#so it has a right to be right in the absolute abyss of my soul but the other songs are still angry

[jayvikyaoi]

i really need to post more here. despite this being my main and my mutuals not giving a shit i feel like i should only be posting about mcyt and i haven't been keeping up with any mcyts recently

[eggmeralda]

all my favourite songs of all time kind of had to earn their place in the centre of my soul, they had to work for it for at least a few months before even being considered (subconsciously)

then late spring true love by sadness came along and instantly moved into the deepest depths of my memories and started gentrifying everything and it made all the other songs so annoyed

[comfortless]

hades! konig and persephone! reader

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. abduction, voyeurism, dubcon, not very explicit smut.

notes: this has been on my mind for an eternity actually thank you sweet anon for finally encouraging me to write it out! if you celebrate, merry christmas! and if not consider this just a lil gift for absolutely no reason apart from for being my first Kö request. 💕

A hollow grows within him the moment his gaze meets hers. A chance crossing whilst collecting a rare offering of fruit laid out just for him. Most mortals wouldn’t beckon his attention, and the gods often left him just as well. He knows better than to take insult and become reckless, though… recklessness comes as easily as breathing when his stare settles on her across the glade. She twirls in silent dance, pirouetting carefully as if to avoid crushing the nature that springs up, brushing against her soles. Her voice picks up in a song when she notes the figure watching her from a distance, her cadence no less beautiful than any choir despite the flighty waver in her tone.

When the nymphs rise up from the stream to listen, he stands transfixed for a moment as they pull her in with them for a more elaborate dance, voices all melding until they break into a chorus of giggles and stories.

It should have been left at that.

She walks an earth made for her; flowers blossoming beneath her bare soles, each root extending for just a chance to brush against tender flesh, a breeze that flits gently against her hair. The daughter of Demeter, something unattainable, too precious to be dirtied by the howling abyss below her feet.

He is tethered to darkness and unknowns, an enigma with dried blood beneath his fingernails; the only songs he hears are screams. He’s since stolen flowers from the meadows she dances in. Beautiful peonies and soft green things that smell sweet. Flowers don’t bloom in the dark, they wither and dry.

Days are spent in melancholic longing, nights his roaring grief melds with the wailing of lost souls. Ugly and tainted noises that he dreams will reach her ears, that she will come to him with her lashes wet with tears, wrap him in her arms and quiet all but her own voice as she tells him that he’s more beautiful than her rivers and her blooms.

Yet, she never does.

König takes it upon himself to walk the land of mortals, teemed with life and pleasures more often now. He pulls himself from below with unnatural fire behind his eyes, a horrible, yearning abyss in place of the feathery, clumsy love that he’s watched so many others allow for themselves.

She notices him while he watches her bathe amongst the nymphs, stood upright and imposing beneath the shade of a tree. Each time, while the nymphs shy away with giggles and hands curled over their breasts, she merely keeps her eyes on him; lips-parted and pulse raging. He knows, would swear by it, that his obsession is not entirely one-sided.

Once, she chooses to wave at him, a demure flick of her wrist while his stare remains fixed upon her. The droplets of water from the curve of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples there— down, further into the water that envelopes her and sends his mind to flicker, a roaring flame building from his chest to his groin.

All of his frustrations pale and cower at the fantasy that he just may be able to grant himself the liberty of sinking into something writhing and warm from just one, simple gesture.

He knows he’s fucked, because his first thought after the lullaby of attraction subsides is to poke her just a little; prod her and see what makes her cry the hardest, blanket her in the shadow of himself and pick her apart like a vulture to a cadaver, do things to her that no man ever has or should. It’s not right, and he has to force himself to turn away, the fabric of the veil obscuring his face as he slinks back into the dark where he belongs. Away from the untouchable maiden who seems to haunt him endlessly with her teasing.

The giggles and splashes of the nymphs whisper through the air like the chirping of birds. Though, one voice stands out above the rest of the noise, causes him to halt in his tracks.

“Why does he never speak to us?”

Her voice, so sweet, asking about him when she should be speaking of nothing but the beauty surrounding her, the warmth of the sun and never the cold darkness of the moon.

It’s eating away at him, he realizes, when he can no longer satisfy himself. Nights lain in a haze, staring up at blackened walls with his length in hand. All it takes is the memory of wet lashes and a soft smile, usually. Her beauty is enough to bring even him to his knees, yet, he finds himself instead on the brink of hysteria the first night he finds a vision of her is not sufficient enough to reach the brilliant white haze of a climax.

The thought of stealing her away from her world of beauty to drag her down into the dark with him fills him with both elation and a terrible guilt. Zeus himself is no different; the thought shouldn’t warrant a seeping coldness in his veins, nor should it have caused him to spill his seed into his hand with only a mere flick of the pad of his thumb over his tip, yet it accomplishes both. A waste, when it should be buried deep inside of his beloved.

It takes only two nights for him to plot, to have Gaia choose to favor him, and on the third day the Narcissus flower blooms, pretty and golden. It echoes false promises, softness and beauty beyond even the daughter of Demeter’s imaginations. She will hate him, she will. Her very soul will sour the moment she lays her eyes on him next, but eventually… she will come to understand, return his love with a whisper of her own. Lightly, at best, but it would still be more than he had ever known.

He watches the roots of the plant from below, a pinprick of warm light shining down. The thumps of footsteps overhead, shaking down loose soil like raindrops, giggles like crackling thunder. She’s roaming about with her nymphs again, gentle with her and all of her beauty. After watching her for so very long, he’s more than certain they will be braiding the flowers and falling asleep after fits of laughter with the taste of fruit on their tongues. Only, she’s condemned herself by being so predictable. She will fall, not into soft grasses with a woman’s arms thrown over her, but directly into his own. She won’t eat the fruit of the earth, but drink his wine and allow him to lose himself in her flesh, bedded down against the pelts of beasts and blackened out by shadows.

The wait isn’t long. Her voice breaks through the quiet of the earth below her feet, seems to light up even the space between the two of them as her footfalls halt only several paces away.

“Look at this one!,” she calls out.

Several steps follow after her as one of the ladies of the river comes to join her. He imagines the smile on his beloved’s face, the way her body curves as she kneels down to his trap and his fingers twitch in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Maybe not that one, sweet,” the nymph warns. “There are prettier ones by the bank.”

König can feel his jaw tighten, eyelids pausing to narrow up at the small light as he tries, forces himself to believe that this was fated. She wouldn’t turn away— she couldn’t.

“No... just look at it. We’ve not seen one so lovely since last spring.”

“What if someone else planted it for themselves?”

“But… I want it.”

She sounds so pitiful, so gentle, and he can feel that swell of heat curling inside of him again. The urge to simply love her feels all-consuming with each word that passes from her mouth.

The two above giggle to themselves at her mischief, before finally, the roots begin to move from a gentle tug above. In a matter of seconds, the entire plant has been uprooted. For a daughter of nature to not long for its beauty would be unrealistic, yet he still exhales his relief. The earth riots beneath the women’s feet, splintering cracks and loud discordance echo through the valley. The nymph’s shrieks join the disarray as her featherlight footfalls lead her far, far away from what belongs to him: the dark, the rot, and now her.

With so little time to react, she falls headfirst into the abyss, clutching the narcissus tightly between her soft breasts. Waiting arms are raised to the glimpse of sun and beauty to catch her as he pulls her tightly against his chest, tucks her head against a broad shoulder and grasps at her waist. Whatever he had imagined her flesh to feel like paled in comparison to her warmth, the softness that gives with each press of a digit that makes her tense beneath his touch.

She’s crying, shaking, terrified as she weakly raises her head and offers him a smile. It’s the kind of smile that screams savior, and he can’t bring himself to correct her. No one has ever looked at him with such tenderness.

Everything quiets the moment she looks up to him like that, after condemning herself to him as though she knows nothing of men and gods. She looks at him like he’s an angel, in turn he bites his tongue so hard he can feel the pinpricks of blood and soreness blossom from the wound. He knows he isn’t good, but the heavens have got their filth, too.

“Thank you.” She speaks in a whisper as the world above falls back into place, blanketing them both in shadow and the scent of soil and brimstone. Politeness seems unnecessary, now, though he places her gently onto her feet.

He’s far too mesmerized to stop himself from dropping to his knees in front of her and trailing a hand from her knee to her thigh, squeezing flesh so warm that the very feeling lingers pleasantly against his palm.

If a god couldn’t pluck him from this emptiness and set him on a right path, perhaps a goddess could, as he has always imagined. It’s only confirmed the instant he realizes she isn’t flinching away from his touch.

“I didn’t save you,” he explains calmly.

He’s struck down titans, claimed rulership over the underworld, and yet nothing has made him feel smaller than the fretful look in her eyes as she looks down to him kneeling before her like little more than a common man. As if to provide comfort, selfishly to himself, his massive hands drift higher to rest on her hips still wet with river water and blades of grass clinging to her just as he has longed to do. For what’s felt like an eternity of waiting, of pining, only to have it end with something as simple as a flower.

“I brought you here.”

She’s still beautiful when she cries; a palm is clasped over her mouth, eyes swimming as she trembles in his grip. Of course, she knows what this is about without ever having to ask, yet she still does as if to plead him to tell her that her thoughts are all wrong— that she’s safe and will return to her lovely friends, to her mother that would assuredly be worried sick and furious.

The rise to his feet feels like a mile long stretch, whilst he keeps her caged between the dirty wall and the vast expanse of chest. He shushes her with a gentle tone, wipes her tears away with the ghosting of fingertips before pushing up the veil covering his face to lie claim to her mouth as though his very life depended upon it. Perhaps it did. Though he did not fear Demeter, nor his brothers should she call upon them, he feared not having this ethereal, gentle thing at his side. He feared the creep of loneliness that ravaged his bed each night.

She sighs against his mouth, but does not reciprocate. Everything about her is tense and stressed, a wild mare preparing to kick out for the first time. His tongue lolls out to lap against her soft lips, just twice before he forces himself to part from her.

His beloved brushes away stray tears from her cheeks with the meat of her palms, shivering just a little as she tries to force herself to straighten up, appear braver despite the way she teeters on the edge of falling apart so easily before him. The heavy gaze of obsession fixed upon his face turns further predacious when she apologizes for not being able to help herself in response.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” she explains, holding out the ruined flower to him in one, shaking hand. She protests in her own way, eternally kind, but it all falls on deaf ears as he brushes the petals from her palm and takes her up into his arms again. With an arm beneath the backs of her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her middle, he leads her deeper into the underworld.

A mere taste wouldn’t do.

Her protests are nothing more than soft sniffles when he does take her to his bed of pelts, her arm even thrown over his shoulder as her body presses tightly to him. He thinks for only a moment that he could take his time, stop this all before she truly does grow to loathe him, but the descent into the bed only fortifies his resolve; his belief that this gentle woman of the earth, who smells of magnolia and clear waters belonged entirely to him. For now and forevermore.

“You are to be my wife.”

That quiets her for a moment, her eyes finally meeting his once more as he hovers over her, a palm to either side of her head. She has a mind to shyly curl her hand against her chest then, centered between her breasts which rise and fall with each flighty breath. It’s not panic, but more— curiosity, a misleading thing that he takes to be acceptance until she graces him with a mere murmur of her voice again.

“I don’t belong here.”

König knows that she doesn’t belong in a place like this, for all her grace to be lost to the cold, the rot; his kingdom is nothing but a wasteland riddled with the dead and subjects who take up the mantle of cruelty in his stead. The thought of actually allowing her to go instills rage and melancholy so quickly, he curls his fingers into the fur below to keep himself from flinching.

“You will.”

A digit reaches to trail across her bottom lip, tentative, but the need to touch overwhelms him past the point of caring for much else. To his amazement, she still does not push him away.

“How could that be?”

He doesn’t respond.

More than bedding her, a matter more pressing pushes to the forefront of his mind. Though he knows the likelihood of anyone being aware of her disappearance is nonexistent, a mere whisper from the beaks of crows by this time, he would do well to ensure that she wasn’t leaving. Just as every other soul resigned to dwell here with him, she too would remain.

“You’re famished,” he whispers the suggestion as he splays a palm out over her bare abdomen, only backing away enough to allow her a small length of space between them.

Her concerned stare shoots from his palm to his veil in an instant before she weakly nods her head and props herself up on her elbows.

“Quite… yes.”

She allows herself to be pulled into his lap without a fuss, doesn’t make mention of the hardened cock beneath her. His mind is swimming with the fantasies that kept him tame on so many nights without her as he presses his nose against her temple. A shallow intake of breath, and her lips part readily for him as he pushes the sweet pomegranate seed into her mouth, savoring the brush of her tongue against his fingertip. She eats without thought, never knowing how she’s tethered herself to his plane.

There’s an offering of sweet wine followed by a gathering of honeysuckle for her to sip the nectar from as well before he’s convinced she’s pliant enough. Despite the desire raging within him for all of this time, he would not be cruel to her. The thought of hurting this sweet, little dream doesn’t excite him. It’s her love that he wants, not her anguish.

He lies her back with sweet whispers, gentle caresses as he listens to her murmurs in response. She speaks of the stories only small creatures would know; the way the winds change and the rivers flood, the prettiest places she’s been. No fruit has ever tasted sweeter to her than the pomegranate, and nothing has ever filled him with such emotion as the moment he penetrates her.

He speaks to her through it, tries to, whilst he’s overcome with a pleasure that assuredly no other has ever had the blessing of. She affixes herself perfectly to him, clinging to him as he takes her with gentle thrusts. Gritted teeth and barely contained grunts are met with dulcet mewls as her hands reach for his. His heart aches, truly, at the knowledge that she isn’t meant for this place; his kingdom is nothing but suffering, and she belongs beneath the sun in meadows of flowers. His last thrust is deep, reminds him of the places he dares not tread often, the domains of his brothers, pillow soft clouds and a heaven far above, lost to him.

It’s her consoling him when he fills her to bursting with his seed— delicate arms curling around his head, cradling him against her breasts as she silenced the tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed. He had damned her, yet her soul had not soured; not all flowers withered in the dark.

