would be ready for it and even after they get it, he would remind them to not spend all day on the internet and he would do his best to go out with the kids so they would be able to play around outside.

﹒　⁺ Zayne never gets mad at the kids, he just can’t. Even if something does happen, he handles it with a straight face and a calm voice while he helps them to navigate the difficult situation. The only time he would get slightly annoyed at them would be if they dare to disrespect you - he is a firm believer that since you gave birth to them and took care of them so well, they should respect you, no questions asked.

﹒　⁺ The twins make frequent visits to his office, he just can't say no to them when they come in… He is still very professional and will make them wait in the waiting room if he has a patient but otherwise they are free to hang out with him and he likes to teach them about his job.

﹒　⁺ He is a little sad to see your kids get older. It's amazing that they are becoming more mature and responsible but he also has a hard time keeping up with them after they become teens. 

  “Okay, open up, you need to take this for your fever.” Zayne said, his tone fully professional, his doctor mode still on it seemed. The kids caught a cold and your husband was extremely worried about this, though it was also cute to see him like that.

“Noo, this will taste horrible!” 

“Yeah, it always does!”

The siblings said almost in unison, and your poor lover just sighed in response. It felt like the hundredth time he tried to get them to take their medicine but it always needed lots of fighting for them to do so. Deciding that it was enough of watching Zayne suffer, you entered the room.

“Sweethearts, you need to take this like your daddy says so, you don’t want to be sick all the time, do you?” You tried to persuade them sweetly as you sat down next to them on the bed to bring them some comfort. “I’m not taking this, it tastes like toothpaste!” “Besides, if I’m sick I can skip school.”

“..What if I give you sweets?” You decided to take a different approach, it was bound to work. Your kids instantly agreed of course, it would help to fix the taste of the medicine and it would be like a little reward to them and hopefully, they would get better soon. Your husband just watched in slight disbelief that the attempt worked.

“Giving them sweets after doing something they should do anyways can teach them bad habits.” “Do you want some too?” “... Yes.”

Xavier

﹒　⁺ I think he would have a little boy, one kid is plenty enough but he also thinks about having a girl in the future as well.

﹒　⁺ He was the one to take care of him after he was born and he let you rest instead. Xavier treasures his sleep a lot but when your little star wakes up, he is the one to get up from the bed and cuddle him to sleep again.

﹒　⁺ I think he would read him bedtime stories as well, though you often find him asleep with the book in his hand. It was adorable, really, because somehow he could fall asleep while taking care of him but who were you to complain, at least you could rest a little.

﹒　⁺ Xavier would prefer to take care of the kid most of the time and let you work or hang out with your friends (just not Charlie perhaps). He is still your partner at work of course and whenever at least one of you isn’t at home, you hire a nanny to care for the little sunshine. But overall, he takes a lot of the responsibility, though he loves every single moment of it because he never thought that he would be able to live long enough to see a little clone of you and him combined sleep so softly in his arms.

﹒　⁺ He is very protective of your kid, just as much as he is about you. Xavier does his best to keep him away from wanderers, he doesn’t even want your child to look at them because the little one will have nightmares later on. Whenever a wanderer attack does happen, he handles it with ease and then checks up on the two of you, he is always so worried as well

﹒　⁺ When it comes to parenting, he would look like a relaxed type, but he is very protective. During childhood he is very fun and relaxed, he lets him play around and explore and has no issue going to the cinema or to a playground with him. Teenage years are a different world though, especially if your kid gets a partner - you bet he will do a background check on them, their parents, their ancestors, whatever, just to make sure they are enough for your son.

﹒　⁺ He handles any upset situations with ease and a mostly calm face, he does his best to talk with your kid and explain the situation before trying to even punish him somehow. Afterwards however, in the comfort of your bedroom, you see that he is disturbed by those conversations often and he might get more clingy and more silent after this. It just pains him whenever your kid does something bad and mostly because later on he has to do something about this. Worry not, however, give him a few kisses and reassuring words and he will be asleep in your arms in no time, almost like a baby.

“... and then the knight saved the princess. The end.” “Read me another one daddy!” You came back from a night out a few minutes ago, but the sight of your husband reading a bedtime story to your son was so cute you couldn’t help but observe from the door. Though soon enough, Xavier noticed you and you swore the room almost got a little lighter after he saw you there all alive and well.

“Welcome back, dinner is ready if you are hungry. I will heat it up for you in a second after I finish here.” He greeted you with a smile after you came closer to them, he leaned in and gave you a sweet kiss on the lips as a welcome gift.

“No need, I can heat it up on my own, do you want some as well?” You asked him, it would be nice to eat with him, spend some quality time together. All you wanted to do was rest in his arms, to be honest.

“Sure, I can eat a little. Heat up a portion for me too please.” You nodded, it was nice that he agreed, at least you would have some company and you would be able to tell him about all that happened on the night with your friends. You were working hard lately and Xavier was actually the one to propose that idea to you. Your gaze soon drifted to the little one in his bed, already all tucked in and looking sleepy. “Hey baby, I missed you.” You gently kissed his forehead and he murmured something in return, it was clear he was close to falling asleep. “I will go to the dining room soon, just have to finish putting this one to bed.” You nodded and headed to the kitchen to head up the food for the two of you. After about ten minutes though, you noticed that he still hadn't come, you even managed to change into your pajamas already but he was nowhere to be seen so you decided to check your son's bedroom again.

Sure enough, you found Xavier, asleep with a book in his hand while he leaned against your son's bed. You smiled and covered him gently with a blanket.

You sure loved this sleepy star of yours.

Sylus

﹒　⁺ He would have twins 100% and more kids too if you are up for it. It would probably be two girls.

﹒　⁺ He is a rich dad. He buys them whatever they want, but he makes sure not to spoil them too much so they will still be respectful towards hard work and money. If they ever need something for their school trip or perhaps their hobby, he will often buy them it. Their birthdays or holidays are very prosperous and full of joy, Sulus gets the best gifts for everyone because there is no better use of his money than to make his own family happy.

﹒　⁺ Sylus does his best to not get kids into his dark business, they don’t need to worry their pretty heads about it. He keeps them a secret, only Luke and Kieran know and oftentimes, he actually orders them to stay at the mansion and keep the kids and you safe in case something happens when he is away on business. 

﹒　⁺ Disrespect isn’t something that he would tolerate, but he handles it well. Sylus is cold during those talks, because he thought the two of you raised them better, but he understands that the kids make mistakes sometimes and he tries to make them realise their mistakes. In the end, he can never be too harsh on them, he tries but he is too much of a softie when it comes to your kids. 

﹒　⁺ You take care of the kids most of the time and pick them up from school. Sylus is a busy man, you knew this even before you got married so it was fine. He however feels guilty that he can’t spend as much time with them as he would like so he tries to make this up to them and you as much as possible. If you ever tell him that you need a break and feel tired then you already know that he suddenly has the next day off and he is up and with the kids the entire time while you get sent to a spa or on vacation somewhere.

﹒　⁺ He would try to help them with homework after they enter school, but he is always so confused about this. Don’t get him started on arts and music, he doesn’t understand this at all and he doesn’t know how one even teaches such a subject when it comes to the talent and abilities of the individuals, which not all have (like him).

