#the culprit manifest

[zevrans-remade]

.

[vamptastic]

the kosher hotdogs have betrayed me

[papiliotao]

HOME SWEET HOME — neuvillette x reader

content: 13.3k words, lovers to exes to hopefully lovers again, reader goes to jail, mixed feelings (i hope i wrote them decently), murder, poison, lots of investigation

summary: a singular trial is all it takes to tear your world apart. after being framed for an atrocious crime, you're sent to the fortress of meropide by the decree of your own lover. however, as new evidence emerges years down the line, you're offered freedom at last — the only catch being that you must confront the real culprit (and your complicated feelings for the man who broke your heart).

a/n: merry (late?) christmas @https-sourlimes!! i'm your secret santa. i am SO sorry about the wordcount; i got carried away while writing. i really hope you enjoy! <3

Happiness is a fragile ephemerality.

One word is all it takes to set your world ablaze in a frenzy of roaring flames, once-comforting hues of warmth roaring in a final performance of oceanic havoc. A numb horror manifests in subtle shivers that wrack your body, piercing your very soul with its glacial frostbite. Echoes reverberate within your mind.

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

According to the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique D’analyse Cardinale, [name] is guilty.

Neuvillette’s words seem to ring in the air, long overstaying their welcome as they persist in a buzz of illusory ostinatos over a backdrop of stunned silence. No one stirs as the tragic tale of two star-crossed lovers unfolds before them. Instead, they watch with bated breath, never once daring to intervene, allowing every act of fate’s cruel masterpiece to play out in flawless tandem.

Nothing feels real until the moment the guards slip a pair of handcuffs around your wrists. Gradually, a sense of panic envelops your senses, prompting you to desperately turn to where Neuvillette had been standing. Fear begins to well up in the pit of your stomach.

You need his help.

But when your eyes land on the spot where your lover had once been, you find that he is all but gone.

Emptiness is all that remains as you’re escorted down to the depths of Meropide.

“Wriothesley,” you greet the man in front of you politely as you step into his office.

It’s only six in the morning, but you were unceremoniously dragged out of your bed earlier when you were informed that Wriothesley had sent for you. A few years ago, you would have complained about how rude it is to rouse someone from slumber without warning. However, after spending thousands of days in prison, you’ve grown to understand that societal norms have no place within the lifeless metallic walls of Meropide.

Everything runs on incentive alone. Coupons are all that matter within the underground prison, and as such, most inmates spare less than a thought towards moral obligations and frivolous sentiments. It’s a home for some of Fontaine’s most infamous criminals, for crying out loud! Only a fool would expect pleasantries to have any place in this bleak world.

Your train of thought is interrupted as Wriothesley gestures towards a chair in front of his desk.

“Take a seat, [name],” he says, his voice gruff yet comforting.

He’s been your only companion throughout your time in prison, as the other inmates have been a little too uncouth for your taste. Although Wriothesley tries to pretend he simply wants to be your friend, you know he has ulterior motives. You know the reason why he’s always checking up on you so often — why he’s been suspiciously interested in your day-to-day life.

Someone you’d rather not think about put him up to this.

Someone you used to love.

(You still remember the crystal raindrops that kissed your skin mere moments before you were taken underground. You wouldn’t put it past him to watch you from afar.)

“Is something up, Wriothesley?” you inquire.

The more he talks the better, you decide. Right now, anything is better than silence because silence is a harbinger of spiraling thoughts and unpleasant recollections. At the moment, you want nothing more than to drown the mantras gnawing at the edge of your conscience in a sea of cascading words.

“Brace yourself,” Wriothesley warns, “This is gonna be a tough one to stomach.”

You nod hesitantly. Wriothesley usually keeps your conversations lighthearted and casual, so you’re absolutely certain that he’s serious this time. His foreboding preface sends a slight shiver down your spine, but you steel your nerves and meet his gaze. Irises beaming with fading moonlight scan your eyes for any traces of hesitation, scrutinizing every sentiment that graces the windows to your soul.

“I’m ready,” you reassure him.

Although Wriothesley raises an eyebrow when he hears the tremble that unsteadily articulates your growing anxiety, he continues on. One thing about Wriothesley you’ve grown to appreciate is the fact that he never pries into your affairs (at least not openly).

“Alright,” he sighs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tension becomes tangible as momentary silence fills the atmosphere; it’s almost deceptively peaceful. Every transient second feels more akin to an eon spent in stagnation as suspense gnaws at your conscience. As much as you hope for the hush to dissipate with every fibre of your being, you also dread the moment your false utopia will shatter.

“Is it really that bad?” you make the mistake of asking Wriothesley.

The grimace that adorns his weary features tells you all you need to know. Before your mind can run through all the possibilities in a frenzied delirium of panicked theories, Wriothesley finally speaks up.

“It’s about him,” he clarifies.

You immediately know who he’s talking about.

It’s funny. A few years ago, you used to speak his name in a hushed tone, filled with admiration and brimming with ardor. Every whisper used to feel adoring, almost reverent, and as such, you had mistakenly believed your love was akin to an all-enduring everblaze, a crimson flame of passion that would burn bright and persevere through all.

The irony is nearly laughable. Dying embers and hollow sentiments are all that remain now. His name has become a taboo, a word that feels all-too-foreign as you attempt to fill in the silence.

“Neuvillette,” you whisper shakily.

An unpleasant ringing seems to manifest in your ears as all the memories you’ve been trying to repress ebb and flow in a wave of aquamarine recollections. You’re aware he’s always been an overwhelming presence, yet it becomes all the more obvious as thoughts of him invade and overload your mind.

Wriothesley confirms your suspicions in the form of a solemn nod. To your surprise, his steely grey eyes soften for what feels like the first time since you’ve met him, a gentle warmth stirring beneath layers of permafrost.

Great, so your situation is so abysmal that even Wriothesley is starting to feel sympathetic.

“What does he want?” you manage to breathe out.

A part of you doesn’t want to face your ex-lover ever again in this lifetime. And yet despite it all, your heart screams for closure, resolving to remain unrelenting in its desires until every loose thread of your tragedy has been tied up neatly. You don’t know what to hope for at this point.

“You remember the poisoning case from a few years ago?” Wriothesley questions you.

It takes all your willpower to resist the urge to scoff.