The endless night is easier on his beloved after the first. She visits with the other souls and comes to him for comfort when the screams and cries in the darkness become too much to bear. She’s less fragile than he had anticipated when she demands he bring her home, and those demands so often end with little else than König taking her into his arms to lead her elsewhere. The underworld can be beautiful too, when seated upon a throne being hand fed by a man that knows little more than to blanket her in as much softness as he can muster. He tells her of the titanomachy, of the white tree, of anything to keep her entertained. His tongue does not shy from telling her that he loves her, too, often met with a shy glance or a soft giggle. Not outright disdain, and for now it feels enough.

She cries often, in longing for her mother and her friends, though never over this love she had never sought herself. Her loneliness only fuels her need for comfort. Selfishly, he believes that he’s saved the night she willingly wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and falls asleep nestled against his chest.

— — —

With the reliance on mortal offerings and Demeter’s anguish having been brought to light with seasons of failed harvests, it was only a matter of time before she was forced away from him. The months without her feel dreadful and empty, but he doesn’t dare disturb her while she walks the earth at her mother’s side. The agreement was beneficial for all of the gods and goddesses, and he knew better than to tread upon it by rushing to her like little more than a pleading dog. When winter took hold, bathing the lands in its icy touch and withering the plants she cherished and freezing over the rivers her nymphs played in, she would return to him as she must.

Each time is different. His beloved is not simply a thoughtless vessel as many of his subordinates. She is the most incredible thing he’s ever had the joy of meeting.

When she returns in tears, calling to him for his comfort he does not hesitate to kiss them all away and remind her that her summers will return and everything above will be just as it was on the day that he brought her below.

Sometimes, she’s angry, jealous even. She asks him often why he doesn’t come to see her while she’s away. He is her husband, after all. Was there anyone else in which he spent his nights with? Someone fairer than even she? The satisfaction of seating her on his cock, satisfying her as she does him on their shared throne far out rivals even ruling the domain itself. He would do anything to prove to her that she was his only; the sole thing he even thought of whilst her mind was filled with new songs and tales from the nymphs she spent her time away with.

Never has she returned with a gift.

Yet, she stumbles back into his realm clutching a small satchel, dripping with the scent of a juice sweet and familiar. A pleasant smile paints her features as she seats herself next to him on the throne. The bench of marble felt far too vast and dreadful to hold someone so delicate, the sight is something he’s grown accustomed to; emptiness is replaced with familiarity seeing her interact with anything here. It may not be home to her, but something in the way she looks to him— as she always had with tenderness, makes him question if a part of her sees him as home.

“I’ve brought something back for you,” she chimes as she pats her thigh.

Each time was different, but it had never been like this before.

He pulls himself to her side before slumping down to rest his head against her, tracing his fingertips along the length of her leg as his gaze drops almost sheepishly.

“Did you?”

She hums in reply, plucking one of the seeds from the satchel before slipping her hand beneath the veil to feed him. His lips part as he takes in the flavor of the aril, the honeyed taste almost akin to the look in her eyes.

“Just like…” She trails off for a moment as she lowers her head to press a kiss to the cheek of his veiled face. The delicate laugh that follows is unlike any he’s heard from her prior, it’s unique, saved solely for him.

“The six that I fed to you?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls himself away from her to meet her eyes directly. The air around them feels thick, loosely charged with a feeling that he can’t quite place; an intensity that he’s never felt before. Any groaning or wailing off in the abyss is silent now, just quiet words spoken.

Things have always felt warmer since her descent, but he’s learned to not expect anything more than she was willing to give. Still, hope cinches his heart tighter than it ever did prior. Even in battle, slaying his father alongside his brothers, he had never felt his heart race the way it does now.

She nods her head, opening up the satchel just wide enough to reveal the other five arils.

“I don’t think that I understand.”

“You should.”

He mulls over that for a moment before the fog finally clears. Any doubt that he had is remedied by a mere two words. He stares at her dumbly, searching her eyes for any hint that this is some horrible, cruel trick; that the implication is something he’s horribly misunderstood.

She couldn’t possibly come to love him… could she?

“To tie you to me,” she says softly.

The smile remains on her face when she closes the distance to kiss him. Not over the veil, but beneath it this time.

Her descent was one of a selfish longing, and his felt as though he was plunging into a world of flowers.

[gigabyte-flare]

Insatiable (Part 1)

Summary: You are a researcher for D.S.O. who is responsible for studying Leon Kennedy as Las Plagas overtakes him, maybe even finding a cure. He starts to take a liking to you, too much of a liking to you.

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: Heavily inspired by this artwork by @chanif-art on Tumblr along with Project Scorpion by @tagzpite. Literally could not get this idea out of my head until I wrote it down. Definitely going to be another series. We're also going to pretend D.S.O. was founded way sooner than 2011 k byeeeeee

“I fought a war and I learned how to win, but how do you fight when the enemy’s within?”

You step out of an elevator led by two armed D.S.O. operatives in tactical gear deep underground at HQ, your white lab coat flowing gently as you walk forward. Grasped in your right hand is a voice recorder. You and the operatives go through a series of heavy steel doors leading you into the bowels of the underground facility.

Is all this really necessary? you think to yourself as you’re led deeper into the abyss.

Finally, you’re brought to a single cell enclosed with clear polycarbonate panels with steel reinforcements. In this cell was a man sitting in a chair that was bolted into the floor, his hands chained behind his back and his legs chained to the legs of the chair. This man is Agent Leon S. Kennedy. You approach one of the panels closest to the steel door keeping him in. 

Switching the voice recorder on and bringing it to your mouth, you state your name before continuing, “The year is 2004. The subject is field agent Leon Scott Kennedy, currently 27 years old and exhibiting the late stages of Las Plagas infestation, his body is covered in dark, vein like marks. Subject is currently slumped over in the chair. He appears to be catatonic.”

Bringing the recorder away from your mouth, you motion to one of the operatives to guard the door. You input a passcode into a key panel next to the door. It lets out a hiss as it slowly swings open. As you step in, the door swings closed and locks.

You bring the recorder back to your mouth and continue, “Agent Kennedy?”

You watch as Leon slowly lifts his head, his face completely covered in the dark veins, his once blue eyes now have a slight red tinge to them, it makes your stomach twist in sorrow, he used to be such a handsome man.

“Subject appears to still have some cognitive ability left as he immediately recognized his name. We’re still trying to understand how he hasn’t broken down now that the alpha Plagas host, Osmund Saddler, has been destroyed--”

“I’m right here, you know,” Leon suddenly spoke, making you jump.

“Ag-Agent Kennedy!” you reply, eyes wide in shock that he’s able to speak. 

“Please, just call me Leon, sweetheart.”

His dark gaze seemed to pierce straight into your very soul. You collect yourself, clearing your throat.

“How are you feeling, Leon?”

Leon looks down at himself, tugging gently at his restraints before looking back up at you, “all things considered, I actually feel pretty damn good.”

“That’s… good, I guess,” you reply, your nervousness clear in your voice. 

You hadn’t prepared for this, every researcher that attempted to interact with him got absolutely nothing out of him, hence why they sent you down. You argued with them, not seeing the point but now you began to realize that the difference was they were all men, you were a woman. 

“Awww… there’s no need to be so nervous, sweetheart, it’s just me, Leon Kennedy. I promise I don’t bite,” he says, a small smirk appearing on his lips, “hard.”

“Do you know where you are and why you’re here, Leon?”

He lets out a chuckle, “yeah, I’m in D.S.O.’s research facility because I’m turning into a monster.”

“That’s putting it rather bluntly, but yes, that’s correct.”

“About time they sent someone cute down here to visit me, the rest were much too dull. If I wasn’t chained up, I’d ask you out to dinner and a movie.”

You feel yourself blushing, “that’s… very kind of you Leon, however that won’t be happening anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name,” he growls, a sinister grin overtaking him.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest as your eyes widen at him. This wasn’t like Leon at all, the parasite was clearly twisting his thoughts. You panic, turning around to motion the operatives to open the door and let you out. As soon as you’re out of the cell, you briskly walk away from the cell as fast as you can, not once looking back. You could have swore you heard Leon’s laugh echo after you. 

“I am not going back down there, are you insane?!”

“You’re the first person he has actually spoken to since he got back from Spain,” the lead researcher, Bryan said, setting your voice recorder down onto his desk. 

“So? Your point? I’m not doing it and that’s final!”

“Look, this recording gives us valuable data on him, it’s clear that the Plagas inside him is mutating into a more dominant strain. It must know it’s the last one left,” Bryan said, pleading with you.

“So we’re just going to poke and prod him like he’s some guinea pig? Leon wouldn’t have wanted that! Are you sure there’s no way we can cure him?”

“If we attempt to remove the parasite now, it will kill him--”

“Then let’s put him out of his misery, this isn’t right!”

The silence between you was deafening. After a few minutes, Bryan finally spoke.

“Judging by this recording, the Plagas has one thing on its mind.”

“Which is��?”

Bryan looked up at you, letting out a heavy sigh, “reproduction.”

“All the more reason I shouldn’t be going back down there!”

“He’ll be restrained and you’ll have at least two operatives with you at all times, you’ll be safe,” Bryan leans forward on his desk, folding his hands together, “the data you collect from Agent Kennedy is invaluable in finding out how the parasite works, just… go down and talk to him. I know yesterday was unnerving but there is one thing he said that is true, he’s just Leon Kennedy. He’s in there somewhere, even if the Plagas is influencing him.”

You cross your arms, staring at the floor, letting out a frustrated sigh before looking back up at Bryan, “fine. But I want hazard pay.”

“Consider it done, here’s your recorder back,” Bryan says, sliding the recorder across the desk towards you. 

You grab the recorder of the desk, turning on your heel to walk out of Bryan’s office.

“You are to report down there in an hour, you hear me?” Bryan calls after you just as you walk out the door.

You fight the urge to flip him off, thinking better of it. You walk down the hall into your office, getting your lab coat back on and sitting at your desk. You press play on the recorder, listening back on your interaction with Leon several times. There was one part where you repeated it several times, sending chills down your spine.

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name.”

How long had Leon been locked down here, chained to this chair? How many men in lab coats came and tried to talk to him? He knew he was a lost cause, why were they keeping him alive? How many times did he wish death would come and take him in his sleep?

But then you came, awakening something in him.

Your natural scent filled the cell completely, so many hours had gone by and he could still smell you and you smelled absolutely divine. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way your voice was so sweet yet filled with drive and intelligence. The way you blushed when he flirted with you. The way your heartbeat began to race at just the mere mention of taking you.

God you were so cute when you ran off, all flustered, he couldn’t help but laugh; he hadn’t felt alive like that in so long. His reminiscing was interrupted suddenly when he could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Lifting his head, he practically began to salivate when he saw you had returned.

You came back to me, baby, where you belong…

“The subject appears to be conscious and alert, he watched us as soon as we were in his line of sight,” you say as he watches you speak into the voice recorder. 

With a hiss, the door opens and you step inside. Leon breathed in deep, taking in the smell of you, you smelled even better than you had yesterday. He feels his cock twitch in his pants in excitement. He watches as the door behind you closes and locks, just like it had yesterday, trapping you in here with him.

Curse these fucking chains…

“You’re more lively today, Leon, care to tell me why?” you ask, your voice flat and void of any emotion.

“How about you tell me why you smell so nice,” Leon replies, grinning at you, drool running from his mouth down his chin.

He watches you shift uncomfortably before you continue, “I’m not answering that.”

Leon scoffs, shaking his head, “then I’m not going to talk to you, sweetheart.”

You take a deep breath, “if I’m going to be honest, I don’t know why I smell so nice to you, Leon.”

His red eyes scan up and down your form, imagining it without all those needless clothes. Imagining himself pinning you to the floor and fucking you stupid. A strange, clicking sound came out of him from the back of his throat as he pulled aggressively on the chains holding him to the chair. He watches as the two men with guns outside become alert. Leon lets out a low growl as he glares at them.

You turn to face the men, signaling to them to stand down. He watches them both relax before you return your attention to him. 

“The transformation appears to be progressing faster than expected,” you say into the recorder, “are you in any pain, Leon?”

Leon slowly shakes his head, “no, just unbelievably horny, doll.”

“We have reason to believe the subject is displaying an increased libido due to the fact that the parasite inside him knows it’s the last of its kind.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, that’s awfully rude.”

“Fine,” you say, lowering the recorder away from your mouth, “what do you want to talk about, Leon?”

“You should ask those nice boys out there to take these chains off me,” Leon purrs, staring at you longingly.

“Absolutely not, Leon,” you reply, crossing your arms, “those chains are there for my safety as well as your own, at least until we can get the Plagas out of your body.” “I think I’m too far gone for that, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You take a deep breath and exhale loudly, the sorrow clear in your eyes, “I am so sorry that this is what you have become, Leon.”

“I’m not,” Leon says as that sinister grin overtakes him again; he starts to chuckle.

“Leon,” you begin, stepping closer and kneeling down to be eye level with Leon, “I know the real you is in there, somewhere, you have to fight it.”

Your scent was almost enough to drive him crazy, you were delectable. He licks his lips, that clicking sound coming out from this throat again. His eyes are locked on you and he sees you glance down briefly before looking back into his eyes. He knew what you were looking at, you were looking at the noticeable bulge in his cargo pants.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” Leon says, his body visibly trembling.

You don’t respond, you simply stare at him with that same sad look in your eyes. How could you not want him as much as he wanted you. His lips curl into a snarl.

“Let me FUCK YOU!” he growls, lunging forward, the bolts in the chair letting out a loud screech as they’re bent slightly.

You stumble back, falling backwards onto the floor as Leon continues to struggle violently. The two men with guns come rushing in, one of them grabbing you off the floor while the other shoots a tranquilizer dart into Leon’s thigh. Leon feels the effects almost instantly, his body becomes limp as he becomes sluggish, his mouth hanging agape as he watches you get led out of the room by the two men, the door shutting and locking behind them as you’re led away.

“Mine,” he whispers in his last moments of consciousness, “all mine.”

Part 2

[fanaticsnail]

Hi Snail, I need you to know I haven't been able to stop thinking about Invitation since I first read it 😭 it's just so absolutely perfect. Vampire Law has absolutely infested my brain, he's haunting me at this point! Every time I try to sit down and write he's the only thing I can think about!! I might have to write something for him just to free myself at this point (but do I want to be freed? I could just think about Vampire Law for the rest of my waking days!)

Oh, but you've invited him in now. Whatever shall we do...

Vampire Law - Punishment

Word Count: 300+

Themes: vampire!Law x gn!reader, mdni, 18+, smut, NSFW, penetrative sex, mean dom law, dacryphilia, blood consumption, a little bit yandere. Part 1 Here.