﹒　⁺ I think the kids would somehow get some of his dragonic traits. They love to hoard things like toys or your jewelry in their room, they get so annoyed when you give one sibling more attention than the other and of course, they even look a lot more like Sylus rather than you. The cocky bastard has strong genes. Of course they can’t have a tail, horns or wings, but the twins dressed up as dragons once for halloween and Sylus was ready to cry on the spot.

   Currently you were at the table, drawing with the twins as an afterschool activity. The entire day was a bit hectic, you had a hard mission at work, then you had to rush to pick the kids up, the girls got into a little bit of trouble at school so you had to listen to the teacher scold them which sucked and now they were very energetic after school while you were absolutely drained. You did your best to appear happy, it wasn’t all their fault that the day sucked so much for you and you didn’t want to take it out on them. “I’m home, girls.” Sylus said as he finally, finally came back. He left yesterday morning and didn’t come back until now. You missed him and were worried despite knowing he would be able to handle himself. The girls ran up to him for hugs immediately.

“Daddy! Where were you? We missed you!” The girls said and then they eagerly began to talk to him about what he missed. Such energetic kids they were.

You just watched, resting your elbows on the table, you had a moment of rest it seemed.

Sylus, who noticed that you didn’t go up to greet him, hurried the girls to their room for a moment before he approached you. “Hey there, kitten. Missed me?” He asked as he gave you a kiss and a slight side hug as he noticed how tired you looked. “I did, you sure took your sweet time to come back.” You responded, with a little more bite than you wanted. But Sylus didn’t get mad, rather he seemed worried.

  “How are you holding up? Did the girls give you trouble?” “A little. I’m just… tired, it was a rough day.” You sighed, you didn’t try to hide that you were exhausted, it was visible and you knew he would do his best to help so there was no point.

“I see… how about I take them somewhere fun now, get them to use up all their energy so they will go to sleep nicely and then later on, we can spend some time together, hm? You just rest right now, catch up on some sleep and selfcare.” He proposed while he rubbed your shoulder. He knew taking care of kids could be exhausting sometimes so he would be more than happy to let you rest now and then treat you someplace nice later on. 

“That sounds nice, thank you Sylus..” “Don’t thank me, just go rest, I will take care of our little angels."

[aeonstale]

FATED SOULS REUNITE

summary. despite the oddity that is life, your souls were fated together. tw. maybe ooc dan feng, possibly lore inaccurate dan feng, slightly proof read, 1k words. slight angst if u squint toward the end, art by @mors_gn

Imbibitor Lunae, the Vidyadhara High Elder, successor of the Azure Dragon, Commander of the Clouds and the Rain. 

Dan Feng sported many names. All with great weight to carry. 

But on this star-full night, he was only Dan Feng in your arms. Your warmth breathing down on his horn, his tail wrapped tightly around your waist. The end of the tail swishing back and forth in content. His arms bring you impossibly closer to your body. Wanting nothing but to melt into you. 

Your humming eased his worries, the gentle caresses of  your hands in his hair. On this night, Dan Feng wanted nothing more than to stop time. To throw all responsibilities and duties away, to be nothing but your husband. 

The thought brought a smile to his face. Right. The picnic you had earlier, the walk through the field of flowers (the bonus flower crown you made and put on him, stating he looked more like a beautiful princess than an intimidating Elder.). All leading to this moment. 

All leading to this question.

With hesitance (and a pinch of nervousness.), Dan Feng separates himself from you. Your sweet melody stops, now sharing a silent moment with his eyes locked into yours. The soft whispers of your name, his hands reaching for yours. You smile in amusement, “Something in your mind, my dear?” 

Dan Feng hums. 

“You can say.” bringing your hands closer, he kisses the ring fingers on both hands. Your right hand’s finger is adorned in a moonstone ring. A promise ring he brought you decades ago. A poorly made one. A ring he made himself. Though he promised to buy you a new one, a better one. You refused. (He still remembers how beautiful you looked while staring at the ring. Soft smiles painted on your lips, fingers cradling the ring as though it was made from glass. You treasured it. Dan Feng swore to give you a more extravagant and prettier ring for when he proposes.) 

Blue eyes glances at your left hand, another hum. 

“This one looks lonely.” your confusion vanishes almost instantly as the meaning settles in. Your mouth opens and closes akin to a fish’s. Splutters leaves you yet not a single coherent sentence was formed, too flustered to even think about what to say. Too flustered to even think how to say it. 

“Dan Feng, you…”

Was the only words you could articulate without sounding like a fool. 

The culprit behind your flustered state slyly smirks. He leans back, letting go of your right hand as his —now free— hand reaches for his pocket. Bringing out a red box. You gasp.

“I promised. Didn’t I? That I would give you something better.” 

He opens the box, showcasing a Blue Sapphire encased in a golden ring. Waves patterns decorated the ring’s sides, with your initials engraved in. 

It was beautiful. 

More than that actually. You didn’t think you could run out of words to describe the beauty of it all. But actions speak louder than words. 

Tears swelled up in your eyes, trying to blink them away as you stared back into your lover's eyes. “Dan Feng…”. You chuckled all while trying to compose yourself. 

Dan Feng joins you. His own tears blurring his sight. He shakily takes the ring from the box, staring at you as he waits for the words he never knew would make him this nervous. 

You nod, scoffing out a laugh. “Yes, Yes!” 

He sighs out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. And he slips on the ring on your finger. He admires it. It fit perfectly. You were his just as he was yours. And the thoughts fill him with joy.

“I apologize for making you wait, I had to make sure it was perfect. Who knew the Imbibitor Lunae sucked at craftsmanship?” You both laugh. Unable to contain your happiness, you jump into his arms. 

Said arms instinctively embrace you. 

Your lips meet as you go down.  

“I love you, Dan Feng.” 

“I love you too, Bǎobèi.”

“Dan Heng!” you call out to the dazed man. Blinking away his thoughts, he turns towards you. A pout on your lips, your arms crossed over your chest in harmless irritation. “Yes, Bǎobèi?” 

“I’ve been calling out to you for a good five minutes,” your face quickly fades into worry (It was cute how quickly your expression changed. He may have abused this fact a few times.) “Are you alright? Do you feel a fever?” You reach out, checking his temperature and comparing it to yours, muttering a low ‘doesn’t look like it…’ 

Dan Heng shakes his head. Closing the book he didn’t even know he was holding. He puts it back in its respective place as he reassures you he wasn’t feeling ill. “I’m alright, just lost in thought.” 

His eyes soften at the ring held on by a golden thread around your neck. His own version of the ring safely secured around his wrist. “I love you.”

He watches as you blink, heated cheeks pulled into a bright smile. You jest how out of the blue that was but never failed to return it. 

“I love you too, Dan Heng!”

“I love you, Dan Feng.” 

Though his identities may overlap, causing him great distress. Sometimes nightmares, other times sleepless nights spent blankly staring at the ceiling as the many questions of who he was cloud his mind.

He had you.

You who are awoken by his cries, you who comfort him as he mutters apologies. You who join him in his sleepless night, staying up all night recounting all the adventure you two went on. You accepted and loved him. Throughout all his lives.

You who were there. 

You.

Dan Heng leans to plant a kiss on your forehead, heading down to your cheeks, and finally on your lips. A soft peck, he pulls back. Enjoying how flustered you looked right now. 

He was thankful he had you. This time, he promises, this time he won’t let you go. 

He won’t be helpless as you bleed out in his arms, his name as your last words. Smile to the face looking as beautiful as the night he proposed. 

This time, you’ll have your happy ending. 

He only hopes he’s by your side.