“Who would forget the murder that changed their life forever?” Your voice comes out wry, bitterness intricately working its way into each inflection. Despite your attempts to exercise restraint, you find that your emotions are beginning to overtake rationality.

“Alright,” Wriothesley says hesitantly, “then I guess there’s no better time to break the news.” The suffering in his drawn-out sigh is palpable. “Suspicious new evidence related to the case has emerged recently. The Marechaussee Phantom is beginning to suspect that there’s more to it than what they initially found,” Wriothesley starts. Before he can continue, you interrupt him.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Right.” With an exasperated click of his tongue, Wriothesley moves on. “That’s where you come in. Since you’re so closely-linked with the events that occurred that day, the Iudex has specifically requested your help in the investigation. I take it the possibility of freedom is incentive enough?”

You huff. “Seriously? He has the audacity to ask for my help after all this time without so much as a word? Not even freedom could convince me to work with that absolute — !”

The stern look that manifests within Wriothesley’s sterling irises is enough to prompt you to pause. Although he doesn’t vocalize his concerns, the diamond-esque glimmers of worry that manifest in his eyes speak volumes. Don’t say something you might regret.

So instead of continuing on, you allow yourself a single sigh — an attempt to alleviate all your frustration in a single exhale.

“What I meant was, I’m not sure I could work with the Iudex in any official capacity,” you say, gritting your teeth lest any unsavory words find a way to slip out of your mouth, “given our… complicated history.”

Wriothesley shakes his head, a subtle showing of his displeasure at being caught up in a lover’s quarrel. You can’t really blame him. Any bystander would feel beyond vexed if they were tasked with piecing together the fading ruby fragments of a once-blissful relationship.

“I thought you might say that,” he responds, raising a hand to massage his temples. At the moment, the bags under his eyes appear more prominent than ever, and you begin to wonder how much grief your personal issues with Neuvillette will cause poor Wriothesley. “That’s why you have a week to decide.”

You narrow your eyes to meet a gaze woven from the essence of dimming moonbeams. Wriothesley stares you back, unflinching in his poise.

“Good luck getting me to change my mind,” you scoff. “I’m not facing him ever again.”

A pause.

Silence threatens to consume all under its weight, and you’re left wondering how nothingness can feel so heavy. Wriothesley’s nonchalance seems to disperse, vanishing in the midst of the tense ambience. Now you’re absolutely sure you’re in for a heartfelt conversation — an anomaly amongst the casual paradigm the two of you have been defining over the past few years.

“I’m not great with all this sentimental stuff,” Wriothesley starts, “I mean, I’m hardly experienced with romantic relationships myself despite my age.” He chuckles, and suddenly you feel as though the mood has lightened ever-so-slightly. “But trust me when I say Monsieur Neuvillette still cares deeply about you.”

Does he? Why would anyone stand by helplessly while the person they supposedly love more than life itself is taken from them forever?

Despite the protests that practically fly to the tip of your tongue, you continue listening attentively. Although you keep telling yourself you no longer care about your former lover, perhaps there’s still a small spark of incandescent hope lying somewhere within your heart — an ember of love awaiting a day where it will burst into brilliant flame once more.

“Think about it,” Wriothesley hums, his casual tone slipping effortlessly back into place as if he never broke character. “It’s been years since your case has been closed, and all the loose ends were supposedly tied up when you were sentenced, which means…” He trails off, waiting for you to piece together fragmented bits of logic within the recesses of your mind.

The muddled pieces of knowledge confound you, yet as you consider the implications of Wriothesley’s statement more carefully, a flicker of ingenuity comes to life in a sporadic burst of aureate sparks.

“Which means he never stopped investigating,” you conclude. “He believed it wasn’t me all along.”

The realization dawns on you in shades of phantasmagoric navy. It’s chilling, akin to the unwelcome touch of icy waters. Likewise, it overwhelms you. Its implications are far too profound to be ignored or pushed aside, and you begin to understand that you won’t be able to run away from the man you once loved for eternity.

“And?” Wriothesley adds.

“And he’s been trying to prove my innocence,” you breathe out, feeling disconnected from the moment.

Everything feels surreal, and the last few seconds feel no less oneiric than the ludicrous dreams you’re pulled into every night. It’s as if your world is twisting and turning upside down. You’ve spent all this time trying to incinerate every ounce of affection held within your heart for Neuvillette, bitterly blocking every memory of him from your mind all while he’s been tirelessly working to reunite with you.

Guilt pierces your entire being, enveloping you in a venomous sort of discomfort. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize how unfairly you’ve been treating the man you were once hopelessly-devoted to. Even back then in your emotional state, you should have known he would never betray you, much less in such a profound manner. Yet a part of you is still bitter that it took him this long to do anything. You can’t find it in your heart to forgive him entirely.

Remorse is a complex sentiment. While it pushes individuals to grow and defy past ordainments, it also drives them to make decisions that become ironically more regrettable later on. You feel as though your situation will fit in the latter category as a desire to reconvene with your past lover blazes to life. You’re still beyond enraged when you think about him, but a small flourish of love still remains in your heart. There’s so much you want to know, so without a further thought, you relay your hasty choice to Wriothesley before you can stop yourself.

“Fine, take me up to the surface. I need to speak to Neuvillette.”

The moment you resurface for the first time in years, an epiphany overcomes your senses. You realize how much you missed all the sights and sounds of the outside world — how much you had taken everything for granted back when you were still free.

Every caress of an aquatic zephyr feels like a gentle luxury, and the sensation of golden sunbeams enveloping you in threads of luminous comfort is something entirely otherworldly. You savour the ephemeral peace and serenity that surrounds you, losing yourself in the salty spray of azure waves and the vast beauty of the divine skies above.

As someone who’s allowed above ground routinely for official business, Wriothesley either doesn’t notice your wonder as he escorts you to your destination, or he chooses not to comment on it. Perhaps the beauty of the overworld has become nothing more than a mundanity to him.

The Palais Mermonia is every bit as grand as you remember. It towers over Fontaine, as if watching over the city and all its affairs. The smooth stone walls and opulent detailings adorning the building serve as a welcome reminder of how magnificent Fontaine’s architecture can be — a nice change of pace after spending countless days locked away within the monochromatic metal walls of the Fortress of Meropide.