Notes: I couldn't get him out of my head either. If you ever want to write more for vampire Law, I gotta read it. For now, here's this little punishment. Thank you for your ask!!

The vampire, Trafalgar D Water Law, is absolutely utilizing that verbal confirmation to the epitome of his advantage. He's never going to be satisfied by simply releasing once into your body. Not after all that teasing and taunting.

Absolutely not.

As his cock begins to flood your body with icy ropes of otherworldly release, he'll take a moment to huff out a drunken laugh while he watches you cry at the overstimulation. His treatment was punishing, and his sex-drunk eyes peered down like a predator about to consume his meek prey.

His lengthy, dark eyelashes shrouded his blown irises, his pupils narrowing as they zone in on a fresh bite on your neck. He could sense your life pouring from your body, draining you dry while unloading you full.

“You gonna tap out, brat?” He asked, gently lulling his tongue out to swipe up over your chin, “Attempt to rescind your invitation?”

Eyes foggy and mind clouded, you babbled out a cock-drunk, “Can I do that?”

Law chuckled darkly, moving his lips up to eclipse yours in a cool kiss from his reanimated lips. Tugging at your bottom lip, he bit down on it and dragged it up before releasing it with a ‘pop.’

“No.” His taunt caused you to let out a soft whine, feeling his cock once again spring to life deep within your entrance. Stretching your walls over his girth, he began the slow roll and drag of his hips.

Aligning his thighs with yours, he threw your legs over his shoulders and let out a shuddered groan. Feeling how deep he was in your abdomen, seeing the soft bulge from his cockhead in your stomach had his need once again spring forth and cause him to abuse your tight flesh.

Perhaps you should've thought twice about edging a creature of the night, a soul damned to wander the abyss without a tether to a host.

Law’s right hand reached forward to stimulate you while the other gripped your thigh. His punishment never ceased, only stopping when he truly felt you had experienced enough of his wrath for a single evening.

He hopes you enjoy sailing, because now there was no way he would ever let you go.

[snowyquokka]

Hiiii how are you

I have e a request for han or seungmin that their enemies and they have to go to a party that their friends are going to and the reader gets really drunk so they help them and they both confess to liking each other and it's just really fluffy

I hope I explained that the right way

Ps love your work

Lots of love A<3

BUTTERFLIES

frat boy han jisung x fem reader

cw: mature themes MDNI, mentions of sex, alcohol consumption (both above age), swearing, angst EVEN THOUGH IT WAS SUPPOSED TO ONLY BE FLUFF, second chance lovers, college au, blah blah blah

wc: 1.2k

a.n - i apologize for this taking me so long but i really wanted to get it right and do the prompt justice. i absolutely loved writing this and i appreciate the request !! (thank you ina for letting me blow up your dms over this <3)

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

“You are so fucking lucky I love you,” you mutter as you walk into a frat party with your best friend, Mina. She wouldn’t stop pestering you about ‘coming out of your shell’ and ‘loosening up.’

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll thank me later, babe. And don’t worry, I’m the DD tonight. Have fun, seriously.” she smiles. You’d be lying if you said that deep down - very deep, like in the abyss of your soul - you weren’t grateful for her making you leave your room, where she thought you’d live forever if she didn’t have a say.

“Oo, lookie!” Mina exclaims as she points out two guys leaning against the kitchen island. Lee Minho and you’ve gotta be kidding me,

“Mina, no. You’ve got me fifty shades of fucked up if you think I’m gonna go talk to Han,” you make a face at the bitter taste of his name.

“You haven’t even spoken to him in what,” she counts on her fingers, “…8 months?

“Mina, I don’t think getting coffee at the same shop counts as talking.” you roll your eyes, “He’s a complete dickhead who has absolutely no consideration for others,” Mina shrugs and grabs your arm before dragging you over towards the two men despite your protests.

You immediately catch Jisung’s attention, watching as a small smirk tugs on his lips.

“Ah, Mina! How are you?” Minho beams at your best friend.

While they get caught up in their conversation you look around and spot a tray of Jell-O shots sitting on the counter unattended. Shrugging your shoulders, you pick one up and down it with zero hesitation.

Without even registering it, you consume three in less than two minutes. At least you’re enjoying yourself, right?

“I’d be careful if I were you, nabi.” You cringe at the nickname as Jisung’s voice cuts through the music playing in the background. You turn around to face him with a groan.

“I’m not in the mood, Han.” you grab another shot.

“Ouch. Back to last names, are we?” Jisung clutches his chest in mock pain, earning an eye roll from you. You glance over at Mina - or rather, where she was standing five minutes ago.

“Where’d they go?” You nod towards the now empty space.

“Probably going to fuck,” he shrugs, “Who knows?”

You huff and cross your arms over your chest.

“Oh come on, nabi. You can’t avoid me forever.” Your cheeks redden in annoyance.

“I can and I will actually. Also, stop calling me that.”

He scoffs as you walk away with yet another shot in your hand.

After a few moments of hesitation, he reluctantly follows you. “Wait. Can we ta-“

Jisung cuts himself off at the sight of you dancing with some guy from his fraternity, his hands on your hips as you sway them to the beat. Something in Jisung’s chest twists and a pit forms in his stomach. Shaking his head and pushing down his feelings, he turns to walk away.

Not worth it, Ji.

That is until he hears your laugh. Your sweet, gentle, angelic laugh. Sparked by someone who looks like they’d forget your name before he even gets what he wants from you.

Fuck. All. That.

Jisung downs the rest of his beer and stalks towards the two of you.

“Get your fucking hands off my girl.” he glares at the other man.

Jisung ignores him and snatches your wrist and drags you away, careful not to let you fall.

“J - Han get off of me,” you sputter as you attempt to set yourself free as he guides you upstairs to a vacant bedroom.

“I am not yours, asshole.” you wipe your palms down your dress in order to try to make it stretch a little more past your thighs. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Jisung who has to force himself to tear his eyes away from your curves. Curves that he’s dreamt of holding underneath his fingertips for years.

“Why won’t you have one conversation with me? You’re acting like we weren’t inseparable two years ago,” Jisung runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol giving him confidence or if it’s his physical need to be as close as he can to you.

“You left, what did you expect to happen?” you let out once your mind starts to uncloud.

Jisung advances towards you, the beat of the music downstairs matching your racing pulse. With each step he takes, your heart knots tighter and tighter. Once he reaches you he places his hand on the wall beside you, caging you in.

Your senses heighten and the intensity of his gaze forces you to shrink yet you carry on, “You didn’t even care about what I had to say about it. In fact, I didn’t even know you were going until three hours before your flight took off.”

Your words are like a knife to his abdomen.

He searches your eyes for something - anything - other than pain.

Nothing.

The knife twists in his gut.

You don’t realize you’re crying until Jisung’s hand comes up to brush your tears off of your cheeks.

“I’ve hated myself everyday for the past two years, nabi. I thought of coming back to you but..” he trails off.

“Ji, don’t do this to me. I can’t. Please.” your voice shakes more than you would like it to as you try to warrant off more tears. You’ve always been an emotional drunk, but this? This is next level.

“You know, the moment I found out where you were going to college I immediately applied there? And then I applied to every college in the area, just in case I didn’t get accepted,” his voice drops to a mere whisper, “I did it because I wanted to fix us. I want to fix us.”

Your mouth falls slightly agape as you attempt to process the absolute bomb he just threw at you,

“It would’ve been easier if I hadn’t..” you cut off and wipe your mascara-stained cheeks, tilting your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You’re too afraid to acknowledge the truth.

You’ve always been too afraid.

Though, you aren’t very sure what the truth is, exactly.

Jisung leans in and speaks softly into your ear, “I fell in love, too.”

Your eyes flutter open to see him nose-to-nose with you.

Warmth that has nothing to do with the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed spreads throughout you, head to toe, and something velvety skates along your soul.

“Butterflies,” you mumble unwittingly.

Jisung smiles softly and leans his forehead against yours.

“Can you find somewhere in that big, beautiful heart for me?” he looks down and threads his fingers with yours.

“No need,” you smile, “it was all yours to begin with.”

tags: @godslino @skzstarnet @anakin-sweetheart

divider: @chaeneuu

[nyxthejinx]

Answering to this desperate cry for help

Maaan this was so much fun fr, i hope I made these bad boys justice. Also, didn't know what kind of format I should be using and especially how to repost the original thing, since copying and pasting on the reblog would be absolute hell rip

𝐓𝐖: people biting each other but in an affectionate way, idk lemme know if there's more

𝐅𝐭.: Dottore, Xiao, Childe - GN!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k (in total)

𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨: 3rd Made in Abyss soundtrack - Kevin Penkin (yes, it's that good, no comment)

𝐃𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

OHOO he's gonna be so intrigued by this weird habit of yours.

We all know he's not big on social interactions and all -he barely values human life- but when you came into the picture he felt invested in someone for the first time. Hence he observes... Normal people, to learn the basics.

He's smart, a quick learner. Will understand in no time your likes and dislikes, but one day you?? Bite him? Chomp like a feral newborn kitten? Oh, his scholar personality spikes through the roof.

Dottore's never seen anyone bite their partner like you do, it confuses him at first, although he won't say anything and just chuckle. He'd rather observe you and come to his own conclusions before asking.

Was it a one time thing? When, how and where do you like to do it? Is there a deeper meaning, a show of intimacy? Need for attention? Affection?

Yeah he'll treat it like a maths equation, that's how he is.

Some days you'd see him without his mask, leaning particularly close to your face. Other times he'd set his gloves aside and let his digits linger on your cheeks and jaw for every little thing. (He knows he’s difficult to bite because of his clothes)

"Oh Dear, look at your lips, they're chapped/full of crumbs/smeared with any other kind of food/every single excuse he can come up with."

It takes you a bit longer than you would've wanted, but you realise his true intentions eventually. If you feel smug you can just chomp on him randomly and see him lose his mind (he thought he'd figured everything out rip dottore.exe).

I advise against it though, he'd repay the torture tenfold. (aka not cuddle with you even if you ask nicely).

Overall, Dottore finds this habit of yours cute. You're a nice little, innocent thing in his eyes and that just adds to your charm.

Yeah you can be a 1.90m tall menace of a person and he'd still tease you, an arrogant, mean jerk >:(

After some time he starts biting you back (ouch shark teeth), not in a painful way ofc. He's so casual with it, most likely to strike when you least expect it just to see your surprised and/or flustered face.

Or to have you chomping in return, even ;)

I'd say 7.5/10, good chomping partner but will "fight" back.

𝐗𝐢𝐚𝐨

My guy, poor guy.

He's another social inept, we all know why.

He started to learn about human customs after meeting you, and you've helped him out a lot, but he's still so stiff.

He probably gets a heart attack every time you give him a surprise hug. The day you chomp on him his soul leaves his body.

It's not that he's a scaredy cat, physical touch just overwhelms his senses if he's not prepared :((

Asks you to tell him beforehand next time.

But aside from that he doesn't seem to mind. He finds every human custom weird in a way, this one is no exception, and eventually it becomes routine yeah?

I think he's a perfect subject for chomping, with all the exposed skin he has. I mean, look at his shoulders! The urge to sneak up from behind and just CHOMP.

He's got muscles for days too, won't shatter your teeth on his bones. AND HIS CHEEKS- his baby cheeks, they look so soft how can you not bite those.

But yeah, just give him some time and he'll get used to this.

Xiao's not stupid either, he notices right away that you're the only human partaking in this activity, or in public at least. Lowkey feels happy and proud to have you as a partner, you're so special and unique :( <33

At some point he'll want to try it out as well, but he's sooo shy about it and a bit scared he'll hurt you. You gotta make him confess with bone crushing hugs.

When he eventually chomps back he's UGHH so soft with it. For Xiao it's more about the meaning and the bonding experience than the chomp itself.

9/10 if you're fine with doing all the chomping. 8/10 if you want chomps back, but definetly recommended.

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞

Run. RUN. RUN FOR YOUR CHEEKS' LIFE.

He is THE chomping menace.

Let me tell ya, you're putting your life on the line. It's like a declaration of war and he will not hesitate to respond with all he's got.

We know for a fact that he's always up for a challenge. If you're crazy enough to engage and bite him first, well I hope you have a survival plan for the rest of your life cus he won't stop.

It can and will escalate in a "fight" if you're in a private space (you know the tickle fights where you become a mess of tangled limbs? That.) If you try that in public though? He's gonna look at you like a damn predator.

He'll eat your cheeks once you get home, good luck.

His bites are rough-ish too, unfortunately for you. He’d never hurt you on purpose, and is always careful with his strength, but in the heat of battle he’ll forget; 7 times out of 10 you leave the field with a 32 teeth bite mark. 

I think he is more of a cheek guy than anything. They're always available and easy to reach, regardless of your height, and it's also so intimate because who else touches your face? No one, aside from him.

He's the chosen one.

And don't think it will stop at the first time, no no. You've unlocked a new hobby for him. He'll put so much effort in it, it's terrifying.

If you act surprised or flustered well, bonus points in his opinion. Your face is just priceless and will make a habit to make you react that way.

At that point you either fight back or succumb. His soft spots are his stomach (duh, nibble on the exposed skin when he's in his work clothes, I bet he's ticklish), his nape, collarbones and overall the base of his neck.

The rest of his body is still a good chomping surface, but his instincts kick in and his muscles go taut, it's like biting a rock and has no effect on him.

Childe will definitely give you a hard time. It's up to you to take advantage of the right moment and give him a good revenge chomp.

Honestly, he's my fave ever but I'll give him a 5/10 just because of that. Can't even bite the man in peace anymore 🙄

DON'T copy/repost my work. REBLOG instead! ©nyxthejinx

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Two

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 3,7k

Warnings | +18, explicit language, kidnapping, yandere, mentions of prostitution, Jimin is really a bastard, harassments, threats with a gun, forced vaginal inspection, humiliation and teasing, light blood consumption, virgin girls are sold, forced separation

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! The second chapter of Dark Moon has arrived, thank you for all the compliments and support ❤

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

When Y/N regained consciousness she felt her head spin and something go up her stomach, she was nauseous as well as very cold, even her leg did not seem to be in optimal condition. A white light filtered past her eyelashes, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut before groaning, trying, in vain, to move. She turned wearily on her side, realizing only then that she was lying on an icy floor. "The mare has awakened," said a voice with a deep cadence. The girl tried wearily to at least get on her knees, but failed to do so; her head was assailed by memories of a few hours ago, they were confused, but one thing she distinctly remembered. A face. A male face full of piercings, of cruel extraordinary beauty. "You better not move a step, you have a gun pointed at your head, baby doll," said another voice, higher and smoother. As her eyes adjusted to the light she focused on the gun in question, clutched in the gloved hand of the same man she remembered. His face was as beautiful as a god's, he had piercings on his lower lip, as well as on his eyebrow and all along the side line of his neck, stretching all the way under his leather coat. His dark hair, on the other hand, was combed so that his forehead was left uncovered, his amphibians also stood tall and menacing, just like the rest of him.