©—jingyuqn. do not repost, translate or copy my work. 2024.

[comparativelysuperlative]

All true. Might be worth noting that (depending on which US state), the privacy protections and evidence admissibility can get merged if you're talking about the content of conversations. If your orb allows eavesdropping, then you are "intercepting an oral communication" and that evidence does get suppressed even though it's a non-government privacy law.

(This based on Maryland law because that's what I saw recently; it also works that way in CA and does not in DC or I think most other places.)

So you'll still get to say "I saw the murder." You won't be able to say "and I heard him whisper "I want you to know it was me" and then state his full name and address and date of birth along with a description of his alibi and preferred style of clothes to wear to a hypothetical future court date."

You are a wizard and you witness a murder through your orb, happening in real time, in a private location you would not have physical access to.

[writerwrabbleswords]

Bookish | Wolverine/Logan Howlett X [Male Librarian] Reader

 What made libraries so special? Logan might have answer to that, and it's the guy behind the desk.

 Quick notes :  This was an idea that came to me randomly! I liked the idea of having a more softish reader since it’s a personality that contrasts so well with Logans - think opposites attract! As usual, this story is set from Logan's POV (I’ll do Reader POV at some point, most likely in a oneshot rather than in these drabbles)! There will most likely be a few things (or many) that aren’t accurate to the X-Men comics/movies lore, and this is because I have yet to see the movies… I will be changing this shortly, however! [Side note, I will be completing a request sometime today and posting it alongside a part 2 to the Iron Man variant reader drabble.]

Story Details :  About 1,300 words, Male Reader referred to as ‘You/Your,’ Reader has a soft personality, Reader’s outfit is vaguely described, inaccurate implied history of mutants and their evolution, so much fluff, Logan slightly OOC (?)

Chuck wanted him to go to the damn library. He didn’t even like the library. Apparently the old telepath needed some specific books on mutants for a presentation he was going to give to the students at the school. So, of course, he sent Logan. Asshole.

  The older mutant pushed one of the front doors open, stepping into the building with his mouth set in a firm frown. A few of the guests looked up at him, but otherwise remained focused on their own book searching or reading. He huffed, his brows furrowing slightly as he took in the large area of books - not counting the second floor. Logan did not want to spend the whole damn day in this stuffy library, so he swallowed his pride and approached the librarian desk nearby.

 To his surprise, however, he was met with you. You had a knit sweater on, with a button-up beneath it and a pair of dress pants; Logan couldn’t help but admire your form for a beat, taking in the small details about you. It took a moment before you looked up from the book you were reading, a warm smile gracing your face as you set it aside and gave the mutant your full attention. 

  “How may I help you, sir?” 

  Your voice made something flutter in Logans’ stomach, but he pushed the feeling aside. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked away in an attempt to straighten his thoughts.

  “Does the library have books on mutants and their history?” He asked gruffly, fixing his eyes on you once more as he continued, “Specifically the mutation history?”

  The way you blinked, pursing your lips in thought as you rubbed your chin made his heart thump oddly; why were you so… cute? At the thought, the mutant shook his head slightly, trying to clear his mind and focus on the task he’d been assigned.

  “We have a mutant section in both fiction and nonfiction, but what you’re looking for is more likely in our history catalog,” you reached forward, typing something into the computer just beside you as you tapped your fingers against the wooden desk, “It might be in nonfiction, though. Is there a specific book you’re looking for?”

 Logan watched you closely, his fingers twitching subtly as he felt the sudden urge to smoke; a cigar would’ve helped loosen him up, he guessed. He blinked when you suddenly addressed him, his focus shifting to what you’d said as he nodded and pulled out a small sticky note from his pocket. Written down in Chuck’s neat handwriting were the titles of the four books he needed, and the mutant handed it over with little a word.

 You took the note in your hand, your fingers brushing against his as a shiver ran up his arm at the contact. The small hum that left you was, admittedly, kind of cute - it reminded him of a puppy trying to remember a command it was learning. As you scanned the list of books, a small smile graced your features, making the large room practically light up.

  “Ah! We have three of these books!” You stated excitedly, turning back to your computer and presumably typing in their titles, “I know the one on mutant evolution in cells should be in mutant nonfiction - numbers 400 through 500 - but the other two I’m unsure of.”

  When you got the answer you were looking for, your hand swooped as you scribbled out the location of each of the books Logan needed on a small slip of paper, the smile never leaving your face.

  “They’re all very good books, you know,” your voice brought him out of his thoughts, “I’ve read the one on cell evolution and mutant development over the decades; they’re both packed full of information I think more folks should know.”

  The fact you were pro-mutant - something so rarely seen these days - made a small part of Logan feel almost grateful. He had been expecting you to be closed off and aggressive (he didn’t know why that was his expectation, but considering how mutants were treated, he figured it was just how it was when he went out and about), but the way you so openly discussed that you thought people should learn more about mutants made him reconsider his opinions. After a pause, with the only sound nearby being the scratching of your pencil against paper, Logan spoke up.

  “Do you have any other recommendations?” His fingers flexed, “On mutant history, that is.”

  He watched as you seemingly perked up, the smile on your face turning to nearly a grin as you typed out something on the library computer,

  “Actually, I do!”

  When you found what you were looking for, the older mutant watched as you added a few more titles to the list of what he wanted and their location within the library.

  “There’s a book on mutant inventions I always recommend, as well as one on the PTSD epidemic currently affecting mutants - that one is less history focused, but it’s still rather insightful,” He listened as you spoke with such certainty and excitement, as if the topic was one you were deeply invested in, “The only other one I could recommend would be by Dr. Hancock, a leading mutant researcher in cracking the X gene in mutants. That one is the last one on this list.”

  With a slight tilt of your head, you set the paper with the list of books down on the desk in front of him, tapping it with your fingers as you seemingly thought for a pause. Logan glanced down at the paper before taking it in his hand, his eyes scanning your writing as he let out a grunt of approval - you were quick and efficient, and that was something he could appreciate.

  “Can I ask you a question?” The mutant found himself asking, unable to keep the words from leaving him.

  You simply nodded, still smiling so kindly as waited for him to ask.

  “Why are you so… interested in mutants? You seem to know a lot,” 

  It was a harsh question - incredibly straightforward and blunt, just as he was - but you seemed to take it in stride, simply rubbing your chin as your gaze went upwards in thought. Logan decided he liked the way you looked when you were pondering something; it reminded him of something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Well, my interest started primarily because I had a mutant friend when I was younger,” you admitted honestly, finally refocusing on him, “They taught me quite a lot - about the oppression and lack of rights - and after that I devoted time to learning as much as I could because I never wanted to make a mutant feel less than.”

  Your answer had Logan pause, his eyebrows near lifting to his hairline as he stared down at your seated form; that was not the answer he was prepared for. He was prepared for you to say something like ‘I wanted to learn about others,’ or, ‘Mutants are fascinating,’ not that you wanted to make them feel equal. The thought had a slight smile tug at his expression, the sincerity in your words ringing true even for him.

  “Bleeding heart, then,” He said with an amused huff, looking back down at the list in his hand before he gave you a slight nod, “Thank you. For the help.”

  Logan watched as you laughed softly, picking up your book and flipping to the page with your bookmark in it,

  “I’ll be here if you need more of it, sir.”

  The smile on his face widened slightly as he finally stepped away from your desk, his fingers brushing over the paper he held as he began to step towards the part of the library you’d indicated was where the books he needed would be.