As Wriothesley leads you through the intricate doors of the Palais Mermonia, you feel a sense of anticipation swell within your heart. Polychromatic butterflies desperately flutter their wings in the pit of your stomach, manifesting in a swarm of discombobulating chaos. With every step you take towards Neuvillette’s office, you feel your feet grow heavier. By the time you’re standing before the entrance, you feel as if you’re practically glued to the ground. The only things that keep you going are Wriothesley’s watchful stare and careful guidance.

The dark-haired man beside you pushes the door open and motions for you to enter first. As much as you’d rather hide behind Wriothesley, you decide to swallow your nerves and step into the office before him.

Unfortunately for you, the first sight that greets you upon entering the office is the face of a man you’ve been trying to avoid for years now, whether in the waking world or slumber. Against your own will, you note that he appears just as breathtaking as the day you lost him. Every detail of his suit is as pristine as ever, not a single wrinkle in sight, no matter how hard you scrutinize. His hair looks as soft and voluminous as usual, each strand of cerulean a sharp contrast to silken starlight. Simply put it, nothing has changed, and as you look into his eyes, you realize just how accurate your inference is.

Molten tanzanite fills eyes akin to galaxies occupied by subtle glimmers of emotion. Even now, you find that you can read him perfectly. Although he appears serious on the surface, a single examination of Neuvillette’s gaze is all it takes for you to spot the luminous adoration that gleams beneath layers of carefully-crafted defenses.

Damn it. Don’t look at me like that.

It’s a look you’d recognize anywhere — a look you had once loved with all your heart, yet now it feels detestable more than anything. The ironic juxtaposition between your feelings in past and present nearly makes you laugh. It’s a bleak reminder of how greatly circumstances have shifted — how everything is wrong now.

Not a word is spoken as you sit down in a chair across from Neuvillette. Although you had assumed Wriothesley would join you, he stands off to the side before you can even protest. Any attempt to call him back over would definitely make it obvious that you didn’t want to have what was essentially a one-on-one conversation with your ex.

“[Name],” Neuvillette greets you formally, his tone steady and practiced. It feels unnatural after all you’ve been through; in the past, endearment would lace his tone each time he spoke to you, conveying the true depth of his feelings with a single whisper. This stiff rendition of the fantasia that used to be your name falling from his lips is nothing like the soft melody you’d become accustomed to so long ago.

“Neuvillette,” you shoot back, trying your best to keep your voice from reverting to its affectionate default. Although you’re unsure about acting cold towards the man, you’re certain neither of you would be fine with immediately going back to the way you were before the entire disaster unfolded in a matter of mere seconds.

(And besides that, you’re still somewhat angry it took him literal years to find a way to get you out of Meropide.)

“I hope you’ve been well,” Neuvillette says, his tone softening ever-so-subtly. Vulnerability works its way into a slight waver of his voice, a nearly-unnoticeable detail that any average person would miss. However, you are not an average person. You’ve acquainted yourself with every intricacy of Neuevillette’s personality over the years, and even now, every detail is preserved perfectly within the archives of your memory.

“I was as well as I could be in prison, I guess,” you mumble.

Even you’re not quite sure if your passing comment is an attempt at humour or a jab at your previous lover. Fortunately for you, Neuvillette doesn’t attempt to laugh. Instead, he simply nods.

“I see…” he trails off, staring at you intently. Eyes filled with hues of softened lilac and faint periwinkle blue bear into your soul, inspecting you with a gaze woven from twilight. Stardust suspicion seems to glint in Neuvillette’s irises, but he doesn’t pry. “What have you be—”

“Enough small talk. Can we get to the point?” you force out. You’re still not quite sure how you feel about the fact that Neuvillette still cares about you, so you push aside your emotions for the moment to focus on the main issue. As much as you want to ask what your relationship has become, everything feels far too overwhelming now that he’s in front of you again for the first time in years. “What exactly do you want me to do for you?”

Neuvillette pauses for a second, mulling over his next words. He doesn’t try to push the previous topic. Instead, he complies with your request.

“Work alongside me,” he says. “I’m aware that you may not find this to be the ideal arrangement, but ever since your sentencing, your reputation has become…” Neuvillette can’t bring himself to finish his sentence, so you interject.

“Awful? Dismal? Lower than low?” you chuckle bitterly. “I know. I didn’t expect any more when I agreed to come back up to the surface.”

For a second, pity sparkles in Neuvillette’s eyes, a look reminiscent of fragments of sunlight reflecting off sapphire ocean waves. You promptly decide that you hate it.

“Yes. Although I would not put it in such — brazen terms. If you would like an opportunity to clear your name, I would suggest putting serious consideration towards aiding in the second round of investigation. Please do let me know your verdict as soon as possible.”

“Why are you asking me as if I have a choice? It’s either help you or return to prison. Obviously one option is better than the other,” you sigh as a shiver runs down your spine. You know you’ll be in for an awkward few weeks. Spending every second by Neuvillette’s side is a harrowing nightmare come to life, but there’s no better way out of your dilemma. “I’ll join your stupid investigation.”

“Very well then,” Neuvillette responds. “I will show you to your accommodations in due time. Guards will be stationed outside your door around the clock in everyone’s best interest.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Even with contradictory evidence, you’re still going to be treated like a criminal until you’re proven definitively innocent.

“Please note that you will begin assisting me tomorrow.”

With that, Neuvillette turns to Wriothesley, acknowledging him for the first time since the two of you entered the room. “Mr. Wriothesley, thank you for escorting [name] to my office. You may now take your leave.”

A part of you wants to beg Wriothelsey not to leave you alone with Neuvillette, but for once, you decide that you have to start being brave. So with bated breath and a heavy heart, you watch as your sole companion in recent times turns away, heading back to an unreachable world below the surface.

You’re on your own now in a place that has become entirely foreign to you.

The silken covers of the bed you’re provided are surprisingly comfortable. Wrapping each seafoam-coloured blanket around your body feels like being enveloped in a cloud, and sinking into a soft mattress is a luxury you have long forgotten after becoming accustomed to your dorm in the Fortress of Meropide. Needless to say, you find your slumber shockingly restful despite all the turbulent feelings arising within the pit of your stomach, threatening to overtake your rationality and fill you with a cold, chilling panic.

No, the panic only sets in when you’re escorted back to Neuvillette’s office the next morning by the two guards sent to oversee your activities. It’s akin to being plunged into the depths of freezing lapis waters, losing your grip beneath waves forged from midnight essence. A whole day alone together with Neuvillette is going to be a challenge, and unfortunately, your nerves get the better of you.