He held that gun with monstrous ease, his stoic expression telling her that he would not think twice about shooting her if he had to. She licked her lips, finding them dry and cracked, before she began to speak. "What do you want from me? I have nothing to interest you," she said in a scratchy voice, hugging her legs in a vain attempt to shield herself from his eyes. "You are quite wrong, dear," the other stepped forward, he was taller than the man with the piercings and his hair was silver, yet the hardness of his eyes was the same, "You have made a request and we are here to fulfill it." The young woman frowned, before the realization finally came. "Now you remember, right? You asked to work for us, in fact ... you both asked." The young woman widened her eyes and immediately remembered her younger sister, looked around in panic noticing the smaller body far away from her. She tried to get up to reach her, but the sound of a trigger froze her. "I told you not to take a step, I might blow your leg off, but that would not please my boss, so let's avoid giving each other trouble," huffed the dark-haired man, he was ruthless. She began to tremble, realizing the trouble she and her sister had gotten themselves into.

They had applied to work everywhere from small bars to supermarkets, not leaving out discos and more domestic jobs. But there was no work, or the pay was starvation. Finally she had made the leap, finding herself applying for jobs in a variety of red-light clubs, and before she could say or do anything, her sister had also followed suit, but she didn't think it would end like that for them. "We never received any recruitment letters or emails, so what are you talking about?" she hissed through clenched teeth. The taller one looked at her sideways, "The Dark Moon is not used to hiring the way you imagine, sweetheart...to fit into its standards you have to possess certain qualities and you two have all of them." If possible that answer left her even more confused, the dark-haired man with the piercings huffed, "Boobs and three holes to fill are not enough, once you enter the Dark Moon you never leave, those who "win" our attention do so because they live far away from their family and with a low lifestyle," he explained vulgarly, heedless of the increasingly evident pallor on the young woman's face. Everything was clear now, one of the brothels to which she had sent her application was much more than that, there was a highly illegal prostitution ring behind it, involving the total disappearance of girls from the rest of the world. The menacing appearance of the two men spoke volumes.

What had they gotten themselves into? "Wait a minute, ours was a request made without thinking" she tried to negotiate, but the grin on the pierced boy's face grew. Jimin was amused, did the poor deluded woman really believe that there was any way back? He shook his head, "Without thinking? You ran away from home because of an abusive family, dropping out of school and cleaning here and there to earn enough to afford a low Motel in the lowest neighborhood in town...it doesn't seem to me that you applied without thinking, in fact, it was desperation that convinced you and you even got bingo," he chuckled nastily. The girl cashed the blow, bending over herself; there was no remedy. She had been kidnapped and a madman was pointing a gun at her with impressive ease, the other man would probably hurt her sister if she decided to challenge them. She felt like crying, but she pushed back her tears; she would not let them see her whimpering like a child. After a few seconds a choked sigh was heard, Y/N opened her eyes again with fear. She turned toward her sister, who terrified looked at her with a lost and confused look. "What...? Y/N, what's going on?" she asked with some difficulty due to the drug used on her.

"Blair, stay there!" she exclaimed, but her sister tried to get up anyway, and the taller guy had to intervene, pushing the younger one against the concrete wall without any kindness, pulled the gun out of his jacket, and Y/N felt herself dying, yelled at him to leave her alone, pushing herself toward them, but a heavy kick to the leg stopped her actions. She groaned in pain, staring at the piercing guy's boot pressing right against her thigh, there where a purplish bruise had already taken shape from the violent sting. "Ha-ha! You're such a naughty little girl, you know? Lucky for you that wasn't a step, because otherwise I would have had to use this," he said in a childish tone, teasing her by moving the barrel of his gun left and right. Y/N swallowed hard, chewing between her teeth the pain she so badly wanted to vent, that boy was scary to her, there was a veil of madness behind his dark eyes. She did not want to find out how far she could push him, that madness. Namjoon, on the other hand, went no further with her sister, just put her back in her place. She resumed breathing as the man moved away from her, but a knock on the door made her stomach flip over. The two men exchanged a brief glance; it was Jimin who opened it without lowering his gun.

Y/N saw three other men enter the building, one of whom towered prominently over the others. He wore a gorgeous fur coat over his smoking, and his incredibly handsome face was obscured by an apathetic expression. The other two, on the other hand, were dressed quite similarly to those who had taken her hostage; they, too, were beautiful and surreally dangerous. "Are there only two of them?" the man in the fur coat asked, pointing at her and her sister. "They are the only ones who passed all the requirements, they are also quite pretty, Jin," shrugged the man the girl had labeled "The Tall One." The Jin in question squared them carefully, Y/N felt naked under his gaze and wished she could hug her sister to protect her from them, but she could not. She would be of no use to her dead. "What are their names?" "Byeon Y/N and Byeon Blair, they are sisters, they used this surname in the application, definitely not the right one...as you can see, they are not Korean." "Good job, Namjoon... As for their status?"

The girl didn't know how they could know all that, because it was true, they had changed their last name so that they didn't have to be related to their father and his family, but what made her cringe was the word "status," underlined in a strange way. The one she seemed to understand was called Namjoon remained silent a few seconds, then shook his head, "We haven't checked." "No problem, we'll do it now," he moved a finger toward the other two, "Taehyung, Hoseok," he said, but the pierced boy got in the way. "Leave this one to me," he said, intriguing Seokjin. "Why, Jimin? You usually avoid by saying it's too hard to handle them." Now she knew the name of that devil, but still not understanding what they intended to check, something told her she would not like to find out, she exchanged a glance with her sister. She saw her as frightened as she had ever been in her life, and it certainly should not have helped to see her, her older sister, in the same condition, so she tried to calm her expression, though with little result. "I have a score to settle with her," she said earnestly, it was then that Y/N remembered the kick thrown at the man's face in her fury to escape him, but she couldn't see any bruises so it must not have hurt him that much, right? The other nodded, "All right."

Next she saw the man named Hoseok heading toward her sister, who pushed herself against the wall trying to escape, but she was surrounded by men with guns and could do nothing. Y/N sprinted toward her, but Jimin was quick to grab her by the collar of her shirt. "Be still and quiet, behave yourself and it will only last a few seconds." But she did not understand, what would last only a few seconds? She blanched at the younger one's shocked screams, turned quickly toward her, and what she saw left her bewildered. The red-haired man, Hoseok, was holding Blair's body crushed to the ground while he did something with his hand under the fabric of her shorts, the insight made her shudder and she threw herself at her once more, heedless of Jimin's firm grip, who gritted his teeth at such stupidity. "What the fuck are you doing to her, you bastard! Let her go immediately, before I kill you!" she snarled bright-eyed, aware that as her sister kicked trying to get the man off her, she could only watch with no chance to react. A laugh behind her back made her skin crawl. "He's doing just that to her," she heard him say, before she was pinned to the wall hard, missing her breath for a few moments, time for Jimin to imprison her wrists in one of his hands, reaching with the other to the fabric of her underpants, which he went over, ending right under her panties.

In horror the girl felt the fingers still wrapped in the leather glove tracing her folds and without any care penetrating her tight slit, she cried out in pain and shock, the fingers went all the way, finding nothing to stop them, but Jimin wanted to provoke her a little. "You're so dry that if I continued you would bleed, wouldn't you? Like a virgin, too bad you're not," he whispered in her ear. The young woman, red with shame, overcame her shock and tried to kick him in the groin where an obvious bulge was taking shape, but Jimin ducked in time, stared at her with icy eyes before stepping firmly out of her intimacy, causing her another painful twinge. He let her fall back to the ground observing his fingers, only a few drops glistened on their surface, nothing striking. "She's tight as hell, but she's not a virgin," he communicated to the others in an impassive voice. Hoseok turned away from the youngest, who cowered in shock. "With this one I stopped pretty much right away, she's a virgin," he showed everyone a few drops of blood present on his fingers before licking them.

No one commented on that gesture, as if it was normal for them, Y/N just felt like throwing up, she clenched her legs trying to calm the burning that the bastard had intentionally caused her, god... if they were on equal terms she would have destroyed him. Seokjin nodded, "We'll make a lot of money with that one, I already have an interested customer." Y/N widened her eyes, rising up sharply. "At least let my sister go! She is young and unfit for such a life!" she exclaimed, staring into the eyes of what appeared to be the boss. Taehyung laughed, "Then why did she apply for such a job? Besides, what would she be different from you, is she a princess or something? Come on, we are fair and consistent people we, it wouldn't be fair to you," he teased her, ignoring Blair's sobs, still hunched over herself because of the pain she was feeling. Hoseok did not seem to have gone easy on her, as he had said. "Miss Byeon, the Dark Moon is a place that lives in anonymity, our clients are important people who want to spend moments of pleasure in complete relaxation, I can't afford outside witnesses other than my men, that's exactly why we only pick up girls like you," he began to explain calmly, "Beautiful, but desperate, I offer them protection and comfort, as long as they abide by my rules." Simply put, 'You know too much, and since you've been brought in, you will do as I say'.

Y/N felt lost, there was no turning back, she would be a whore without freedom until the end of her days, and her sister would follow her freewheeling. At that point, with another needle stuck in her flesh, tears flowed copiously without her being able to do anything to stop them.

Y/N regained consciousness in what was no longer a dingy warehouse, but lying on a soft bed with silk and velvet blankets. Smelling of essential oils and wearing a satin blouse, she widened her eyes, turning around. Next to her a girl was arranging some things in the sliding door closet. She was not paying attention to her. "I-where am I?" she asked in a low voice, the girl blocked her actions, then turned to her, glowering at her. "You should know, shouldn't you? You asked to work here yourself," she arrowed, Y/N looked at her shocked. Why had the woman answered her in that rude way? "I don't think I did anything to you to deserve such an attitude," she said in fact, the other rolled her eyes. "You newcomers are all like that, all naive holier-than-thou. You're at the Dark Moon, girl! Place of pleasure and sin, where you will open your legs without a single complaint and I recommend it for your own good," she blurted out, made to leave without adding more, but Y/N stopped her. "My sister! Have you seen my sister?" she ignored the scurvy attitude of that girl as beautiful as she was rude to ask about the younger one, the other looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, yes...when you arrived they just asked me to get you ready for the room, but I heard about the other one.... She was a virgin, virgins are always sold and never stay at the Dark Moon.... so it was your sister, huh? I'm sorry," she sneered, before leaving the room. The world came crashing down on her, her sister was not there with her, she had been sold without ifs and buts, they had not even given her a chance to see her one last time. She clutched her chest, trapped in a painful grip, and let herself fall on the bed without energy, she merely sobbed for what seemed like hours. She had definitely lost her entire family and there was absolutely nothing she could do to change that. She was gone, Blair was no longer with her, and she would spend the rest of her life spreading her legs for any man with a sizeable bank account. With tears still clinging between her eyelashes she saw the door open once more, revealing the slender figure of another girl, wrapped in a pattern similar to her blouse, but much darker. "Hey. You're the newcomer, aren't you? Nice to meet you, my name is Hanon," she said jovially, waving her hand, Y/N remained impassive, too exhausted and bitter to be in the same mood as her.

"Y/N..." she mumbled back, shutting herself up. The woman was not impressed by that closed attitude; on the contrary, she found herself smiling more. That girl reminded her of herself at first. Almost no one wanted to end up trapped at the Dark Moon, but getting used to it wasn't so bad. They had food and beautiful clothes, as well as a roof over their heads. "Well, hello Y/N! Welcome to the Dark Moon, I was asked to show you around a bit," Hanon said cheerfully, Y/N instantly glowered at her. She didn't want to take the prostitute prison tour, she wanted to go back to the horrid old Motel with her sister, better poor than divided and slutty. "I don't care for that, thank you," she replied through gritted teeth. If possible Hanon's smile grew bigger, a strange light shone in her eyes. "Oh, believe me ... it's in your best interests to listen to me, Seokjin here is the boss and his word is law, if you don't do as he says you'll end up bathing in the icy waters of the Han River, with no chance of rising" from the satisfied voice Y/N guessed that it had already happened and that Hanon was probably someone quite important among the girls, he believed she had power over all of them, that's why she smiled like that. Without uttering another word, Y/N got out of bed, found some bedroom shoes placed neatly on the polished wooden floor, and putting them on followed the other woman.

Hanon showed her several rooms, numbered and with a key inside each shiny, well-oiled lock; almost all the rooms were the same, except for a few cases of far more luxurious suites suitable for clients quite important to the boss of the "shack." Hanon explained to her that the one where she was a few moments earlier was her personal room, no one had the right to enter there, and that every client had one of those other rooms rented for a set amount of time that varied from the fee paid for each type of service requested. Y/N felt disgust and nausea with each piece of information she learned, the customer paid and they automatically had to obey him. Hanon finally showed her their relaxation room; it was a large greenhouse where one could play freely and grow flowers and plants of all kinds. That was perhaps the only area Y/N would appreciate, she told herself. "From this corridor instead you get to the kitchens and the dining room, instead to ask for any kind of information you can ask me, if I will not be available go ahead to Namjoon's office, I will show you where it is" at that name the young woman felt sick. She remembered the silver-haired man, she had no idea he personally worked at the Dark Moon. "Namjoon?" she swallowed, Hanon stared at her for a moment confused by her sudden pallor, then understood. "So this time it was his turn, I guess it went well for you then, he is very kind to girls and-"

"Namjoon kidnapped my sister," she said harshly, "He was not kind to do such a thing, much less his friend with piercings all over his face, who was simply an animal with me," she growled. Hanon winced, he could tell she was talking about Jimin from the description-he was the only one of the men in Seokjin who had piercings all over his face, not to mention his neck. Those seven were divided into distinct and separate personalities, and Hanon knew for sure that the worst were Jimin and Hoseok themselves. "All right, for any doubts ask me, then," then she remembered something important, "Oh, I almost forgot the most essential thing! In case you need help during a session with your client, on the bedside table next to the bed there is a white phone, it has a unique number and communicates with the bodyguards, if you will be in trouble don't hesitate for a moment to call" she explained seriously. A shiver ran down the young woman's spine, she had not yet thought of such a possibility, she believed that with clients of a certain caliber something dangerous could not happen, evidently she was mistaken. When she was escorted back to her room, Y/N stopped Hanon. "Um... Hanon?" "Yes?"