  It was only when he found two of the books that he realized he didn’t have a library card. Fuck.

[atsucry]

Beyond The Thorn Vines

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝐈𝐕

Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Additional info: again, a bit boring cs this is just a yap session but it is the turning point

cw: none

The young naiad was placed in a serene pond, the water rippled as the group submerged them. they limped backwards as they rested on the damp soil as all the other nymphs gathered around the poor child.

"Will they be alright?" one spoke up, concern for the child laced her sentence.

Your mother cried out, "By the name of all that is mighty, they will!" She brought down her hand to caress your features, tracing her thumb down the bridge of your nose.

You sat at the very back row in the stadium, the sound of cheering surrounded you—though your attention was not fully caught on anything. These things have become partly tedium to you that you wonder why you still come. It was nearing the championship round and it has been three hours since then.

Throughout the entire game, your leg bounced uncontrollably—your heel tapping rhythmically against the concrete while everyone else was enjoying the tournament. The blood that has been inside the book yesterday night had yet to change colour—even by a bit. It gave you a nerve wrecking, nail biting feeling. It had you contemplating on if you had gotten yourself stuck in a time loop, perhaps the reason why you felt so bored. But you chose to mark it as something of an impossible manner. Something a little more mundane.

At that moment, you valued logic over all else—it would take a whole day or two for blood to oxidise and turn brown in colour. Yes—that's what it is, of course it is. It hasn't been a full day yet, there's no need to fret.

A whistle sounded out through the entirety of the area and snapped you out of your own bubble. It was just another score.

You uncomfortably shifted in your seat, trying to ease the stiffness in your legs as the stadium lights blared out for the championship round.

You swept your eyes to the left as Che'nya materialised right before you, slipping into the empty seat next to you with his hands behind his neck with one leg swung over the other. His sudden presence was almost a relief, he looked around with an air of curiosity and leaned in to speak.

“You know, this tournament really does bring out the best and the worst in people,” Che’nya said, scanning the field. Expectantly Waiting for an exciting incident to occur. "And I mean…who even bothers watching till the end anyway? It ain't fun anymore when we got a winning streak over the other."

You hummed in agreement, though, you were sure you had more to say, more to add. "Out of our obligation to support our team, I guess."

"YOUR obligation, not mine though."

You sighed as you leaned back, your eyes wandered the field. "You didn’t have to show up at all, then," you said, half-serious. He was almost above it all.

Che’nya shrugged, tipping his head back lazily. "Me? Well, let's see…why do I bother showing up?" He pretended to contemplate, tapping his chin. "Ah, right! Who else in here are you friends with and would mind to care for you…yes, it might only be me!" He said, sticking his thumb out and pointing towards himself. "No offense to you, of course. But you should really start mingling with the crowd. I mean—I know in magical creature years, you're 'bout the same age as me. But my, you're 178! In those years, an average person would've met at least double-digits of people."

"Oh…don't hit me with that. It's just one more year here and I'm good to go. It'd be pointless to start making friends now."

"Oh but i'm being real, It's kind of pathetic—But do what you want!"

"There’s Neige,"

"Neige is everyone's friend. He doesn't count."

You two sat in silence as the players prepared for the final round, the audience gripped the edge of their seats as they waited, leaning over forward to see even more of the field. "You'd think after almost a century of this crap that they'd just stop holding inter-school tournaments," Che'nya added. "But I don't know, it's worth a shot,"

"I suppose so," You slouched forward and placed your elbows on your knees, you couldn't care for any of this, at all.

Che'nya's voice continued to drone on beside you, a mix of playful banter and casual observations. rambling on about whatever kind of absurdity, as he usually does. Recounting the pranks he's pulled off in the past, present, and acts he'll do in the future.

"Aha! And when I saw the new first years at heartslabyul and when they first saw me—along with the cat—They thought of me as a ghost!" He snapped at his sides as he burst into hysterics—you could almost say he had a passion for shaking people up in the head, especially with his real name being that long.

And in a sudden moment, you felt as if a large sword cave itself in your skull, it pierced your brain in half—Your hands flew to clutch the sides of your head as you let out an agonising groan—an agonising scream if you weren't in public. It was happening again. Not only was the pain unbearable, but made you feel bound down—something out of control. A helpless fish caught in a net. That it made a mockery of you—that all your moves were already predetermined. And even if that wasn't the case at all, you still felt trapped in your own body, and that was the opposite of what you wanted as a nature spirit—a water spirit nonetheless.

"So then in the corridor—wh—hey!" your friend looked at you frantically, leaning to meet you at eye level. The highest level of concern was etched on his face. "No…you don't look so good," His eyebrows quirked as his face scrunched up—looking around to see if anyone else had noticed. No one. "Okay! I think we need to go—what's the point in staying to watch anyway? It's boring, boring!"

He bent down to scoop you up, throwing your arm over his shoulders as he pushed past the rows of people. manoeuvring through them all. "Alright—Excuse me! Coming through!" He exclaimed, escorting you out of the stadium as quickly as possible as you carried your own head in your hands, eyes screwed shut as your forehead wrinkled while your face formed a scowl. You learned not to bother coming to these events at all when you reach your 4th year. The entire way out came across as longer than it actually was, like someone had brought you back to the beginning every time. You two hurriedly scampered down the steps, stumbling on the stairs occasionally your way down.

Once you made it past the threshold the gate, the cheering faded out by a bit. Che'nya set you to lean on a wall, catching his own breath. And at once the pricking sensation stopped all together. Just like last time, and it always left you dumbfounded. No, not how many times it has happened—but the reason why it did. Yes, you've accepted that it happens, but you never found the explanation.

You slid down the wall, resting your back against it as you caught your breath. The quiet outside the stadium was a stark contrast to the overwhelming noise inside, and you relished the momentary peace.

You stared off into space, murmuring to yourself. "Why is that…?"

"Hah…What? You're good now?"

"As far as I can tell, I am,"

He let out a relieved sigh, letting his head hang low as he leaned with his hands on his knees. "Well, it's not the greatest idea to stick around, so let's just retreat to your room to figure out what's going on, yea?"

"Yea, that sounds reasonable enough," You pushed yourself off the floor and dusted down your uniform. "Let's head back!"

"Oh, and thanks, by the way!"

"You're in thinking territory, that's dangerous. Don't pop a vein now!" Che'nya cackled as he basically let himself melt and become one with your bed, overseeing you connect the dots in your thumbtack board with your chin tucked between your thumb and index.

"You've been standing there for a good 3 hours,"

"Che'nya, can you please shut up for a second,"

"I'm looking at an empty board!"

"Because you feel the need to input your own thoughts that I don't have space to think of mine! Just hold on and sit still for a minute!" You shooed him away, turning your focus back to your mind map. You're sure there must be an explanation for…whatever nonsense this was. You could link it to the fact that you have chronological gaps in your own memory—

"Have you figured anything out? Little genius?"

"I'm leaving this for tomorrow! I'm leaving this all for tomorrow!" Your outburst surprised Che'nya, maybe he should also leave the teasing for tomorrow as he sat himself back up awkwardly. you dragged your two hands across your face, letting out a frustrated groan. Your eyes drooped and were ready to fully shut.

"No…No, I'll continue. I'll continue with my work. Pass me that stupid book on my desk,"

"The old looking one?"

"There is no other book on my desk…?"