You hear his voice as cool perspiration forms on the back of your neck, slight shivers running down your spine.

“Good morning,” Neuvillette greets you, as composed and regal as ever.

You envy his ability to behave as though he’s tranquility personified, even in such an awkward situation. His composure is a virtue.

“You let me sleep in,” you note. The sunbeams that filter through Neuvillette’s window in a flurry of faded daffodil shades look nothing like the gilded threads of light that grace Fontaine at sunrise. Besides that, you can already hear a fair amount of chatter outside the office, and you even recall spotting a few passer-bys scurrying about as you were accompanied to the Palais Mermonia.

“Indeed I did,” Neuvillette confirms your suspicions.

You glare at him. “I thought you wanted me up bright and early to help you investigate.”

The man before you sighs. “Based on your behaviour yesterday, I inferred that the past few days have been rather taxing on you emotionally. I wanted to give you ample time to recuperate to ensure that you would be able to think optimally today.”

Neuvillette’s eyes soften, a rare sort of gentleness manifesting in dulled lavender, a hue pulled straight from an evening afterglow.

You recall a passing thought from a time you had watched nightfall overtake the heavens with Neuvillette a few years back. At the time, he had looked at you with the same soft gaze, examining you with an expression that conveyed unspoken understanding and affection. You remember noting the way his irises seemed to reflect the muted iridescent shades above. Back then, everything had been so tranquil, euphoric. A part of you can’t help but desperately wish to go back in time.

“Thank you,” you relent, finally acknowledging Neuvillette’s kindness.

Neuvillette shakes his head. “There is no need to thank me,” he states. “This is beneficial to both of us. After all, I don’t expect you to work effectively with a tired mind.”

Without another word, Neuvillette pulls out a pile of official documents, their worn ivory pages a stark contrast to a second untainted milky white stack he sets on his desk.

“As you may be able to tell, these are the case files from the initial investigation,” Neuvillette points to the first collection of papers, “and these are documents containing new developments.” He points at the pristine new records.

“Can you summarize what exactly made you revisit the case?” you ask Neuvillette. Personally, you don’t feel like spending a full day poring over documents instead of investigating. That’s just inefficiency at its finest. Why do that when you have someone who seems to revel in records to explain everything to you?

Neuvillette allows a light chuckle to slip past his lips, the sound a nostalgic fantasia as it reaches your ears. “I see that you haven’t stopped finding the easiest way to complete your tasks,” he jests, “but very well. This will save us a considerable amount of time.”

You sit with bated breath, suspense filling the atmosphere as you patiently wait to learn the exact evidence that may have altered your fate entirely.

“Firstly, to reiterate, the murder was a poisoning,” Neuvillette starts. “A member of the Marechaussee Phantom was found dead at a banquet with a drink in hand. Its contents were found to be normal for the most part, but when investigated more thoroughly, trace amounts of a toxic substance were found.”

You nod with fervour, every intricate puzzle piece of the case that had dictated your destiny all those years ago still fresh in your mind.

“You were the one who poured the drink.” Perhaps your mind is playing tricks on you because for the first time in your life, you hear Neuvillette’s voice tremble slightly, like a resplendent leaf as it drifts on an autumnal breeze. “There was no way to prove your innocence at the time, and no matter how hard we tried to trace the origins of the poison, all we could discern was that it was fast-acting, which thankfully meant that there were no other casualties. Unfortunately, we were unable to find any compelling leads…” Neuvillette pauses, “until now.”

“Recently, a worker from a drink factory has approached us with reports of suspicious activities within the facility. Although most employees are kept in the front of the building to manage the machines and ensure that the quality of each bottle sufficiently meets company standards, there are a select few allowed in the back to oversee the entire operation.”

“What does this have to do with the case?” you interject. You can feel your interest waning as Neuvillette’s words become tangent-adjacent.

“Not everything is as it seems,” he assures you. “Around a week ago, the worker ventured into the back, desperately searching for one of their superiors. The higher-up in question had assigned them a task, and afterwards, they proceeded to disappear for weeks on end. When looking for their manager, the worker discovered the truth of the facility.”

Your breath hitches in anticipation.

“Put simply, the entire drink production operation is a deception. The company’s real purpose is to produce a rare variety of poison. Fortunately, we managed to procure a sample of it, and when tested, it was found to be identical to the very substance used to assassinate the victim of your case.”

Although you want to correct Neuvillette, you hold your tongue. There’s no point in getting off-track.

“So you want me to help you find out who put the poison in the bottle?” you ask.

Neuvillette nods. “We could have simply paid a visit to the Fortress of Meropide and interrogated you from there, but I thought you would appreciate a little freedom and control over your own destiny. Besides that, I know you’re competent, and the rest of the investigation could greatly benefit from your assistance.”

“Is that really all there is to it? I’m sure lots of people out here were against the idea of letting me roam free for fear of their own safety, so it must have been quite a challenge to get me out in the first place,” you scoff. “If my comfort was the only factor in play, then you would have simply taken the easy way out and questioned me in prison to appease everyone.”

For a moment, Neuvillette hesitates. Transitory silence fills the air before being fragmented into crystalline shards of dissonant revelation that cause goosebumps to grace the surface of your skin.

“Your intuition is as sharp as ever,” he sighs. Suddenly, he looks all too exhausted, and you begin to realize how hard he fought to earn you your temporary freedom. “All the citizens of Fontaine believe that the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique D’analyse Cardinale is perfect, flawless in its very nature. However, after your sentencing, doubt started to circulate, and I found myself among those who questioned the outcome of the case. It felt as though the full truth had not been revealed to us yet, and your punishment was ordained solely by a hasty collection of shaky facts gathered through a rushed investigation. It was entirely… unjust… the opposite of what Fontaine stands for.”

“There it is. You’re doing this all in the name of what’s right, as usual.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting Neuvillette to say. Perhaps you wanted him to tell you that he would never lose faith in you, his once dearly-beloved. Or maybe you were wishing with every fibre of your being that he would simply say he still cared and wanted you back.

But no, he’s Neuvillette.

Above all, he is fair.

He is justice.

The gazes of everyone in the interrogation room seem to burn with the light of a thousand stars, their pressuring radiance serving as an instrument of truth — a way to seek sincere answers to any questions that are posed. You shrink under their phosphorescence, feeling insignificant as the demands of all the officials in the room coalesce.