"Before you came, there was a girl in the room with me, she was very rude and I would like to know why, I'm new and didn't give any trouble...I wish I could at least live peacefully here, though I doubt it." Hanon weighed the words well, but decided to be honest. "I told you we have personal rooms, but not as much as they are..." Y/N widened her eyes, "Your room belonged to Ester, the girl you met." "What... Why did you give me her room?" she asked wordlessly, Hanon shrugged her shoulders. "Well, only five other girls have the room like yours, these girls are selected by Seokjin's most trusted men because they are their favorites, and you are now one of them, indeed, of us." If possible, Y/N found herself more confused than before-what was Hanon getting at? The latter sighed, "Ester was Jimin's favorite, but I don't know how...now you're the one who will share a bed with him if he decides to stay here from time to time, when he arrived he didn't think twice about sending her away to give way to you, I think you intrigued him and quite a bit too." Y/N found herself staggering back, everything simply had to be an absurd and horrible joke, should she have shared a bed with such a beast? The disgust did not leave her for a moment longer.

[takosan]

Bondrewd has been living rent free in my head since I watched Dawn of the Deep Soul.

I know I am super late to this fandom but he is suuuuch an interesting character. I think the best way to understand Bon’s relationship with Prushka and even Nanachi is that love, manipulation, pain, and sacrifice are all intertwined for him. Bon is definitely a monster of the abyss in his own right and nothing about his actions is ethical or right. I couldn’t sympathize with him but I am so intrigued by how he is written.

As a scientist, his experiments remind me of J. Marion Sims, who experimented on enslaved Black women without anesthesia and was widely considered the “father” of modern gynecology. Also reminded of Nazi advancements in rocket technology during WW2 that eventually allowed America to send humans to the moon. Sometimes the triumphant ends of science are memorialized and the unethical means to get there are forgotten. I’m not saying this justifies Bon’s actions but that MIA is pointing out this reality of scientific advancements. The other white whistles and black whistles and possibly more people are aware of his experiments in Ido Front so it’s not like he’s doing this secretly.

I think Bon’s character makes a lot more sense too when you see him as more than a scientist. I see him almost as a kind of priest, with science used as a way to understand and get closer to the (mysteries of the) abyss (the higher being). There’s a spiritual slant to his character: his scientific base is located in Ido Front which is an old ritual site, his white whistle is clasped hands (praying, beseeching), he coined the term “blessing” (when he could have used any other scientific term for that process/effect). When he sees the children off on their last dive at the end of the film, all the umbra hands are repeating the clasped hands gesture. They are all standing witness to the children departing on a journey from which return is not possible. Bon himself raises his arms, with palms up, in a gesture of benediction. This gesture, unless I am wrong, can both be for giving a benediction and receiving a benediction but I see it here as Bon praying for and over the children as an intermediary for/of the abyss.

The furry Bon infact explicitly gave Nanachi his own blessing for their onward journey with his dying words (“May your journey overflow with curses and blessings”). The word “benediction” itself means “speak well” and that is exactly what furry Bon does with his last words. There’s a lot of spiritual touches to his character. (See also the closing song of the film at the bottom of the post which I am convinced is about Bon.) Also human sacrifices are a facet of some spiritual practices and that is exactly what Bon has been doing… He also sacrificed HIMSELF to make his white whistle. Even his body is not above his overall goals. There’s an odd selflessness to that action when every other white whistle was presumably made based on sacrificing someone else.

I am also struck that he didn’t practice his usual slice, cut, chop on Nanachi AFTER they got the blessing. Or if there was some of that (because it is Bon and surely he ran tests on Nanachi), it was nothing that would leave Nanachi mutilated or scarred or physically altered, or well, dead. Because that’s how most children end up in his care. I think he sees Nanachi with some degree of reverence (as the “blessed” with a special vision for the “curse”, which Bon himself has been looking in on) and perhaps their body cannot be desecrated? That he asks Nanachi to return to work with him again, again, and again is interesting even if it is illusion of choice because Bon doesn’t ask much of anything of the other children before doing as he wants.

(An aside - The fact that he was probably tracking Nanachi and Mitty the whole time was absolutely frightening and shows how much control he has. Most likely he had no immediate need for Nanachi’s return, and in fact he probably learned more about the curse due to Nanachi walking around. The experiment went on, just without Nanachi’s knowledge. And I could see him being proud of Nanachi for experimenting on Mitty and delvers as they tried to bring about Mitty’s passing. The classic Bon gesture, head pats for Nanachi and Prushka, perfectly encapsulates how his love for them occurs alongside his fundamental disregard for their bodily autonomy and consent. It is absolutely a gesture of power because it says “I can touch you as I want” (not in a sexual way to be clear) and Nanachi is visibly afraid of him.)

Bon and Prushka

Bon and Prushka’s relationship is absolutely fascinating given how Bon sees love and sacrifice. Prushka’s love for him is partially manufactured out of the circumstances of her life (she has close contact with pretty much a limited group of people who would be at Ido Fromt) and also manipulated by Bon. The repeated line “I am your papa” reinforces their relationship, gives Prushka a sense of stability, AND manipulates her love and I don’t know how one line can be so loving and chilling at once. Notice how Bon never says “you are my daughter.” Everything is defined around Bon - I am your father, I won’t be going anywhere, etc.

It’s a self serving love but he does care for her. In the flashback scene of younger Prushka, we see Bon encouraging her desire to explore (even bringing her Meinya), giving her considerable freedom to move around Ido Front, and we see Guera who seems to care for her quite a bit. Also notice the rope/chains which ward off the steps which Riko ends up climbing. In the flashback scene of Prushka’s childhood, there was no cordon and she ends up climbing them and nearly losing her humanity a second time. So that cordon must have appeared after she climbed - it made me imagine Bon and Umbra Hands, who are clearly not equipped to be good parents, realizing that they fucked up by not imparting this child with something that was basic knowledge to them (DO NOT CLIMB). So the cordon appears - to prevent Prushka from doing that again in a gesture of extra precaution. Now you could argue that Bon encourages Prushka to grow as a human being only because it suits his ends - the abyss will only grant the blessing when the sacrifice is a human one and it needs to ‘read’ Prushka as a human being. Remember she has already had two ascension accidents that lead her to lose her sense of self. There’s a real question mark about whether the abyss will see her as human enough to count for Bon’s end goal.

But that’s the interesting thing about Bon - his manipulation is real but so his love. When Bon explains how Nanachi acquired the blessing, this is the translation in the film: the abyss does not just grant “curses”. There’s an effect I was unable to see because the strains were too great. As a matter of convenience, I call this the “blessing.” It is due to your deep spiritual connection to Mitty …your love and adoration, as it were - that your body received only the “blessing of the abyss.” I am going just by the movie translation (so manga readers chime in if this is different), but this clearly shows that the blessing requires 1) deep connection between both parties, and 2) the one who is to be blessed must love the one who is sacrificed. The fact that Bon got the blessing is the very proof of his love for Prushka. When Bon says to Prushka, before turning her into a cartridge, “as long as I have your love, I am immortal,” you see again that combination of love and manipulation. It’s a moving statement except it happens in a moment when the parent is doing something unforgivable to their child. Bon is not talking about the blessing (the movie translation has him using the present tense “I am” rather than the future tense “I shall be”) and I don’t think the blessing made nanachi immortal anyway. He assures Prushka again and again even when there is no scientific/rational need for it. During the surgery, he tells her “we shall be together forevermore.” Was there a NEED to say this? The reason this whole story is devastating is exactly because he loves her. We want monsters to think and act like monsters but what if they have human feelings? The same monster that gently holds Prushka’s hand during the surgery, the most human gesture one can make towards another in pain, is also the one that asked for that hand to be removed. This is what makes him so scary.

And that’s the continuing tragedy of the Made in Abyss story world. Bon sacrifices the one he loves (whom he raised as a sacrifice) all for the briefest of time - no sooner is he blessed than Riko and Reg tear his body apart. Was the sacrifice of his child worth it? Would he consider it worth it if he knew it was going to be for that brief period? Furry Bon says “preparations for the next two thousand years are complete” - but is that still true after the loss of the blessed body? Or has all that work being lost? Considering the overall dark bent of this story, it would not surprise me if it was all for nothing. When furry Bon and Nanachi exchange last words, it almost felt like Bon gives over charge to the children and concedes his own ambitions to theirs. He is so gentle, encouraging, and kind in that last exchange that it is hard to believe the devastation the children have surely wrought upon him and it is in Prushka’s consciousness that we get a hint of it (“Papa’s pain… his feelings… are flowing into me”). To carry on the priest/spiritual analogy, Bon has sought the blessing of the abyss for so long (and blessing in religious terms means you are closer in some way to a divine power and/or been validated by it) and that blessing was granted AND taken away in a moment’s span. The abyss is a temperamental god, if it is one. Is it worse that he was blessed in this vile way? And is it worse still that he lost the blessed body? I think Nanachi comes closest to understanding Bon’s loss, and is both horrified and empathizes. Remember Nanachi’s line trailing off: “I’ve long dreamed off the day we kill each other in battle, and yet…” They have lost their desire for retribution. The person who can best understand what Nanachi felt after Mitty was cursed is now the very person who caused it all to happen in the first place. When Bon places his hand on Nanachi’s shoulder and they look eye to eye, I think there’s a shared sense of understanding. The cracked mask at the end of the film and the brilliant, human, green eye staring out are definitely saying something about how the seemingly impenetrable mask has been cracked open.

A few minutes later at the end of the film, the closing song picks this up: Each time that I lose something precious/ I know that there may never be an end to / The price that we pay for our dreams / It can never be repaid / To carry on is to carry a burden.

Prushka as white whistle

I find Prushka turning into a white whistle interesting given Bon’s character. Did he anticipate/intend for this? Would he have known that Riko was coming without a white whistle? Possibly. I am speculating but I think the difference between the blessing and white whistle might be important here. Both require human sacrifice, validated by the abyss. The white whistle can be made by sacrificing one’s life for oneself (the way Bon makes his own) but I think that is an oddity and both transformations require two people to work as intended. This is all conjecture on my part but I think that they are grounded in different impulses. Mitty takes on the curse so that Nanachi can survive (and the abyss hence gives Nanachi a new form that will enable that objective). But the white whistle stems from one’s desire to explore, and to carry on exploring even at the moment that the body is at its mortal limits. In fact there is an intense desire to live, so that you can explore, and exploring is what gives meaning to your life. That intertwined desire to live and explore create the white whistle (“life reverberating” stone) and also called “your worth”. The worth of the dying person measured by the abyss AND the worth of the person to whom the white whistle entrusts itself as the inheritor of their will. Prushka’s last conscious thought is “after all, we are gonna go on adventures together.”

In both the blessing and white whistle, the abyss gives the sacrificed person what they desire most, at considerable cost to their humanity, but the blessing is based on ascension and the white whistle on descent. The blessing, because it enables special vision of how the curse operates, could theoretically enable the blessed to carefully ascend in places where the curse is weak (such as away from the central shaft) and because the blessed body is better adapted now. I think this is based on the desire of the sacrificed person for their loved one to survive the abyss (and how better to do that then to ascend away from the more dangerous layers or to visualize the curse better). But the white whistle enables one to descend (literally the Ido Front elevator) and explore deeper into the abyss by activating special relics. Two people are ideally needed in the white whistle equation: one sacrifice and one to inherit their will (in the form of the white whistle) enabling both to go on. It is funny, in a morbid way, that Bon’s process is again so self centered. He sacrifices himself for the white whistle, which can then be used by himself (because of the zoaholic) and then raises his own sacrifice for his blessing.

I think Mitty could never have turned into a white whistle in the elevator - for one, the most important thing in her mind is that she can ensure Nanachi is safe. Bon tells her clearly “if you die partway through, your partner will also be hit with the curse.” At the moment, there is no thought about her own longing to explore, to live, etc etc. Even the primal human instinct for self-preservation is overridden because Nanachi takes priority over everything. The abyss asks for a lot, for absolute love infact, for the blessing to be granted. But in Prushka’s case, two desires (to be with her father, and to carry on adventuring) are present. It is hard to say whether Bon planned for this, but it certainly feels like he set up the conditions: telling Prushka to make friends with the ones who are coming, creating an artificial bond with Riko before her arrival so they can resonate with each other (“she is also the daughter of a white whistle”), and most crucially NOT USING the elevator when he decided Prushka was ready. It has been bothering me that he turned her into a cartridge first rather than take her into the elevator when both have the same result and the elevator would have been quicker. Some part of me wants to think that the elevator would have caused Prushka more pain (the Mitty scenes are horrific) while he can control how much pain she is in during the surgery. Also perhaps even he could not bear to watch his child turn into narehate and to live trapped in that form. As a cartridge, her lifespan is very very finite and at one point he tells Nanachi and Riko that he will “release” Prushka - so keeping her alive in a mutilated form never seems to have been his intention. Of course this could be me reading redemptive values into this deeply messed up character.

AND YET Prushka would not have become a white whistle if indeed he had taken her on the elevator. The narehate created in that process seem to lack any coherent thought process and are no longer human. I dont think the narehate in Bon’s garden could become white whistles. As a cartridge, Prushka retains her most essential consciousness, senses, and human desires (this is required for how cartridges operate). She is still a human being even in that form thus the abyss reads her wishes at the very end of her life and she is transformed into a white whistle. In the darkest fashion, Bon satisfied his goals and Prushka’s wishes at the same time, enabled her to take a form that cannot be touched by the horrors of the abyss and put her alongside a companion who resonates her will. Happy ending, Made in Abyss style ☠️☠️☠️

The million dollar question to end this: if the situation were reversed for whatever reason, could Bon have taken on the curse and imparted the blessing to his daughter? (The answer is a resounding no for me. I don’t think his love for anything or anyone transcends what he feels for the abyss. Bon could only ever make a transformation into a white whistle which is all about exploring further and deeper. In every scenario possible, Bon would sacrifice her and then carry the burden of her loss himself (see lyrics below).