You held out an expectant open hand, waiting for him to hand it over—you felt a sudden heavy weight on it and brought it to your front. The blood still remained a pretty shade of red.

"No…I'll continue this tomorrow,"

“Seriously though,” he said, hopping up onto your bed like it was his own personal couch. “You should really take it easy. Whatever this thing is, it's getting worse.”

You didn't answer, your eyes focused on the floor. “Hey,” he said, his tone shifting. “You're doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That brooding thing where you start spiralling. It’s not a good look on you.” He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held the answers to the universe.

You pushed the book aside, finally letting your shoulders drop with exhaustion. The pounding headache had dulled to a light throb, but the fogginess in your mind lingered. Che’nya lay sprawled out on your bed, completely at ease while you were drowning in your thoughts. "Alright," you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck, "I’m done for tonight. Let’s call it."

Che’nya stretched like a cat, extending his arms up to the ceiling with a dramatic yawn. “Well, it’s about time! You always overthink stuff, y’know? Let things breathe a bit."

Rolling your eyes, you stood up and moved toward the door, signaling the end of the conversation. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’m heading to bed. You should probably head back to your dorm.”

Che’nya jumped to his feet, surprisingly spry despite his earlier lounging. “Night, night! Try not to overwork that brain of yours.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was almost overwhelming. You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, before letting out a slow breath. The room suddenly felt much larger, more empty.

But no, you’d already decided. It could wait until tomorrow. You weren’t going to drive yourself insane over it tonight. The exhaustion settled in, heavy like a blanket.

Your mind, however, didn’t want to fully quiet down. It wasn’t the first time you’d experienced something like this, but it was happening more frequently, and that in itself was troubling.

The ceiling above you was a blank canvas, and you stared at it, wondering why your body had reacted so violently in the stadium. You knew from a young age that you'd been cursed somehow. You didn’t want to admit it, but the idea of a deeper cause gnawed at the back of your mind. It wasn’t just the headaches. It was the fog, the gaps in your memory, the flashes of something you couldn’t quite place.

But before you could spiral too far down that road, you turned onto your side, pulling the covers up over yourself. "Tomorrow," you muttered to yourself. "Deal with it tomorrow."

The fatigue finally began to take hold, pulling you into the welcome embrace of sleep. The last thing you heard before your mind slipped into darkness was the faint echo of the cheering crowd, still celebrating the championship match you barely paid attention to.

Tomorrow would bring more questions, but for tonight, at least, you’d find peace.

In your sleep, you heard a voice call out to you, and an annoying one at that. "Psst, wake up…hey, hey, hey, hey, heyyy—" Che'nya poked at your shoulder, urging you to wake up and stir you from your stupor for some unknown but probably irrational reason.

"Hm…? Huh…?" Your words were muddled and groggy, tossing and turning in your bed—You didn't want to get ready yet—no, not yet. It was too early to be dealing with the world right now. You didn’t even bother to try opening your eyes till a bright light shone down on you.

"Agh—what's wrong with you?!—"

"The headmaster's calling us to the office,"

That sentence alone had you shot up straight into a sitting position, were you still dreaming? No it seems that you're fully awake now, perhaps you heard it wrong. "Hah…Huh? Pardon?"

“We’re considering you two for the exchange program between Royal Sword Academy and Night Raven College,” the headmaster began, his tone measured and formal. “It’s an opportunity for selected students to experience a different academic environment and broaden their perspectives.”

Che’nya nudged you slightly, a playful grin on his face. “Looks like someone’s about to have a big adventure.”

You barely processed his comment, your mind still reeling from the abrupt awakening and the lingering discomfort from the previous day. "...Im sorry?"

The headmaster adjusted his glasses and shuffled through the papers on his desk. “It’s a chance to engage with a new curriculum, participate in unique magical studies, and interact with students from a different institution. It’s designed to be both challenging and enriching. And the main reason being that after almost 100 years of consecutive losses from Night Raven, we decided to send in our own students to possibly get the to learn teamwork and cooperation.”

"Yea, but why us though…?" You took a glance to your friend to the right of you, 'you put me up for this, didn't you?' you tried communicating telepathically with him. Though you were certain it wasn't exactly what you managed to tell him, you knew he understood what you meant. He shrugged and only gave you a knowing smile.

"Well, let's see…" The headmaster shifted in his leather seat, clasping his hands together. "You two rarely participate in any school activities," He listed. "And we heavily encourage our students to get to know each other through school activities and events—yet in your three years here, you two have yet to show that type of enthusiasm."

Ah, so that's what it was. You felt a pang of unease. "I see," you said, trying to mask the irritation in your voice. "But why would you think we'd be a good fit for this program?"

The headmaster's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “We’ve noticed potential in both of you, even if you haven’t been the most socially active, except for your friend; Che'nya over here. Who does seem to show interest in socializing...Just in his own peculiar way. It’s about pushing boundaries and discovering new strengths. And, considering your unique talents and perspectives, we believe this experience will be beneficial not only for you but for the academy as well.”

"And I expect you both to also participate in the activities and events that Night Raven has to offer, as well as maintaining academic performance—"

Che'nya suddenly butted in. "We'll take you up on the offer, anyways, bye-bye!" He grabbed your wrist, leading you out the office and out into the hallway and closing the large door behind him.

You squinted your eyes at him, agitated and quite frankly, furious. "...Are you serious?!"

Note: guys is it obvious that this was rushed.

btw apologies for any mistakes in my writing😗

[fathomlessgaze]

perfect: zayne takes solace in hearing the heartbeats of those he loves deeply, which now includes one more little one

all fluff dw, husband!zayne/reader, ~.9k

warnings: reader is pregnant + called a mother, maybe not canon compliant but spoilers about mc's lore and allusions to zayne's lore (mainly myths story + maybe that dawnbreaker anecdote), zayne being a doctor + lots of heartbeat ments but i didnt research so maybe medically inaccurate, i believe in (future) girldad!zayne

an: i haven't written ff in 5ever + didn't edit on top of this so my apologies LOL im just really downbad for this ice man n wanted to write smthn rq

the soft, muffled clinking of keys and the creaking of the front door ruffle your slumber, your eyes slowly fluttering and flickering to the entryway where, sure enough, your husband steps inside. as he catches a glimpse of your, supposedly, sleeping form, a soft grin takes over his features and you think, maybe, you’d like to see where this goes. 

he puts his bag down by the console table and takes off his shoes and you steady your breath, hoping he hasn’t noticed your lingering gaze under your lowered lids. fishing out his stethoscope, he hangs it around his neck as he takes cautious steps towards you, tip toeing to avoid all the creaky spots of the hardwood floors. he’s slow as he lowers himself on the couch, taking a moment to admire your curve of your jaw and the pout of your lips before putting in the earpieces.

zayne really was trying to be careful. he’d taken the metal between the fabric of his jacket, an attempt to reduce the jarring difference between its chill and your warmth, and moved as slowly and quietly as he could as he sat next to your snoozing figure on the sofa.

he watches carefully before his stethoscope finds your heart and its rhythmic beating fills his head. while it isn’t new news, the reminder that the organ that keeps you alive is perfectly well and healthy always brings ease to his own, this time given a physical form through a quiet exhale falling from his lips. clear and strong, not a single hint or vibration of the fragments that used to plague your being, your heart beats in time with his, he’d like to think. he allows his eyes to get misty, a faint smile and chuckle escaping as he tries to wipe the tear that threatens to fall with his free hand. 