Before you stands Neuvillette, a few guards, and a couple members of the Marechaussee Phantom. You recognize the latter two as personal friends of the victim — people with personal stakes in the case.

“Do you remember who gave you the bottle?” a melusine inquires.

You force yourself to take a deep breath in, oxygen feeling like the sweetest ambrosia as you try to calm yourself. It’s funny. The small creature is at most half your size, potentially even less, yet you’re the one who feels intimidation well up in the pit of your stomach like the ebb and flow of an evening tide.

“A man named Gabriel, I think? He handed me the bottle while I was walking around and asked me to pass it around for him because he was busy running other supplies around the party.”

“That seems to line up with the records from the trial,” Neuvillette muses, flipping through his documents, “but when we investigated, we found no trace of such an individual, which leads us to believe that they utilized an alias and a disguise to conceal their true identity.”

You have enough restraint to hold back a groan. Here we go again with all the complexities.

“The bottle was screwed shut and completely full before you poured the victim a glass of juice, correct?” The melusine continues their questioning, meeting your eyes with a gaze composed of molten tourmaline.

“Yes,” you confirm. “Doesn’t that just make me look more guilty though? Clearly the poison couldn’t have been in the drink because the bottle hadn’t been unsealed yet, so the court deemed that the only logical conclusion was that I slipped something into the victim’s drink in the split second where nobody was looking.”

The melusine sighs. “With the emerging evidence, we’ve come up with a new theory. If the person responsible for the murder truly wasn’t you, then perhaps the actual perpetrator had a different means of mixing the toxic substance with the beverage. Keep in mind, the poison manufacturer is also a drink manufacturer.”

You pause for a moment, a frown etching itself into your features. You’re starting to see where this is going, but you don’t quite understand the big picture yet. “Elaborate, please.”

Neuvillette takes over. “If our new running theory is correct, then this is how the timeline of events occurred. The suspect was likely an authority figure at the aforementioned drink company, or at the very least, they were relatively close with someone who had power there. In order to throw off the investigation, they managed to spike the beverage before it was sealed in the factory. By doing this, they falsely led us to believe that the poison was poured into the cup instead of into the bottle, thereby alleviating the manufacturer of any suspicion.”

Oh. Suddenly everything is beginning to make a lot more sense. As each string of evidence begins to fall into place, a tapestry of truth is woven. At long last, an alternate story is starting to replace the false narrative that had been in circulation at the time of the case’s unraveling.

“It worked,” you breathe out. “Nobody even bothered to check the contents of the bottle because they were so focused on who was close enough to sneak something into the victim’s cup in the brief moment between the pouring of the drink and the first sip.”

“And for that I must apologize,” Neuvillette sighs, a thousand unspoken regrets lacing his tone. “Our investigation was not thorough enough, and this time, I do not intend to allow any more injustices to befall you.”

As you peer into Neuvillette’s eyes, you catch sight of sincerity manifesting in their depths, each glint of violaceous luminosity conveying a silent promise to protect you. At that moment, you’re sure that Neuvillette believes you were nothing more than an innocent bystander entangled in a web of schemes. Even if the rest of the world is still against you, at least you have him.

“Thank you. I’ll try my best to help you as much as I can.” You finally relent and decide that perhaps it’s time to adopt a policy of compliance; now that you’re sure your intentions all align, you feel ready to work with Neuvillette without reservations.

“Permission to share what we found out about the bottle?” the melusine from before interrupts your moment with Neuvillette, your transient flash of bliss disappearing within a blink. You can’t blame them, as your main priority right now is getting to the bottom of things.

Neuvillette nods, wordlessly indicating his approval.

“As you may know, we took in all items related to the investigation that day. The bottle of beverage was among them. We recently tested the liquid inside, and as expected, there were traces of poison mixed with the drink. It’s worth noting that the drink itself is the same one produced by the suspicious facility we received a report about recently.”

“So I’ve almost been proven entirely innocent?” You can’t resist the urge to ask, the idea of being pardoned after being assumed guilty for so long a saccharine respite.

“Yes, as long as we can apprehend the real criminals and get them to confess to their crimes, you’ll be free,” the melusine confirms. “Fortunately, the worker and the contents of the bottle have led us to the perfect place to start our second inspection — the factory.”

Not even a day later, you rise bright and early to look into the manufacturer with Neuvillette. As the suspect framed in a murder linked to the factory’s poison, your reappearance above ground is bound to set off some red flags in the minds of those who helped orchestrate the entire ordeal. Consequently, you don an uncomfortable disguise while Neuvillette simply plans on masquerading around the place as himself.

It’s ironic. Neuvillette, the renowned Iudex of Fontaine, can roam without fear of interference as his genuine self. Meanwhile, you, a mere nobody, are forced to adorn yourself with layers of obscurities, masking every aspect of your identity.

The contrast between your situations is almost amusing, but you can’t bring yourself to laugh. Even as silken strands of opulent golden sunlight grace your skin, sending a rush of warmth through your body, you can’t help but tremble. The stakes are high, and the possibility of being discovered is distressing to an extreme.

“Shall I go over the narrative one last time?” Neuvillette asks you as your destination seems to grow larger and larger. The grey stone that the building is forged of is reminiscent of the colour of storm clouds — ominous and foreboding.

“Wouldn’t hurt to,” you mumble, willing yourself to stop shivering immediately. You’ll draw even more attention to yourself if you continue to shake like ultramarine ripples on the surface of a turbulent lake.

“Fontaine’s food and drink products have been suffering a decline in quality lately,” Neuvillette states, “and we are here today to perform a health inspection. Although the Iudex is typically not involved with investigating such trivial matters, the issue has become profound. The lives of several Fontainians have already been jeopardized, so in an attempt to prevent any further tragedies, I have decided to personally step in alongside my assistant.”

You hum absentmindedly, still distracted by your nerves. It feels as though permafrost has infused itself with your soul, as you continue to quiver despite all your attempt to ground yourself. “Compelling,” you manage to force out.

You’re drawn back to reality by Neuvillette’s next actions. To your horror, his familiarity with your emotions due to your shared history is your detriment. Before you can process what’s happening, he takes your hand in his. His gentle grip is soothing, and it serves as a much-needed reminder that you’re in this together.

“No matter what happens, I will be by your side,” he reassures you.