And finally, here are the lyrics for Forever Lost, which plays at the end of the film. This is absolutely Bon’s song to me (as much as it could speak to other dwellers) because of the references to praying (something Riko, Reg, or Nanachi never do, in fact Riko takes a dump in the altar in the elevator where Bon has been lighting incense):

Each time that I lose something precious

I know that there may never be an end to

The price that we pay for our dreams

It can never be repaid
To carry on is to carry a burden

Even if it’s to lose to fear
I won’t turn back

In the white light, we're praying for the lost

For our grief, for our pain

To the white light, we're praying for the lost

So we try to find solace, empty hands together

In the white light, we're going down this road

For our hope, for our fate

To the white light, we're going down this road

My journey has to go on with you

In the white light, we're praying for the lost

To the white light, we're praying for the lost

I'll take all of your wishes and your dreams

In your place, in memory

Give me all of your wishes and your dreams

I'll take all that you left and realize it for you

In the white light, we're going down this road

For our hope, for our fate

To the white light, we're going down this road

My journey has to go on with you

We will remember the days

Our past will live on forever,

As we strive towards our future

The sadness never disappears


It just becomes a part of us, deep inside

[buttered-milky]

https://youtu.be/XqXZ0tJppok?si=kF5httv3agxyOzqe

Messmer can actually turns into a snake it's his original form, and he looks soo abused and neglected maybe because of the seal?

Eeeee okay so. The summon he uses a: appears to have more blood and/or burn wounds on it. and b: otherwise has most of its scales and doesn’t have the transparency effect I thought it had like the winged serpents!! Also there’s a bunch of eyeballs all over the place but we’ll get to those later.

Burn wounds are pretty straightforward and also interesting since they imply either the serpent fucked around and found out (Messmer burned it) or the serpent fucked around and found out (burned itself like an idiot, not surprising in the slightest for snakes since they miss prey strikes all the time and are, in my humble snake owner opinion, some of the dumbest creatures you’ll ever meet. Curious yes. But also. Idiots)

The snake Messmer turns into has much deeper wounds and scarring on it than just the summon of the abyssal serpent. This snake also appears to have a blind right eye (note for any reptile keepers who care: not the temporary blindness that comes with shedding). Its body is very misshapen and there are scales trying to protrude along the spine, and in several places where there don’t appear to be any wounds the scales are just…missing. This is as expected not good for snakes! They need those scales! I am honestly not quite sure how to interpret the overlapping layers of scales in some places. Like sometimes it looks like a shedding issue but also it seems like it’s the attempts of two souls trying to occupy one body? Also missing shed transparency effect! Idk what the hell was going on in my brain or if it was just lighting but I was sooooo fucking sure of the shed buildup. I was also really tired though and don’t care. The visual read was still fun. It can be a headcanon to me <3

So on those thoughts of it being two souls trying to occupy one body. What strikes me about this design is that some of the wounds look like bite scarring you’d see from live prey fighting your snake back. Again, this is a thing entirely avoidable with good husbandry (don’t live feed unless absolutely necessary). The scales to me still imply shedding has gone very wrong at some point. You’d expect to see shedding heal and scar over these wounds, but they’re all fresh. Very symbolic. You can’t heal violence by just pretending it doesn’t exist.

Ideally when a snake is wounded, you do routine care to help them with sheds and make sure the wound is clean. The scales will grow back and the wound will scar, but it will take several sheds and consistent work! You cannot, as Marika tried to do, just put a bandaid on it. You also can’t just lock a snake in a cage it will hurt itself trying to get out of (ie messmer himself) and expect that to go even remotely well.

Some of this feels like visual symbolism of self-hatred. Like I said, the base serpent looks like it’s gotten in a fight. With its host. Some of it also feels like visible neglect (ie the wounds not being healed, missing scales)

I’m gonna discuss the eyeballs bc I fuck w them immensely. First of all congrats Messmer on having an Eldritch Horror in ur body. Second of all, all these eyes appear to have lids. Actual snakes don’t. They have hard eye caps instead and cannot blink. Some of the eyes seem like they might not be able to blink, but the scales around them are still more closed than you’d expect? I fuck with it. Fits with Messmer’s blindness motif which maybe I’ll make a post on eventually. But in regards to the base serpent specifically, of course violence can afford to close its eyes and be blind to who it chooses to hurt. Violence is also something that, when committed, always seems to haunt you. Its gaze will always be there.

It’s interesting that Marika replaced Messmer’s eye to seal the serpent off, and so maybe it grew more eyes? That could be why the scales around them aren’t correct—they’re trying to protrude from the body. This occurs in both the summon and the physical snake form Messmer has. Repression of identity = Eldritch horrors? Sure I’ll take that fromsoft.

Final thing on the eyes. They’re red, not green. The winged serpents have green eyes, Elden Ring’s color of endurance. Super fitting! The abyssal serpent’s eyes are all red, the color of rot and death in this game. Red to me also feels primordial given its use in lightning by the dragons, but I digress. It’s pretty obvious why a base serpent would have base powers. This thing is old as fuck.

Okay. I’m sure you all thought the post was done but one last note on snake biology! So, snakes’ tongues retract into their mouth. When a snake opens their mouth you won’t see a forked tongue just curled up, hanging out. It’s in a little pocket for safe keeping :)

Neither of the base serpent’s forms appear to have the anatomy for this, since there are eyeballs replacing this anatomy. This is problematic for Messmer in a snake form specifically since he’s blind, and real snakes compensate for shitty vision by having an incredibly strong sense of smell. Messmer’s snake form also doesn’t have the heat pits that the abyssal serpent has. Heat pits are another part of snake anatomy, usually located below the nostrils, and are what they use to “see” heat and locate prey. In pythons (like the winged serpents) you’ll see multiple heat pits all in a row above the lip as opposed to the single very deep pit behind and below the nostrils in vipers. This single pit is what the base serpent (summon) has. Neither Messmer’s base serpent form nor his winged serpents have heat pits which is…interesting. It could be a modeling error but I don’t think so given base serpent has very clear heat pits.

My point is, Messmer is somehow even more blind than you’d expect from a snake. Maybe this makes sense given Messmer carries an internal fire, which would likely fuck with infrared? Still interesting nonetheless.

In summary: The base serpent alone (summon) seems overall in better shape than its other form (transformation). I think this is pretty straightforward symbolism—as a being on its own the serpent would probably be fine. It’s just that it uses Messmer as a host and this causes issues. Fuck around and find out I guess, base serpent.

And holy shit Messmer Cannot fucking see. Good luck with the seeing eye snakes babe because snakes notoriously have shit vision !

(Also just an aside both of the base serpent forms kind of have narrower faces than you’d see on a real snake? Like they’re more eel like to me. Anyways.)

[derww]

CW: Hallucinations (?), light suicidality (??), the chthonic deity (!)

After another sleepless night, new death, and several hours of bedrock breaking, when Leo finally sees the void, his hands are shaking so much that he can barely hold a piston. He is at his lowest point, ready to do anything for a desperate and insane attempt, and he leans over the hole in the bedrock and sees nothing and, at the same time, absolutely everything. 

Everyone sees something of their own in the abyss. And at this moment, waging a devastatingly losing war, feeling absolutely everything falling out of his hands, Leo sees salvation in it. The solution to all his problems. A way to finally kill Flame.

"It's scary," he comments to himself with a chuckle. He had to be careful with that. He can't die. Not again. And it would be so easy to make a mistake right now. Loosen control for a moment and let the exhausted body finally give up. But he still had a mission. He had a purpose.

When he looks down again, he sees the moon and stars in the void. He really wants to touch them, but he can't. Void fog swirls around him in curly clouds. He squints a little harder.

The world has been cruel to you, something says with understanding. Even his hallucinations pitied him. He laughs. He just needs to get over it. It will be easier from now on. He will cease to be a shadow of himself. 

"Oh, it wasn't cruel to me," he replies carelessly, knowing that at this height he can't be heard from spawn, "but it's definitely praying for my fall. But I don't fucking care. I am better. I will win."

The beauty of emptiness is that it is obsolete, the voice mumbles knowingly. No matter how strong the enemy is, they will be helpless. There is nothing to stop demise. 

He stops to look into the void again. This time he hallucinates bursts of color and movement in it. He blinks and sees eyes instead of myriad stars. Every one of them is staring at him. His throat is dry.

"Even the strongest fighter is afraid of the void, because they know that there is no way back," he replies, and before his eyes, he sees himself carelessly jumping into the voidhole only to realize that the pain does not stop in any way. "An immortal player can survive almost any trap, but he will not be able to survive nothingless.".

The voice laughs – not at him, but it seems to find his words fascinating. He feels an invisible touch on his palm, smeared in soot and fog.

An infinitely long night awaits you, the voice states. Let me help you a little, and you will sacrifice to me that mortal god whose death you so long for in return. 

A wave of cold hits him – and all the fatigue washes away, and his hands stop shaking, and his vision becomes clearer than ever.

"What the fuck,"  he whispers, examining himself, "what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck." His body is much lighter now, but at the same time it doesn't seem to belong to him completely.

Take your revenge, the voice booms, and create a feast for me. Let me taste the soul of an immortal demon. And then the next time you need my help, I'll show you the way.

He says a lot of words after, but none of them change anything. The Abyss is immortal, she was born before the universe appeared, she staged countless wars and reaped their fruits, she gave inspiration to the smartest of the smartest and had long conversations with them, she called the lost and took payment from them, and he and his words, in the big picture of things, did not play any role, because he could say anything, but he had to kill Flame, and that was where their interests converged.

Bedrock would almost give in to him, breaking like wet clay, and the further he goes on, the more he covers up. And even though he still feels her constant presence, Abyss no longer calls him because she has already said everything she wanted.

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Hey!! Thanks so much for writing my previous request! I'm so glad you liked it. I was quite nervous requesting it because I didn't know if you'd like the concept or if it would make sense or not but I'm really happy that you did. And I absolutely loved it!! Made me incredibly giddy to see that the prompt struck you! I'm wondering if you'd be open to me requesting another piece for Alfie using the general concept below? (Again, no pressure what so ever):

Alfie is a man that has had near death experiences several times throughout his life, but this time he thinks will be the last. That is until he feels himself being dragged across the cold cobblestone steps to the last place he'd ever think would be a safe haven for him.

Could this kind of be like where him and reader aren't exactly on amicable terms. It's a love/hate relationship (emphasis on the hate, lol). And when he asks why they saved him, they're just like: "didn't save you. Just prolonged your death. I told you before, no one has claim to kill you except for me."

Sorry if that didn't make too much sense. Basically a GN!Reader X Alfie Solomons enemies to (kinda) lovers but you sure as shit can't mess with the other, because that right is only reserved for them. "No one can kill you but me" are the vibes of their relationship.

(And if you don't mind, I'll use this as my identifier: 🥀.) Thanks again and I love, love, love your work ♥️!

- 🥀

Mine to Kill - Alfie Solomons x GN!Reader ONESHOT

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3120

Warnings: blood, stitching someone up

Summary: (The request)

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I'm so happy you liked the last story. This was such a cute request, I love me some good ol' playful enemies to lovers. I'm so happy I'm able to identify you now! I look forward to more requests from you and everyone else. Hope you all enjoy 🥀💚

Alfie Solomons had waltzed with death on so many occasions that it felt as though he were an unwilling partner in a ceaseless, macabre dance. Every encounter with an enemy had etched its mark upon him, leaving deep scars not only on his body but on the recesses of his soul. The specter of death had become a relentless companion, its chilling fingers tracing the contours of his existence, staining it with a darkness that refused to fade. He had grown increasingly intimate with the concept of mortality, his dance with the reaper a relentless walts of agony and survival.

Yet, on this bitter, moonless night in Camden town,It was as if the universe itself had conspired to stage the conclusion of his life. The air was filled with an eerie stillness, the kind that precedes a storm. His blood flowed like a river unleashed from a dam, an unrelenting torrent from a vicious wound in his side. The bloodstains on the cobblestone steps formed a haunting picture, each drop a reminder of his unyielding struggle against a relentless destiny.

As he lay there, trapped in death's clutches, Alfie's reality shifted into a murky haze, where the lines between truth and illusion were as hazy as the fading memories of a man on the brink of the unknown. It was in this fragile moment, suspended between life and death, that his once-unshakable resolve, the very foundation upon which he had built his existence, flickered like a candle in the midst of a relentless storm.The boundary between his will to survive and the tempting embrace of surrender blurred, and doubt infiltrated his once unshakable self-assurance.

The looming darkness was unlike anything he'd ever known, its presence echoing with the ominous promise of an ending too final, too absolute to contemplate. Here, at this very moment, there was no escaping the inevitable, and Alfie could feel the cold breath of death, its embrace closing in, a meeting he could no longer avoid. It was the eternal silence that called to him, an abyss that left no room for defiance.

Struggling for each labored breath, Alfie's thoughts raced through the haze of pain, a singular name repeating in his mind like a mantra. Y/n. Their connection was a puzzle, a relentless source of frustration that had left them perpetually at odds. But amidst the chaos of the moment, as life teetered on the precipice, he couldn't deny the conviction that she would be the one to aid him, as contradictory as their relationship had always been.

Alfie was aware of the aggressive dynamic that had plagued their relationship for years. Their history was marked not by tender moments, but by the bitter taste of blood and the sting of betrayal. They were no strangers to confrontation; it seemed like every encounter ended with the exchange of harsh words or even harsher blows. Yet, beneath the layers of animosity and hostility, there was an inexplicable connection that both frustrated and mystified him. It was a connection he couldn't quite put into words, a magnetic pull that drew them together in their most volatile moments.

As he lay there, fading in and out of consciousness, Alfie found himself yearning to see the reader one last time. It was an inexplicable desire, considering the countless times they had been at each other's throats, and the disdain that had characterized their interactions. But in this desperate moment, he couldn't help but wish for a final encounter, a chance to unravel the enigma that was their relationship. Perhaps in that ultimate confrontation, he would finally understand the complex web of emotions that had kept them bound together, a love-hate bond that transcended reason and defied explanation.