he stays like that for a minute more, simply relishing in how far you’ve both come. he remembers that surgery like it was yesterday, with how demanding and long it was, the aches settling in his muscles and bones by the end of it, only to jump head first into the delicate, intensive recovery you needed and he helped you through. and he would do it again and again, if that’s what it would take. 

oh, how your fingers itch to brush the side of his face, cup his cheek in your palm and brush the stray hairs behind his ear. you can always tell when he starts reminiscing, how a moist sheen covers his beautiful eyes, furthering just how precious they are. but before you can move your arm from where it rests on your leg, he’s taking back the chest piece into his palms, holding it gingerly.

with one hand, he gently runs his fingers along your stomach until he finds a spot that causes his eyebrows to raise for the slightest moment, before the stoic expression returns to his face. the now cool metal in his other hand replaces his other hand, and, if it weren’t for the quirk of his lips, the soft smile and endeared look in his eyes, you would’ve been none the wiser to what had happened. he takes in the rhythmic beating in his ears. that’s…your baby, well and healthy and all he could ask for. a small sigh escapes his lips. he could stay here and listen to it for forever. 

maybe you should cut the act.

fluttering your eyes open fully, you meet his tinted cheeks with a coy grin. “what’re you doing?” you ask, feigning innocence. 

he brings his hand to his neck, scratching slightly at the pink-tinged skin before clearing his throat. “i–uh–i thought it would just be nice to see if we could hear her heartbeat yet.” 

you lean forward, biting your lip to stop the knowing smile from escaping as you rest a hand on his shoulder and rub his cheek with your knuckles. “and do you?”

he nods, his rare beam coming to the surface before he kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger. “it’s beautiful and strong, just like her mother.”

before you can reply, he’s removing the ear pieces and fitting the stethoscope around your head, the quiet rhythm now taking over your senses. it’s gentle, delicate, but definitely there and determined. 

“that’s our baby,” you murmur. suddenly emotion washes over you and you rub your eyes with your sleeves. “oh, zayne, it’s lovely.”

he bobs his head, taking one of your hands in his to hold the metal still against you so he can now use his free hands to brush the droplets from your cheeks and wrap you in his arms, snug in his embrace. with a gentle kiss to your temple, he lets out a shuddering breath, not daring to speak before he can stabilize the shakiness in his throat. “it’s perfect.”  

“y’know,” you start, a small laugh escaping as you try to not cry into zayne’s button-up, “this is all i could’ve ever wanted, i think. if you told me when we met as kids this would be my life, i don’t think i would’ve believed you, but this is perfect, just as it is, you, me and her.”

he nuzzles his head against your neck, a quiet agreement taking form as a faint kiss on your shoulder. “this is the life i’ve waited years, forever, for.” he squeezes your frame slightly, holding your closer. “it’s so perfect.”

[libbytwq]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @tiredsmashbros !!!!

You have changed my life for the better, and i absolutely had to show my appreciation for you in the biggest bestest way I could: making a fucking animatic.

anyway lil note for tomm under cut

Tomm.... you are a wonderful individual. Im not good at expressing myself clearly all the time, but you have changed my brain chemistry and you have changed my life. I owe you everything in the world for everything you've done. Just by simply existing.

You were one of the first remotely cool artists I had the courage of trying to interact with, and the interaction was so positive it encouraged me to branch out more. I always felt so encouraged and lifted up whenever I see you reblog one of my posts and you talk about what all you like about it, in specifics.

The fact we've gone from simply me being a huge fan of your work and drawing you on Artfight to be being considered friends is absolutely insane to me, and I would not have it any other way. You are the reason I have so many wonderful friends now, and my life has truly been changed for the better.

I figured I'd do something big for you. To show how much I appreciate and love your work.

I love the TSB lore so damn much. I've been investigating and trying to gather all the TSB lore (with some help... you know who you are), and knowing as much as I know now, the idea of a Mister Sandman animatic came to me naturally. Ever since hearing it on the playlist (back when it was still on it.... smh whyd you remove it /silly /nf) I had this very idea in my head, of Emmet meeting the Watchman and trying to get Pipedream to pay attention to him again.

The minor details of the lore may be slightly inaccurate, bc obviously I dont know everything, but the lore should at least align with what I know... but even despite the inaccuracies, i hope this brings you some joy Tomm <33

I started working on this animatic on December 27 and I finished it January 5. This is my first time ever making a song animatic, and I'll be honest, it encourages me to try making animatics more often 👁 maybe i should do them more often for my own silly lil creations... lala

Anyways, thank you for everything you've ever done, Tomm. You are such a great influence on me and my life and I wouldnt know what I'd do without you. I think Id probably be a lot sadder, thats for certain. My mental health certainly isnt great, but you and the wonderful people I've met after getting to be in your presence have certainly repaired some parts that needed repairing most. 💜💜💜

I hope you have a wonderful 22nd rotation around the sun, and you keep on doing what you're doing.

- Lore

[the-faceless-bride]

The woods, a witch, and a wolf pack. Punchline?

Summary: (paranormal Au and takes place 1874) Kyle was out later than normal. Away from his pack wasn't a good idea he knew he shouldn't have gone out late; but Johnny had set his heart on a pie tonight, and he wanted Johnny to get his wish. Staying out looking for berries revealed itself to be an awful idea as a group of hunters we in the woods. And he... wasn't fast enough. Good thing he found a house.

Warnings: Not many. blood, inaccurate monster lore, Gaz being adorable but untrusting, 141 members being worried and upset.

This is pretty short compared to what I would normally write, but I'm trying to get in the groove. I've been writing all of my fics on my phone, I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing.

Kyle cursed himself for being careless, not telling the others of his pack where he was going before sneaking off; he wanted to surprise Johnny, but had he known there were a group of hunters playing Van Helsing nearby he would've been more careful.

Now he was trying to limp away and hide with an arrow sticking from his side, it was much more painful than anything he'd felt before; and he had been roughed up bad before, but not like this. This was agony; a seething, burning pain. It traveled from his side through his ribs to his chest, from his stomach to his weakening knees.

Fuck. He didn't want to die here. In the woods, alone and in agony. That's when he smelled it. A welcoming smell, one that made him feel safe.

A house. A house that he'd never seen before, behind a hidden Rocky arch that was covered by a waterfall of vines and leaves. When did this get here? He always knew this hidden archway, but last he and his pack checked, it led to a dead end. Didn't it? Fuck. He can't remember, not when all he can hear is the pounding of his heart trying to escape his ribcage.

The door slightly ajar, he stumbled clumsily through the old wooden door; a cozy interior. A war fire, candles light all on the walls and interesting clocks, trinkets, and spices hung from the walls. The house was warm, very warm compared to the cold, sharp air outside; a soft velvet couch, a dark green covered in a flower pattern.

Kyle tossed himself down on it with a sigh and a groan. He wanted to pull the enflamed arrow from his side but didn't dare; not wanting to bleed out. 'Merow' Kyle jumped, a skinny black cat with the largest, brighest yellow eyes he'd ever seen sat on the arm of the sofa saring at him.

Kyle gave it an awkward wave, "hello," he said, just above a whisper. "Well, isn't this delightful. A pup bleeding all over my nice sofa." a voice jokes, Kyle whips his head to the voice with a growl, he didn't know who this was but he wasn't going to give them the idea he wouldn't harm them if they tried anything.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you," Kyle stops his growls but still sits stiff ready for anything, "now before we start, would you like a warm drink? Coffee, tea, whiskey?" - Kyle shakes his head, "I made pancakes earlier? Fancy one? Best you'll ever taste," - he again shakes his head. "Well then, let me take a look."