For a second, it feels like you’re back in the past. Everything is fine between you and Neuvillette, and you can still trust him unconditionally. Although your relationship has deteriorated now, you find that his presence still brings you a sense of comfort.

Perhaps some sentiments are simply meant to endure forevermore.

There’s nothing remarkable about the inside of the factory at first glance. As expected, typical assembly lines are present within the vicinity to ensure that every bottle is assembled and packaged in an efficient manner. On the surface, nothing seems out-of-the-ordinary.

Your tour guide is friendly and welcoming, not intimidated in the slightest by Neuvillette’s regal presence. Although his appearance garners a few curious glances from the employees you pass by, no one is outright alarmed.

“So as you can see, our humble facility does indeed live up to all the health and safety regulations mandated by Fontainian law,” your guide concludes as your mundane tour draws to a close.

In all honesty, you’ve learned nothing even remotely useful. However, you refuse to leave empty-handed. As such, you decide to make an impulsive decision — a choice that will perhaps cast suspicion upon you, but if everything goes well, you could obtain crucial evidence pertaining to the case.

“We haven’t seen the back of the factory yet,” you muse. “Is there something you’re trying to hide from us? Mold, perhaps?” you pause for dramatic effect, trying your best to play it up. All you can do is desperately pray that your acting skills are enough to convince the tour guide you’re being genuine. “Or maybe an insect infestation.”

A laugh slips past the tour guide’s lips, piercing the awkward atmosphere with a timbre and articulation far too forced to indicate any sort of amusement. No, the guide is nervous, which means something is definitely off. You just need to gather concrete evidence of the misdemeanours being conducted behind the scenes of a grand diversion — something that means more than a simple vial of poison hailing from an unknown origin brought to you by a worker.

“Oh, my superiors typically prefer privacy,” the guide continues to chuckle, a slight hint of anxiety permeating his tone. “There are lots of important meetings held in the back, and they’re not the most fond of disturbances.”

One scrutinizing glance from Neuvillette is all it takes to send the guard reeling. Eyes swimming with delicate lilac narrow, any hint of gentleness fading like the brilliance of wilting petals.

“But I’m sure they can make an exception for our most honoured guests.” Swiftly, the guide makes his way over to the door leading to the back, pulling it open and gesturing for both you and Neuvillette to pass through.

Yet again, you find that you’re met with a sight that’s mediocre at finest. There’s nothing extremely telling about the meeting rooms you’re led through. However, as you wander through the winding corridors and desolate hallways of the surprisingly large area, you spot it — a sizable wardrobe sitting within what feels like the hundredth meeting room you’ve passed through.

Like everything else in this strange place, there’s nothing off about the furnishing upon initial inspection, but after a few moments of careful consideration, you note that it’s far too sumptuous to be in a place like this. It’s horribly out-of-place, a polished oak eyesore amongst the cool-toned decorations within the room.

As you share a look with Neuvillette, you can see that he’s having similar thoughts. At some point in time, someone moved the wardrobe into the room, likely to conceal something. Taking a closer look is essential, but first you need to find a way to distract the guide.

“Excuse me,” you interrupt the guide’s tangent. “Is there a bathroom anywhere nearby?”

Within a matter of minutes, both you and  Neuvillette are escorted over to the nearest bathroom. You enter the room and lock the door. Although you haven’t had an opportunity to discuss a plan with Neuvillette due to the prying ears stationed right next to the two of you, you know what he’ll do next. You’re sure he understands you well enough to know that what you need at the moment is a diversion.

Sure enough, your silent pleas are answered as Neuvillette walks a few steps away from the bathroom door, his footsteps thrumming against the frigid ground as a percussive background to the eerie soundtrack that seems to flood the entire factory.

“Is that an insect?” he inquires.

You hear a rush of frenzied steps, ones that you can distinctly differentiate from Neuvillette’s. That must be the guide.

“Where?” the guide’s voice rings out.

You hear the soft rustle of clothing as the guide supposedly leans over in order to take a closer look. Then, a loud bang shatters the quietude into jagged shards of chaos. You take it as your sign to open the bathroom door and sneak off quietly.

“Ah, forgive me. I was mistaken,” you hear Neuvillette’s voice fade into the distance.

The labyrinth of passages is difficult to navigate, but thankfully your memory is sufficient enough to guide you back along the route from whence you came. In a matter of minutes, you’re back at the wardrobe, scrambling to unveil every enigmatic secret hiding behind its prosaically plain exterior.

Common sense tells you to simply open it first, and sure enough, you find that the back of the furnishing has been hollowed out in order to form a passageway leading to an unknown location. Although you’re nervous, moving forwards is the only way you’re going to make any progress.

You force yourself to confront the mysterious tunnel, heading into its depths in order to collect the next piece of information you need to fully unravel the identity of the true killer.

This is for justice, you tell yourself. Begrudgingly, you also find thoughts of it’s what Neuvillette would do invading your mind.

When you finally step into a mundane office space, you feel as though you can breathe again. The daze slowly begins to subside, and in its wake, you find rationality once more.

Time is of the essence, so you decide to head over to the singular desk stationed in the room. On its surface is a collection of scattered papers, some frayed and others in mint condition. Immediately, you make a dash for the yellowed pages, scanning each one quickly before setting it down.

The documents seem to detail transactions between the company and those buying from their hidden business in the back. Each one is stamped with a date and a signature from the buyer stating that they will not (under any circumstance) reveal where the product they purchased came from. Perfect — all you have to do is find a file that seems to align with the relative time period where your crime took place.

Fortunately for you, the once-daunting plethora of papers is actually a far more meager pile than you had initially thought. Perhaps not many people know about the nefarious schemes that lie behind the factory’s fabricated façade, or maybe humans are simply sensible enough to avoid purchasing poison.

You search urgently, constantly looking over your shoulder and hoping, praying, to any archon listening to keep your deeds obscured and unwritten. However, through it all, you’re hindered by the fact that you have to actively try not to move things around too much. If someone returns to see that objects have shifted on their own, they’ll surely be on high alert.

After what feels like eons of blindly flipping through anything you could get your hands on, your eyes settle on a splotch of achromatic ink bleeding into canary. It’s a familiar date — around a week before your entire life fell apart. You grab the paper, and with one last scan of the other files, you’re nearly certain that it details the transaction of the very poison that broke down fate’s last defences, landing you in a prison you were never supposed to step foot in.

With haste, you stuff the document into your pocket and set off back to Neuvillette.