The cobblestone under him seemed to vibrate with the approaching footsteps, but Alfie couldn't be sure if it was the real world or a fevered dream playing tricks on his battered senses. Everything appeared in blurred fragments, a distorted reality that left him questioning the very existence of the shadowed figure that loomed over him.

His groggy consciousness barely registered the arrival, and a voice, cool and unfeeling, echoed above him. It conveyed disappointment, a palpable sense of something having gone awry, but there was no hint of surprise. The voice seemed to hang in the air, an ominous punctuation to his dire situation. 

"Uh, shit..." The voice spoke.

Alfie could barely hear them, the words slurred and fragmented. It was as if the world had tilted on its axis, and he had been thrust into a surreal nightmare where nothing was certain, not even the identity of the enigmatic presence that had dragged him from the brink of oblivion.

Alfie's senses were jolted as he felt his body being lifted off the unforgiving floor. It was a moment of profound disorientation, where the boundary between life and death blurred into obscurity. He couldn't discern whether it was the cold grip of death or the desperate strength of another person that held him aloft.

As he dangled in the hazy threshold of consciousness, Alfie's ears caught the sound of a struggle, the grunts and shuffles of someone grappling with the weight of his imposing frame. The voice that accompanied the struggle, tinged with irritation and a touch of begrudging admiration, cut through the disorienting fog that enveloped him.

"You big bastard," the words were growled out, spoken by someone who seemed simultaneously exasperated by the burden they were shouldering and oddly proud of their own audacity. It was a phrase that seemed to encapsulate the entirety of their complex relationship, where contempt and grudging respect danced on the knife's edge, much like the precarious balance between life and death that Alfie now found himself in.

Agony pulsed through every fiber of Alfie's being as his body protested the movement, and his head throbbed mercilessly as he was gingerly lifted from the harsh floor and placed onto a plush couch. The world around him remained a blur, but gradually, the mist lifted, revealing his surroundings. It was unmistakably Y/n's workshop, a place of mystery and ingenuity, and an unexpected haven for someone like him.

As his vision cleared, a spark of comfort surged through his heart. He could see the enigmatic figure approaching once more, their presence a reassuring beacon in the midst of his disorienting ordeal.

"Well, hello, darling," Alfie's voice emerged as a slurred drawl, his signature cockiness managing to persist even in his vulnerable state.

His gaze fixed upon them, a mixture of appreciation and something deeper, an emotion he couldn't quite put into words. The connection between them, the push and pull of their tumultuous history, was something that defied logic, but in that moment, it was a lifeline he clung to with a strange sense of gratitude.

Even in the haze that clouded his vision, Alfie could discern the unmistakable signs of irritation etched across Y/n's face. The furrowed brow, the narrowing of their eyes – it was a silent but vivid testament to their exasperation.

"Who did you fucking piss off this time, Solomons?" they demanded, their voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and a hint of genuine concern. The history between them had been fraught with clashes, but there was an undeniable thread of connection that bound them together, and it was in moments like these that it became evident, lurking beneath the layers of frustration.

A faint, wry smile tugged at the corners of Alfie's lips as he admitted, his words a mumbled confession, "Uh... who bloody knows, yeah." He genuinely couldn't recall the specifics of the latest debacle that had brought him to the brink of death. It was as if his life had been a never-ending cycle of chaos and conflict, a whirlwind that left him perpetually disoriented.

Y/n's frustration softened for a moment, replaced by a peculiar mixture of amusement and exasperation. It was a dance they had performed many times before, a tango of clashing personalities and insurmountable history. And yet, in that moment, there was an unspoken understanding that transcended words, a connection that defied the chaos that surrounded them.

Y/n's sigh was heavy with the weight of their shared history, an exasperated breath that spoke of the countless times they had found themselves in these predicaments. With a careful grace that contrasted sharply with the frustration they felt, they crouched down beside Alfie.

Alfie observed their every move, his vision clearing as they worked. In their capable hands, they held a pair of scissors, glinting menacingly in the dim light of the workshop. With deliberate precision, Y/n cut through the fabric of Alfie's shirt, baring his battered body to the cool air of the workshop. It was a vulnerable moment, one that was laden with an odd mix of intimacy and tension, as Y/n's actions conveyed a silent promise to save him once more from the brink of death.

"Fucking hell, Solomons, you're a proper mess," Y/n muttered, their tone a mixture of concern and exasperation as they assessed the extent of the massive wound on Alfie's side. It was a gruesome sight, and even they couldn't help but wince at the severity of it.

Alfie, never one to miss a beat, managed a raspy laugh despite the searing pain that coursed through his body. "No different from what you've done to me," he quipped, a crooked smile playing on his lips before it dissolved into a fit of coughing and wheezing, each painful breath serving as a testament to the brutal existence they shared.

Y/n carefully poured a bowl of water, their movements deliberate and steady. They selected a clean cloth and dipped it into the cool liquid before gingerly placing it against the wound. The cloth's touch brought a searing sensation, and Alfie clenched his teeth to stifle any signs of weakness. The area around the injury was inflamed, and each cleansing stroke sent an intense sting shooting through him.

Alfie's jaw tightened, his eyes squinting against the pain. He refused to show any sign of vulnerability. It was an unspoken rule between them - an understanding that they could hurt each other in countless ways, but showing weakness was not an option.

Y/n's unwavering focus was palpable in the air. With a calm and methodical demeanor, they retrieved a gleaming needle and carefully sterilized it by passing it through the flickering flame of a lit candle. The sharp, metallic needle glowed briefly before it was ready for use, a testament to their meticulous care.

Next, they selected a spool of sturdy thread, their nimble fingers expertly looping and securing the ends. With practiced precision, they began to stitch Alfie up. The needle pierced his skin with surprising ease, each stitch closing the gaping wound. It was a delicate dance between the needle and thread, an act of healing that defied the brutality of their history.

Alfie couldn't help but admire their skill, even as the pain pulsed through him. Their hands were steady, and their concentration unbroken, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the bond between them and the gentle cadence of the needle as it wove its way through his skin.

With a careful hand, Y/n applied a soothing ointment to the freshly stitched wound. The cool, medicinal balm brought a sense of relief, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Alfie's tense expression relaxed just slightly. It was a brief respite in the midst of their tumultuous existence.

As they leaned back and examined Alfie's form, it was impossible to deny the stark reality. He did look half-dead, his pallor ashen, and his features etched with exhaustion. The wounds on his body told the tales of countless battles, both won and lost. It was a poignant reminder of the price they paid for the life they led, where danger lurked around every corner, and survival was often a matter of sheer luck and resilience.

Alfie's gaze shifted toward Y/n, his one good eye studying them intently. Despite his battered state and limited vision, he found himself unable to look away, an unspoken admiration for them welling up within him.

In that moment, he saw them in a new light. Their determination, their skill, and their unwavering commitment to his survival were nothing short of extraordinary. Alfie was no stranger to the rough and unforgiving world they both navigated, and it was often a place where trust was scarce. Yet, here was Y/n, the one person who could claim the right to his life, saving him once more.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of respect, a sense of gratitude that transcended the complexities of their relationship. It was an unspoken acknowledgment that, despite their many battles, they shared a bond that defied the odds and kept them bound together.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Alfie managed to find his voice, his words punctuated by a mixture of agony and exasperation. "Why in God's name did you save me?" he demanded, his voice a barely audible whisper, but his frustration was palpable.

In the dimly lit workshop, their eyes met, an unspoken challenge passing between them. The question hung in the air, laden with the weight of their complicated history. It was a question that cut to the core of their relationship, a puzzle neither of them had ever quite managed to solve.

The reader's eyes, devoid of any warmth, locked onto his, their icy gaze holding him captive. Their voice, as cold as the steel of a blade, sliced through the tense silence. "I didn't save you," they declared, their words sharp and unforgiving, as they leaned in closer. "I simply postponed your inevitable death. I’ve told you countless times, Alfie," they continued with a cruel smile, "no one, absolutely no one, has the right to end your life except for me." 

The words hung in the air like an unbreakable decree, the chilling declaration of their twisted connection. It was a bond neither of them could fully comprehend, a love-hate relationship that defied all logic and left them entangled in a web of obsession and power.

Despite the bitterness that flavored their words, Alfie couldn't help but detect the undertones of twisted comfort and possessiveness woven into the tapestry of their relationship. With a cocky grin that seemed at odds with his battered state, he locked eyes with them.

"Jealous that someone else almost had the pleasure of taking me out?" he taunted, his words carrying a note of mischief amidst the pain. It was a twisted form of banter that they had perfected over the years, one that spoke to the strange bond between them. In that moment, as the workshop's shadows deepened around them, their connection was as undeniable as it was enigmatic.

Y/n shot back with a sardonic grin, their tone dripping with sarcasm as they began tidying up the makeshift operating area. "You bloody well know it," they retorted, their movements efficient and deft.

Alfie couldn't resist the opportunity for a playful jab. "Don't worry, love... I'm saving myself for you," he quipped, a devilish glint in his eye.

Their banter took an unexpected turn when Y/n, wearing an incredulous expression, couldn't resist poking at the newly stitched wound, causing Alfie to grimace in pain. "You are so bloody obsessed with me," they accused, a mixture of exasperation and amusement coloring their words.

Alfie met their accusation with a half-offended look. "And why the fuck would you think that?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Y/n chuckled, their eyes locking onto his. "Come on, Solomons, you practically passed out on my doorstep. Your ass dragged yourself here," they pointed out with a shake of their head. "You're completely and utterly obsessed with me." It was a statement that held a strange kind of truth, one that neither of them could deny.

Amid the playful tension, Alfie's mind was flooded with flashback. The clashes, the power struggles, and those rare moments of begrudging understanding flickered like fragmented images in his mind. In those recollections, he couldn't help but acknowledge that, despite their vehement denials and ceaseless battles, they were undeniably linked by something enigmatic.

They were like two fierce elements in nature, forces of destruction and creation, forever locked in a volatile dance that defied easy categorization. Their connection was a riddle with no solution, a puzzle they could never fully solve, and yet it was the essence of what defined their relationship - a captivating enigma that kept them eternally entwined, two halves of the same turbulent whole.

A glimmer of levity broke through the intensity of their exchange. "You're mine, sunshine," Y/n quipped, their words laced with an odd affection.

Alfie's chuckle was a rare, genuine sound amidst the tension that usually enveloped them. "Fucking looks that way," he said with a half-smile, their shared history and complex connection making the playful banter all the more intriguing. The words, though lighthearted, held a deeper truth about the inexplicable bond that tied them together, a connection that refused to be severed.

An unspoken pact seemed to settle between them, a silent truce forged in the crucible of their shared experiences. Their eyes locked, each acknowledging the enigmatic connection that had both united and torn them apart over the years. It was as if their tumultuous past had culminated in this one moment, where they stood on the precipice of something undefined.

With a deliberate tenderness that was as rare as it was unpredictable, the reader's hand reached out, their fingers grazing Alfie's cheek. The touch was cool to the touch, as cold and unpredictable as the relationship they shared. It was a gesture that defied easy interpretation, a hint of a deeper connection that refused to be denied, no matter how much they clashed or how much they tried to push each other away.

"If I find you still here in the morning," Y/n warned, their fingers still caressing Alfie's cheek, "you're dead." The threat hung in the air, laden with both menace and a strange kind of intimacy. 

Alfie responded with a sly grin that was half defiant and half affectionate. "And I wouldn't have it any other way," he retorted, a declaration that underscored the complex nature of their relationship.

With a smile that held a hint of something deeper than just the banter they usually engaged in, Y/n turned and walked away, leaving Alfie on the couch. Their footsteps echoed through the cavernous space, a reminder that, despite the tumultuous dance they shared, there was a bond that neither of them could easily sever.

-

A/N: thank you for reading and I hope you all enjoyed, again, thank you for the request 🥀. I look forward to more :)

[sugarstarlights]

Madison Altair opens his eyes after falling asleep and immediately makes several consecutive expressions of displeasure. The environment he finds himself in is a twisted form of his previous containment, his apartment without walls and minimilized , opened up to the abyss with nothing but an open door and an absolutely shredded green couch in the center of the room, destroyed by perfectly straight lines torn open to expose stuffing and structure. Splayed out on the couch is a mangled, splintered wooden puppet in his likeness, eyes colorless and a soft sobbing noise coming from its mouth. Flinching hard as he hears the sound, Mads grips the hand that manifests in his tightly the moment he can, needing his primary source of grounding faster than he thought he would. It indicates something terrifying: Sarandiel, at this moment, wants him to suffer more than anything.

Taking a deep, steady breath as he scans the room, Mads picks a point on the black and white marbled sharp-edged floor supporting the couch and focuses hard on the details of something he owns, something he wills to be here for the sake of his own fairly arbitrary desire. It's a warmup, in part, to make sure he still has the ability to manifest in this place like he could before, and it works, a tripod and relatively magical video camera arranged appearing to watch the room from the lack of wall to his left, a hopefully panoramic view for this facedown. He grins with a small reflexive fist pump as the recording starts, satisfied with his success.

---- (viewed ic) ----

The view shows Mads Altair and Cookie glaring down the room, the former bearing a blue suit, shining gold wings and even brighter golden hands. The room in question drips from dark nowhere with viscous black strings, the void beyond increasingly filled with opening, focusing green eyes, some appearing as light and others far more realistic, inconsistent in shade and occasionally shaking in rage as they centralize their awareness on this space again, and the beings who have dared to return.

The puppet on the couch rises on its green strings, hanging rather than standing in its half-connected pieces but its glowing green eyes focused on the pair of men.

”Puppet, my puppet, you return, have you come to throw yourself at my mercy?—” The droning voice echoing from the open hinged mouth cuts short, almost seeming to flinch, many of the surrounding eyes growing wider. “No…What is this divinity? What are you? An angel with a powerful soul is still only human in nature—”

“None of the above, jackass!”

This bold interruption sparks the figurative flame of how he feels about them. Deep, bitter rage rises in Madison Altair's throat as they call him that /fucking word/, his magic-supported mind pushing away the pain it triggers to give the young divinity room to gain strength to avenge its cruel intention instead. Their intentional string pulls are just another reason to get them the Hell out of here.

“I'm a god too right now, strong enough to keep your power out of my head, stronger than /you/ and your lame-ass, timeline-restrained, obsessively controlling domain, for sure!“ He wasn't sure, yesterday, but now, after lots of mantras, for the purposes of this, and maybe, if he can prove it, for the foreseeable future, Mads /knows/ he's stronger, better, and fully out of His god's reach.