Kyle slowly and hesitantly leans to you, letting you see his wound. He was confused. Most people who knew who or what he was normally would shoo him away or try to kill him.

"Don't worry, this should be a quick and easy fix."- you move to a corner, wall filled top to bottom with shelves pulling a trinket box out before taking a small flower.

"hear, eat this." - Kyle look from the flower to you then back - "I know, strange. But it will help; Wolvesbain is a pretty flower. It's probably what led you to me. The sent is pretty irresistible to pups like you," - Kyle rolled his eyes at being called a pup, but you were right; that sweet smell that lead him to this house was coming from the pretty little flower clipping that you held between your thumb and forefinger.- "wolvesbain is a helpful little flower, it can be rather helpful to you, when not mixed with poison... In fact, looking to plant this flower was the whole reason for coming here,"

Kyle hesitantly ate the flower. It wasn't as earthy and awful as he expected, though it made his mouth water, not in the good way. More of the he shoved a handful of pepper mint down his throat way.

"I'm terribly sorry for the hunters," -Kyle raise a brow at you-

"The hunters are particularly my fault. You see, when I came looking for these flowers, my reputation of a witch followed me, and they trailed behind. Wolvesbane normally only grows near the paranormal creature themselves, much like Monotropa uniflora or black roses. I needed them for my garden. However, I tried to say clear of you and your pack. Usually, the lesser the flower, the further away the pack is. However, you seemed to be nearby," - This was true, Kyle and his pack were nearby. Not very close, but close enough that he was able to run here in his time of need, not wanting to bring the hunters to his lovers - "so either you and your pack just got here, are hidden or you're a long way from home,"

Kyle sat, thinking of what this meant. You'd unintentionally brought danger to him and the ones he loved. What does this mean? Were you going to stay in these woods? If you left, would the hunters go too? Where did this house come from? You say you just got here, yet you have a garden filled with magic plants and a house that wasn't exactly small. It wasn't a small cozy cottage like his packs. It wasn't a tent you'd just set up. It looked as if it had always been here.

"Well, it should be about that time," you say as you look as an old pocket watch from your dress pocket, " I'm happy you ate that flower, I'd hate for this to have been painful for you," - Kyle tilts his head, confused - "that arrow is a hunters arrow, it's been crafted specifically to hurt you. A normal needle and thread wouldn't be able to close that wound. And this type of threat can be... painful to the paranormal creatures of the night. But with that Wolvesbane, you won't feel a thing!" You say as you stick his side with a needle.

He felt nothing.

"There. You should be good now, I'm no doctor, but I'd say I did a rather good job." You smile as you begin to clean up, putting the needle and tread away before storing the arrow away with the rest of your gunter weapons you've collected over the years. "Thank you." You jump, the first words he's said since he's been here. "Well, thank you as well," - "for what?" - "not ripping me to shreds as I walked through the door," you tease.

"Where's the mutt?"

"I'm not sure,we lost track of him"

"He probably bled out somewhere,"

"Well find him, he'd make a nice furr rug! Haha!"

They were still looking for him. While due to the flower he ate, he may not feel the pain, but that doesn't mean his body isn't affected by it. He wouldn't be able to outrun them, not a chance.

"You can stay here. You won't be able to run if they see you. Tomorrow, I'll travel halfway with you, I'll throw off your trail. Then you'll be gone before those hunters realize your long gone." As you say this, the house seems to dim. The candles along the walls begin to dim their glow.

"Come now." You say, nodding your head up the stairs. He follows right behind you, Kyle can't thank you enough. Now, the only thing he'll have to worry about is the earful he'll get from John and some whining from Johnny. He's never been so happy to hear those than right now.

"I live alone and don't get much company, so if you don't mind, you can sleep with me. I'd prefer you have something soft to rest on, especially with that bad side."

"I have no problem," he smiles at you. You certainly are strange. You climb onto your bed after taking off your over dress and shape wear sighing as you get warm under the covers. Kyle shortly following after.

He can't sleep. He's worried sick. What if his boys came out looking for him and got hurt? He hated making them worry, and he's sure they were worried sick. He felt guilty. He's pulled from his thoughts as he felt a soft touch, "they'll be ok." A soft and low whine crawls from his chest, he knows. But that fact doesn't settle his mind.

When morning comes, Kyle finds himself wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair arms and legs tangled. You smell nice. "Good morning, Pup," -you say with a sigh as you struggle to get up sleepily putting on your dress,- "morning,"

"Fancy breakfast? Or should we hurry on our way? I'm sure your pack is worried sick," - "As much as I'd love some pancakes, I think I've caused enough trouble," - "next time then?" - Kylr smiled, "next time."

Leaving the house and back into the woods was nerve-wracking for Kyle, constantly peaking over his shoulder, worried he'd find a man with a crossbow pointed at him. But you didn't seem worried at all. You seemed to know exactly where you were going; like you'd lived in this wood your whole life.

Just as you approach the babbling brook, you stop; "This is where my path ends, Kyle." You smile up at him, "it's time for you to go." - "Well, would you maybe like to stay? It's almost time for lunch, won't you stay?"- You smile, bit before you can answer, You both hear voices that have Kyle's head whipping around to see them.

"I FOUND HIM!"

Kyle smiles excitedly, "JOHNNY!" Kyle breaks into a sprint, colliding into the smaller yet muscular Scott, a pair of footsets coming quickly behind. "What the hell were you thinking?!" - "it's good to see you too, John."

"Where have you been?"

"Why didn't you say you were leaving?"

"What happened to your side?! Your shirt is drenched in blood!"

John, Simon, and Johnny all firing questions one after the other, "it's alright, I got help." - "help? From who?" - "Well, she -" while Kyle turned around to point you out, you were gone. Where did you go? "Well, whoever she was, I'm glad she helped you." - "yeah, I'll have to introduce you..." he says, his voice trailing off as he wonders where you went, and what exactly was your name? He'd forgotten to ask... infact, you had said his name just now... when had he told you his name?...

[haddonfieldwhore]

sweet dreams - mike schmidt

mike schmidt x gn!reader

pt.1 here

warnings: a bit more angst, nightmares, brief mention of blood, i don’t know fnaf lore super well so if anything is inaccurate i apologize!! i’m trying my best

word count: 965

groaning as the alarm on your phone blared for the second time, you rubbed your eyes as you sat up in bed. reaching for the screaming device, you shut off the ringer and looked at the time - 5:45. shit, you thought, jumping up out of bed, nearly slipping as the covers tangled around your feet. mikes car was in the shop for a flat tire and you were going to be late to pick him up from work. sliding on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, you threw one of mikes hoodies over your torso and sorted out your hair quickly before grabbing you phone and bag and running out the door. the cold weather prickled at your skin and you pulled the sweater tighter around yourself, the faintest scent of mikes cologne wafting into your nose. it was only about a 10 minute drive to the pizzeria, but still you were cutting it close and didn’t want to leave your boyfriend standing outside. starting your car, you turned the heat up to keep the cold morning air off of your tired body.

as you pulled into the parking lot, you noticed mike already sitting against the building, and you checked the time - 6:01. you were relieved that you hadn’t kept him waiting outside, and pulled up next to him. he jumped slightly as the car stopped in front of him, as if he hadn’t been paying attention or had been too zoned out to see you pull up to the building. standing up and dusting off the seat of his pants, he opened the passenger door and got in.