“We used to frequent that restaurant often,” Neuvillette muses as you wander the streets together.

Your tour had concluded around half an hour ago, and now you’re on your way back to the Palais Mermonia. Although you assured Neuvillette that you had obtained some useful evidence earlier through words whispered in the secrecy of a hushed voice, you know that you can’t discuss anything openly for fear of nosey bystanders — or worse, the criminals themselves — hearing.

You had taken a long time to find what you needed, so consequently it had been difficult to throw off any lingering doubt harboured by your guide. However, thanks to Neuvillette’s quick thinking, you were able to come up with an alibi.

The whole “bathroom” ruse had simply been a test — a plan to conduct your thorough inspection of the facility in an area typically skipped over, even on the most comprehensive tours. You had chimed in and said that the company passed with flying colours, and at that the guide simply beamed and continued leading you through meeting rooms.

Your reminiscence is interrupted as Neuvillette speaks again.

“Perhaps we should take a detour and visit,” he offers. “You must be famished after a day of hard work.”

You freeze, and your body tenses against your will. Isn’t it more important at the moment that you safely transport your evidence back to Neuvillette’s office? You tilt your head at Neuvillette curiously, as if to pose a question. Why are we wasting time?

“Trust me,” he leans in to whisper. You can feel his breath tickling your ear, yet you don’t flinch. It’s a feeling you had grown accustomed to years ago, and even now, having him close to you feels detestably right. “It will seem more like a casual outing if we make a leisurely stop along the way back. If we’re seen rushing back to the Palais Mermonia with a sense of urgency in our stride, then those around us will surely conclude that something is wrong.”

Neuvillette’s reasoning is sound, so despite your aching feet and your desire to simply get away from the cacophony of symphonic noise surrounding you, you allow him to pull you towards the restaurant. As you walk in, you find that all your senses are enveloped by the familiarity of deja vu. The pleasant lighting and floral arrangements begin to pop up in your memory, and the ornate furnishings that adorn the place are the same as ever.

A part of you finds that you missed this. You missed your simple traditions with Neuvillette.

The two of you are seated the moment you step foot in the restaurant. You can’t seem to recall if the staff had ever been this efficient before, but something tells you this is a special circumstance.

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” a waiter greets the Iudex as you both take your seats. You find that you recognize him. “It’s been a while since you’ve been here with company, much less someone other than [name].”

Right. No one recognizes you because you’re still clad in your stupid disguise.

“Ah, good evening, Pierre,” Neuvillette responds. “My companion here is a newly-hired assistant. They have been working tirelessly all day, so I decided to treat them to a meal. Although they are not [name], I hope you will be able to treat them with the same hospitality.”

A frenzy of nods follows Neuvillette’s words.

“What can I get for you today?” Pierre frantically asks you. As usual, people are eager to please Neuvillette, his position of power ever-pertinent within the recesses of their minds.

You scan the menu, and a rush of nostalgia overwhelms you for what feels like the millionth time in the past few days. There are a variety of dishes listed in neat loopy handwriting, each cursive word causing recollections to ebb and flow within your memory. However, your eyes settle on one menu item in particular — a former personal favourite of yours. Feeling satisfied, you decide to place your order. As you speak, you notice shock dance across the waiter’s visage.

“Is something wrong?” you question Pierre, scrutinizing his dumbfounded expression. If you could, you would dissect the meaning behind every line etched into his features — examine the anatomy of his curious stare.

Pierre shakes his head with fervour. “Nothing’s wrong, per se…” He trails off, the aquamarine lakes that comprise his irises fogging up with a shine unique to someone who’s reminiscing. “It’s just… that dish is one of our least popular, but [name] used to order it all the time. Nowadays, the only person who really consumes it regularly is Monsieur Neuvillette himself.”

Tension begins to materialize within the previously-lighthearted air of the restaurant. Suddenly, the atmosphere feels heavy as the implications of Pierre’s statement sink in. Once upon a time, you had offered Neuvillette a bite of your food when dining here, and although he didn’t mean to insult it, he did say that he understood why it was unpopular. In other words, he indirectly insinuated that he didn’t like the taste of the dish.

Perhaps you’re overly-optimistic, but a part of you begins to speculate that Neuvillette only willingly ordered the menu item regularly because of the memories associated with it. It’s a shockingly sweet revelation. Despite your distance over the years, he’s still tried his best to keep you in his heart.

Bittersweet affection gnaws at your heart, chipping off pieces of garnet in a cataclysmic heartbreak. As if you don’t already feel bad enough about your attempted erasure of his existence from your memory during your time in prison.

You zone out as Neuvillette places his order. All you manage to catch is the fact that he doesn’t ask for a serving of your favourite meal this time around.

So it really was all for you.

As Pierre walks away, you turn to study Neuvillette, your gaze sharp.

“What was that all about?”

For a second, Neuvillette stills, collecting his thoughts. Then, he makes eye contact, a stare composed of crepuscular shades of amethyst.

“I must admit, my heart longed for you throughout the years we spent apart,” Neuvillette confesses.

Darn it. Why can’t he be normal for once?

Your heartbeat, once a steady rhythm, begins to become erratic. It pounds in your ears with an unmatched urgency, as if its ultimate goal is simply to leap out of your chest and retreat back into your ex-lover’s gentle grasp.

“I see,” you mumble, beginning to feel awkward.

Silence envelopes your own personal world with Neuvillette as you wait for the waiter to come back with your food. Neither of you can bring yourselves to keep the conversation going. Any small talk would seem disingenuous at this point, and the mere idea of pressing on with the previous topic is enough to make you shudder.

Thankfully, Pierre is surprisingly quick (although that may have something to do with the fact that you’re dining with the Iudex himself), and you find that you’re able to dig into your meal to distract yourself in no time.

It tastes the same as you remember. In fact, nothing has really changed, even with the passage of time. Out of everything in the entire restaurant, you find that you and Neuvillette have undergone the most profound transformations, your once-loving relationship eroding into a confusing mess of broken trust, dubious betrayals, and yearning.

(At the end of the night, you find that a miniscule ember of love remains alive in your heart — a weak crimson glow beginning to ignite once more.)

The journey back to the Palais Mermonia is tranquil, the night air soothing the anxious thoughts plaguing your mind. Stars beam down at you from above, shedding brilliant silvery light over the entirety of the nation. Likewise, the moon guides your path back to the grand building where you wrap up your investigation for the day.