They spend long enough silently uncomprehending of such a change that Mads takes the opportunity to keep taunting the puppet to its face, stepping aggressively forward and looking it in the eyes. “I had this place perfect and then you brought your shitty psychological torture chamber and gross personal problems into /my/ awesome space and fucked it all up.”

The lecture is so intense that the puppet actually flinches, though manages to insert a response before its matching soul continues. “You are no god, merely a pretender. This domain you call your '/awesome space/' is mine; theft does not alter ownership, and I have every right to reclaim it.”

“No you fucking don't. If you wanted it back you shoulda said so back when I got it, months ago, fully on accident, y'know; I didn't steal your shit on purpose, it wasn't even /hard/.” He laughs in their face and shoves the puppet bodily, taking a stomping step forward. From where his foot makes contact with the marbled floor a pulse of purple light emanates outward, making several brighter green eyes flinch shut. Spreading from under his foot, the surface starts to turn solid, vivid Mads Altair Purple, an effect that immediately draws every eye's attention. The god can feel intense divinity surging through him, connecting with the metaphysical material he's already so familiar with and with every confident word saturating it with his own soul, entirely displacing the other god's temperate, unresisting passive energy with his intense and willful power.

”It was in /my/ soul all this time, I can change it as well as you can, and now I'm going to claim it properly, my friend told me how. Because my friends are smarter than you, and gave me everything I need to evict your ass. Here's 1 of those objective facts you love: this piece of the Astral Plane belongs to me and me alone, and there's nothing you can do about it.“ Mads Altair lets go of his grounding point and steps firmly forward again, another footprint of color staking his claim, and tosses the puppet aside bodily, its strings following. Considering a moment, he turns to the couch, hands in his pockets, and kicks it over with 1 foot and a loud thud. He always hated that fucking couch, and it's not as satisfying as it should be to see it destroyed like that.

”It's /mine/. End. Of. Story.“

The couch dissolves into purple sparks when the growing patches of colored floor spread beneath it at a steady pace, and Mads looks up at the darting, panicked eyes with a dark, smug grin. ”So this is our opposing forces of will, huh? What's wrong, getting nervous? Not so sure if you're in control anymore? Good! You're not. Now get out of my fucking way.“

He doesn't need to reach down and put his hands to the surface of the plane like he did before; with this power, he doesn't even need to make further contact. All it takes is Mads Altair raising his hands and slamming them fisted downward with intent to cause another shockwave of increasingly dense sparks to radiate around him, not just coloring the floor now but spreading beyond it, expanding into the previously vast, open area Sarandiel had turned into an awful little box. It grows beyond the cramped vicinity of the eyes, all they can do is watch, and perhaps finally get a word in.

“You cannot possibly- this is not how it works, I will not permit it. I will NOT PERMIT IT--” Too shocked to actively resist, only now do they realize the firmness required to push back, but it's already too late.

Though the protesting puppet dissolves as well, the initial open door remains after everything, the green and white funnel within floating now at the far edge of the visible plane where it had been created. Reaching back to squeeze Cookie's hand again, Mads releases it and steps toward the door without hesitance or fear, under the deeply hateful gaze of dozens of eyes and with green strings of light extending towards him only to vaporize in his glowing aura.

“Alright, Sarandiel, you bastard, get the Hell out of my domain,” The god announces, eyes blazing like 2 suns in the sky, “And /don't come back/.”

The door is slammed near-violently shut without allowing Sarandiel another word, turns purple, and quickly dissolves into sparks. Every green eye floating in the void blinks out and in moments colored sparks come rushing back in from where they'd been repelled, gold, pink and purple clouds interrupting the dark. Brushing his hands together like he's cleaning them off, a massive, satisfied smirk on his face, Madison Altair turns back to the fully purple surface of the wide piece of Astral Domain that he's claimed, as well as his ecstatically proud boyfriend. Cookie waits only until Mads has thrown his arms in the air and cheered goofily at his own accomplishment to throw himself into the god's arms, pulling him into a passionate kiss that's onscreen for all of half of a second before the recording ends.

------------

Results are in! Friend-buffed Madison Altair is the cooler better stronger god! Christ I'm glad that went well or it could have really not. But it didn't! And it couldn't have. Because I did great and the place is all mine now and they're completely fucking gone. I'm gonna go have some celebratory ice cream cake. Don't worry about how I did the filming thing the camera isn't real anyways it's fine.

[shima-draws]

Ooh what’s Darker Destinies sounds interesting!

!! It’s my PMD AU!! It basically serves as a third installment to the PMD Sky plotline since it focuses on Giratina and the Distorted Realm (PMD-verse Distortion World basically lol). It’s got a lot of twists and is actually pretty dark for a PMD AU but it’s one of my all time favorites 🥰 When I first came up with the concept I had just finished watching Made In Abyss for the first time so that influenced it a lot. And it’s perfect bc the dungeon Giratina rules over in Sky is called World Abyss so I was like OH YO I can DEFINITELY use this haha

Long story short Pip gets whisked off to the Distorted Realm as just an extension of her soul, while her body remains in the real world. Chimchar asks Dialga to send him to the future so he can recruit the Future Trio—so they can help him figure out what’s going on with Pip and where she went. Meanwhile Pip starts running into lookalikes of her friends and realizes they’re from a different timeline where things did NOT end very well for them. Grovyle has become sort of a mercenary and adopted Dusknoir’s “survive no matter the cost” outlook, and has had his fair share of devastating losses (both his own Pip and Celebi being killed before they could go back to the past and retrieve the Time Gears). The guild is in shambles due to the world literally ending; they were forced to turn rogue, Chatot is dead and Chimchar took over as Guildmaster because Wigglytuff’s too emotionally distraught to lead. Everyone existing in the Distorted Realm is miserable and trying to kill each other and have turned even more dark and twisted than the Dark Future. It’s a MESS. But luckily Pip’s there to start getting things into gear and get everyone moving in the right direction. Starting with heading down into World Abyss (which, to the surface Pokemon, is considered to be an absolute death trap to be avoided at all costs) to meet with Giratina ;)

There’s a lot more going on in the AU but yeah it’s one I’ve had for a while! And one I’ve been wanting to work on more. If I could turn this into a ROM hack one day that would be SO neat

[yumeko2sevilla]

Yuukawa Aishiro_ traveller from neverland

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

"Let us all move forward without no turning back!"

_Yuukawa Aishiro_ Futuristical Traveller

Full Name: Yuukawa Aishiro

⤿Yuukawa (由宇河): A name of Japanese origin, combine between '由宇', meaning 'Reason, easve' and '河', meaning 'River'.

⤿Aishiro (愛白): A name of Japanese origin, combine between '愛', meaning 'Love' and '白', meaning 'White'.

Japanese: 愛白 由宇河

Other Names:

↳Yuukawa-san/Yuu-san_ By most

↳Yuuka_ By the first years + Kianisha (@/achy-boo)

↳Monsieur Rebelle_ Rook Hunt

↳Little Blue Whale_ Shironagasukujira-chan_ Floyd Leech

↳Melodious Rebels_ Dawn Libya (@/achy-boo)

↳Little DJ_ Tsukuyomi 'Shinonome'

↳My sweet DJ_ Yuzu Sakamaki (@/queen-of-ramshackle)

↳Aishiro_ Yukiharu Shirokami

Twisted From: None (Heavy inspiration from Yugo Asuma from Nijisanji EN and Aoi Miyake from D4DJ)

Voice Actor(s):

↳Japanese_ Authur Lounsbery_Kajiyama Fuuta_Milgram

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Age: 17 (Appearance Wise)_Unknown

Gender: Transmasc Non-Binary (He/Him Pronouns)

Species: Human

Birthday: May 14 (Taurus)

Height: 192 cm

Dominant Hand: Left

Hair Color: Obsidian Black_ Aquamarine Blue

Eye Color: Light Blue

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Homeland:___

Family: None

Dormitory: Sapphire Lake Dorm

Grade: Freshman

Class: 1-A_No. 28

Club: Light Music Club

Best Subject(s): Musicology, Alchemy

Favorite Food(s): Ramunes, Instant Noodles

Least Favorite Food(s): Raw Meat

Talent(s): Observant, Diverse Vocal Range, Mood Lighting Up, DJing, Absolute Pitch, Crochet, Charisma, Fashion Designing, Composing.

Hobbies: Singing, Sleeping, Listening to Musics, DJing, Crochet, Multilingualism

❝The DJ of Sapphire Lake Dorm. A first year who came from the future where everything became an apocalypse, he is known for his absolute pitch and friendly demeanor.❞

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───╯

┌──═━┈━═──┐

ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

As opposed as his appearance could be, Yuukawa is someone that is full of charms.

This DJ has the ability to light up the mood, even when they are in dire situations. With him in the room, the atmosphere will change drastically from gloomy and heavy to bright and happy right away! The raves that he held as the hosting DJ, are actually famous across Twisted Wonderland as well. Yuukawa is capable of making your days brighter than it could ever be, if you have him as a friend!

Even if you know him, Yuukawa can also be quite an emphatetic person. With his soothing voice and calm look, any of your worries will be fade away instantly. It's easy to talk to Yuukawa, and it's also easy for him to talk to you as well.

Yuukawa likes to crochet and gift things for people he loves. If you have something that he give to you, then congratulation, you have became his No.1 property! He likes to spread love, as he has.. quite a lot of it.

However,, Yuukawa is cold. Too cold.

He sometimes stares at the distance, pretending to hear you when in reality he isn't. He who will do anything for his beloved, even went as far as killing their tormentors. He whose his smiles doesn't quite touch his face. He who prefers to stay in solitude.

He, who has been pretending for so long.

Which is the real one, you wondered.

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

✬Unique Magic: Abyss's Futuristical Sounds (アビスの未来的なサウンド)

"Because we will go to the future, without regret or grief.. So let's go! Shout out your songs, for the show begins! Abyss's Futuristical Sounds!"

↳ The user is capable of distorting themselves out of reality through glitching. When do this, they release multiple soundwaves made by glitches that hurt the opponents badly, slices through everything and everyone. They can also manifest their soul into the Cyber World, allowing them to manipulate technology.

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

↳Background: ???

↳Yuukawa came from the future of Neo Twisted Wonderland, a world where Andrienne take control and ban all forms of entertainments. Androids are patrolling everywhere, capturing rebels. But being the notable DJ, Yuukawa disliked that greatly.

↳Yuukawa can speak Japanese, Vietnamese and a bit of Swedish.

↳He likes to drink boba teas and ramunes.

↳Yuukawa has been doing a project that he crocheted multiple beanies and gave it to everyone in NRC. With the help of Kuni, of course.

↳Yuukawa likes to wear croptops and jackets! Although he has a habit to let his jacket lower than intented..

↳Main Asethetic: Cyberpunk and Techcore

↳He likes everyone in the Sapphire Lake Dorm the most! Like, boy will do anything for them and them. Even.. killing others.

@writing-heiress @achy-boo [Sapphire Lake Dorm belonged to her] @queen-of-twisted @abyssthing198 @yukii0nna @kousaka-ayumu

[stellarcobweb]

have i ever mentioned tht whenever i think of the web i just go "thats just my mom?"

(putting a break in here bc after typing everything out, its more of a ramble than i thought it would be)

like. specifically in my own weird as hell way. as well as like *insert my conpantheon and soft polytheism, certain aspects and presentations can be forms that make it easier to talk to and influence humanity*

for whatever reason i look at like. moon/primordial void/mother as being very very VERY Web . using Smirkes detailing of the Fears (which . i think its a lot more nebulous than that but whatever)

also its DEEPLY funny to me that like. my system name for the longest time and even now tbh was Maratus, with collective name Mara for short. Maratus is the peacock spider genus

as well as my Thing abt weaving fate together, getting into tatting lace and crochet, wanting to get even more into like. honest to god spinning and weaving and knot magic and stitch magic in my practice

AND ALSO. final nail in THAT coffin. someone did an energy reading on me once and straight up got fullblown spider demon vibes off of me? w the concept of "you can literally spin ur own web" as something they noticed. which is just. FASCINATING.

+ my energy being called sticky and/or web-like on multiple occasions

like. thinking of terms that i would consider myself w the Fears that ARENT the spiral (bc i am first and foremost an Avatar of the Spiral).

Child of the Web feels a lot better than any of the others? bc im not a Victim, Avatar, or even really necessarily Marked imo. its just like. thats who created me? thats who made me and who built me out of nothing? thats who legit created my soul? if nobody has my back, i know my Mama has my back! its a more personal relationship than anything else honestly. just like. wholeass that is my Mother and i am absolutely my Mother's Child. you *could* consider me marked from birth but idk that doesnt feel OR sound right

(also im a pretty doll :) i mean Doll and dollself are legit. identity at this point. both for coping reasons and xenic reasons. in both marionette AND bjd ways. im not human! and have never ever felt human!)

+ Marked by the Lonely . bc yeah former Victim WOOOOO my childhood was AWFUL!

ik theres an Eye association w me but i have no idea what it is. shrug. research is my hobby and i legit live for doing it. also it def feels nice to chew on info when im researching, very satisfying. no i dont think im an Avatar, and im definitely not a Victim. the Eye just straight up doesnt scare me. tbh i think theres *potential* for Avatarhood fr me at some point but if it happens it happens idrc either way. i just exist!

...honestly Victim of the Corruption would also apply to me but i take a very "if i dont see it it doesnt exist" approach to that and its not anything active in my life . fr the most part. so shrug

YKNOW. the Dark would be called my parent too. i dont think of that part of things as often as i do my Mom but like. Child of the Dark also fits here. i mean . "Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow" is something that i take fully as identity. (yes thats a line from Landscape by Florence and the Machine). also it connects to my former beliefs abt Leviathan = soul parent and what is he but associated with the abyss, water, and darkness

ngl its also funny looking at that from the concept of like. my eyes practically cannot handle any direct sunlight. it hurts them so bad ;;v;; like my eyes are ridiculously sensitive to light and i have insanely good night vision somehow. i know literally nobody else like that. also the concept of the Void is deeply comforting actually. vantablack :)

also unrelated slightly but A Fathers Love is my favorite episode out of literally all of the ones ive heard on TMA. like its just the best one ever