“hey,” he sighed, giving you a small smile.

“hey mike,” you smiled warmly back, leaning over to kiss his cheek gently, the shirt stubble there tickling your face. “i mean this as someone who loves you, but you look terrible.” he laughed under his breath.

“just tired,” he brushed it off, but you took a closer look at his face. there were dark circles under his eyes, and you noticed a cut above his eyebrow that was still bleeding a little. you grabbed a tissue and gently dabbed at his temple. “what are you- ah,” he hissed and you muttered an apology.

“baby, you’re bleeding. what happened?” mike touched his fingertips lightly to the injury, inspecting the crimson stain left on his hand.

“i must’ve hit my head on something… i’m okay.” he gently held your wrist as you tried to wipe at the blood again. how could he tell you the truth; that an animatronic animal had clawed him while trying to get into his office to stuff him into a costume? “really, i’m fine. you worry too much.” you sighed, not satisfied with his answer, but nevertheless put the car back in drive and finally pulled away from the building. out of the corner of your eye you noticed your boyfriends shoulders relax slightly as you left the parking lot.

“mike you promised me if anything weird happened-“ you pleaded.

“i know i know baby. but it’s only been like 4 days since i started. i’m just … getting used to the sleep schedule still. that’s all,” he assured you, but the uncertainty in his voice wasn’t very convincing.

“you mean the not sleeping schedule? mikey you haven’t slept more than 2 hours without waking up in days.” mike shuddered, trying to cover it up with a cough, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“y…you’ve noticed?” he mumbled.

“of course i’ve noticed.” you sighed. “it’s hard not to when you sleep next to me.” you laughed softly.

“i’m sorry-“ he began to apologize but stopped when you gave him a sympathetic look.

“you don’t have to apologize for having nightmares.” he nodded slightly in response, before looking out the window at the passing surroundings. he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. you focused your attention back on the road for a second before out of your peripheral vision you noticed mike drift off to sleep, his head falling over towards your side of the car before you caught him with your hand. the gentle impact shook him awake, and he looked around to figure out where he was, a scared look on his face.

“what-“

“mike you’re still in the car with me. we’re almost home,” you gently stroked his hair as he leaned into your touch again.

“sor-“ he began to apologize again. “right.”

arriving at the apartment, you parked the car and got out, walking arm in arm with mike into your flat, sliding your shoes off and dropping your bag on the floor. you locked the door behind you as mike, too tired to walk to the bedroom, flopped onto work out couch in the small living room. you checked the time on your phone - still having a few hours before you had to leave for work. you set an alarm on your phone before walking over to the couch and cuddling up next to mike, who’s arms wrapped around you tightly so you wouldn’t fall.

“don’t you have to go to work?” he mumbled in your ear, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“hmm not for a while. and i think i might take a personal day anyway,” you sighed, nuzzling closer to him and you felt yourself drifting off to sleep. “if you have any nightmares just wake me up okay? anything that’s trying to get you has to go through me first,” you promised, and mike chuckle slightly, sending a vibration through his chest.

“okay, i will,” he mumbled, nearly asleep already as he kissed your neck innocently, although he felt a pang in his heart as he thought to himself

you have no idea what you’re signing up for

[hyuckmov]

l.h.c - all my demons have your smile (preview)

full fic here 🫶🏻

demon haechan x angel reader wc: 700+ (full thing est. 7k) genre: suggestive & morally gray (full fic will be 18+ and dubcon-y) a/n: i lowkey feel like i'm losing my touch...here's to my first non realism fic. thank u to @saintlyhyuck for the idea and for encouraging me to try it...angel lore is highly religiously inaccurate and basically completely self invented (and lowkey overlaps with fairy lore). not tagging anyone here

haechan thinks your reaction is like a shot of pure pleasure in his veins. 

"hey, angel." 

you spin around, mouth falling open, flush high on your cheeks. "how did you…?" 

in the dim light of the club, haechan can hardly believe his luck. he raises his eyebrows, leaning in closer to you, delighting in the way you tense.

how could he? more like how couldn't he, what with the way you looked then. the glow of your skin growing stronger, the feathers of your wings – folded and poorly disguised as a halloween costume, beginning to rustle nervously. 

"what do you mean?" he smiles innocently, tilting his head to the side. toying with his prey. he has to bite back a laugh at the sound of confusion you make, a small whimper in your throat. "angel is what i call all the pretty girls i see." 

at the stricken look on your face, he lets his mouth fall open deliberately slowly, widening his eyes mockingly. "unless…you're a real angel?" 

you look like a deer in headlights, trembling slightly, unsure of what to say. it was only your first night in the human world. you'd heard there were demons and devils roaming the streets, monsters and spirits hidden in shadowy corners who would hurt you for your wings, worse ones who would strip you of your skin. creatures who were dying to get ahold of an angel and figure out what made you glow, harvest parts of you which were so holy and undamaged. you weren't supposed to let anyone know who you were, least of all strange boys in dark and shadowy places. 

haechan can feel his body burning. it's as if he's hyper-attuned to each breath you take, every single particle of you seeping with untainted innocence, something breathtakingly pure about the way you tremble in your flimsy white dress. anticipation claws against his insides – he wants you, wants to learn every part of you, drink in your sweetness and choke on it. 

he's never ruined an angel before. the thought of it sends a heavy pulse through him, right to his gut. 

"relax…" he soothes. he wants to touch you already, but he knows you might just burst into pure flame out of sheer fright.

so he softens his gaze as much as possible, tries to dim the desire. a soft smile on his face, he places a hand on his chest, to where his heart should be — if he had one. 

"i'm an angel too." 

it's almost laughable, how you gasp at the words. hands flying up to cover your mouth, relief visibly flooding your system. "really?" 

he nods, lips morphing into a comforting smile. and now, he reaches out a hand to touch your upper arm, stroking your skin soothingly. he almost moans with how soft-to-touch it is, your angel's glow tickling his fingers with warmth, already making him feel stronger and sharper. 

"of course," he murmurs. "you're safe with me." 

"so, if you're an angel…" you lean closer to him, wary of others who may be listening to your conversation. you couldn't believe your luck, finding another angel the first night you got here. breath fanning lightly over his face, you whisper, "where are your wings?"

he can't help it – his breath hitches. he's able to count your every eyelash, feel your chest rise and fall, pretty pink mouth so close to his. there's no suspicion at all in the way your eyes sparkle with innocent curiosity, wide and trusting. 

he can't help it — he wants to see them fill with tears. 

"you want to see my wings?" he murmurs, leaning down. brushing a light hand on your shoulder, he skims the glow of your skin, reaching behind you and letting the tips of his fingers brush the feathers of your wings. 

you still. a strange feeling spreads through you, the room swimming slightly as it makes your head go light, settling deep inside your bones with a dark pulse. this is something you've never felt before – and you're not sure if you want to scream, or run, or guide his hand further on your shoulder blades, letting them linger on places you're sure no other angels would ever touch… 

"can you show me?"

your voice, achy and soft, is the only sound he can hear.  and he can't help but wonder, as he guides you towards the back door with a hand on the small of your back, your feet barely touching the ground, holy light misting around your body in dizzying waves, – what is an angel like you doing in a place like this?