Upon entering Neuvillette’s office, you immediately beeline for his desk, pulling the document that took you a painstaking amount of effort to obtain out and setting it on the polished wooden surface. Curiously, eyes the shade of dulled anemone petals scan the contents of the page.

Neuvillette reads quickly, taking in all the information contained within the file in no time. After a lifetime of poring over records, he’s become accustomed to processing critical points of knowledge efficiently. However, he freezes as his gaze settles on the signature at the bottom of the page.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

You’ve never seen Neuvillette quite so shaken up, his composure torn away from him momentarily. In the moment, all that matters to you is ensuring that he’s okay. Before you realize it, you find yourself reaching out to him, an evanescent flash back to the past in a present that feels so far-removed. A few days ago, you never would have dreamed of comforting him, much less allowing him to make any sort of contact with you. Now, however, you’re beginning to unwind all the hasty misconceptions you had harboured for years on end.

You’ve come to understand that despite being worlds apart, you were still at the forefront of all Neuvillette’s sentiments throughout the past few years. He’s cared about you from afar beyond simply spying on your life through Wriothesley for all this time. It’s time you finally start treating him right.

To your relief, he doesn’t refuse your hand. Instead, he intertwines your fingers as he continues to gape at midnight upon ivory, reading the buyer’s name over and over. Finally, the calm returns to Neuvillette, his vulnerability dissipating after what feels like eons (in actuality, it’s no more than ten seconds).

“Apologies,” Neuvillette says, his voice as steady as ever. “Seeing the signature of the buyer… confirmed a suspicion of mine. However, this revelation is not necessarily a thrilling one. In fact, I would say that it is rather… disappointing and tragic.”

You tilt your head slightly, wonder swirling through your thoughts in spirals of erratic questions. “Why’s that?”

The sigh that Neuvillette heaves out is perhaps the most dramatically-depressing noise that’s ever left his lips. Creases line his forehead, marring porcelain skin with lines that convey concern and dismay.

“This is the name of one of our current Marechaussee Phantom members,” Neuvillette breathes out. “As a matter of fact, he was the one who assumed the position of the victim after their death. In addition to this, he was the only member who was intentionally not informed of the dealings of the deceptive factory. I withheld information from him because I had my own suspicions. I fear that my judgement was correct. If I had informed him that we were looking into the facility, these records would have been destroyed long before we stepped foot inside the building.”

“Wait a second! That sounds way too suspicious,” you say, your voice coming out slightly more aggressive than you want it to. You flinch as your tone reaches your ears. “Why didn’t anyone look into them or at least suspect them?”

“He was the deceased’s lover.” Your breath hitches as Neuvillette continues his explanation. “His grief after learning of the death was immense, so much so that no one could dare to consider the possibility that…”

“That he was the culprit,” you finish. “No one wanted to believe the lovers could betray each other.” You nearly scoff as you realize the irony of you saying this to your very own ex.

Neuvillette nods as you exhale tiredly. Everything is finally coming together after years. At long last, you’ve found another candidate for the possible murderer — the real deal this time.

“I had my doubts about him,” Neuvillette mumbles. “Although tears serve as an effective distractor, insincerity shines brighter than even the most dramatic of theatrics. I have never revealed this to anyone, but besides his qualifications and honouring the memory of our fallen comrade, one of the reasons I assigned him to his current position was to maintain a close watch over him at all times. Despite the precautions I took… I had hoped with all my heart that I would not be proven right.”

“And yet you were, so what now,” you inquire. “Do we just apprehend him and call it a day?”

“I would be pleased if it were that easy,” Neuvillette smiles wryly, “but there are many who would still be unwilling to trust our claims without further evidence. Think about it — would you really want to believe that a trusted member of the Marechaussee Phantom is a cold-blooded murderer? The very notion is inappropriately ironic.”

As Neuvillette’s reasoning sinks in, you nod along. What he’s saying makes sense, but you’re unsure of how you should proceed from here. To your relief, Neuvillette has a solution, as always.

“Considering the fact that the perpetrator has insider information, he’s already aware that we are currently revisiting the case,” Neuvillette reiterates. “As such, his main priority at the moment is to cement your status as the real culprit behind the crime. All he needs is an ample opportunity.”

This is getting far too complicated for your liking.

“In order to catch him in the act, we’ll organize another banquet. It will be the perfect opportunity for him to frame you for another poisoning.”

Neuvillette’s logic is hard to follow, and as you pause to think about it, every thread of reasoning becomes lost in a jumble of nonsensical speculation.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you mutter. “He’s not stupid enough to assume that I’d poison someone right after obtaining freedom. That would look too hasty, so foul play would be suspected immediately.”

“And that’s why I think he’ll target you with his poison,” Neuvillette interjects.

Your frown deepens as his claims become more and more bizarre.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Let me explain everything,” Neuvillette starts. “In order to connect the two cases to each other, the perpetrator will likely use the same weapon again. However, this time his target will be you. As you pointed out, if he harms anyone else, it will instantaneously appear as though someone is eager to falsely accuse you of committing crimes. By non-fatally poisoning you, he can claim that you willingly drank your own weapon in an attempt to throw off suspicion. He can point to the similarities in the compositions of the substances used in both cases to frame you as the one true mastermind behind everything.”

The pieces finally begin to coalesce in your mind, forming a shaky plan that hinges on oceans of luck and protection from Celestia above. It’s risky, but it may be your only chance to set things straight.

“Your great plan is just based on endangering me in order to collect a sample of whatever that person is going to give me?”

“I understand that it may be difficult for you to trust me entirely after everything,” Neuvillette sighs, “but if you agree to my proposition, then I promise I will personally ensure that no harm will come to you.”

After the events of the past two days, you know where your heart wants to stand. In spite of this, your mind screams at you to reject Neuvillette’s idea. You’re scared — terrified. The thought of being let down by Neuvillette again induces a fear in you like no other. Despite it all, you understand that you’ll never truly heal if you don’t at least try to give him another chance, so ultimately, you decide to comply.

“Alright, let’s start party planning.”

Weeks of preparation lead up to the big evening, every passing day a countdown to a finale to end all finales. On top of gathering supplies, arranging catering, and decorating, you’re also drilled on how to act when the moment of danger eventually arrives. You train relentlessly to ensure that Neuvillette’s scheme will go off without a hitch.

All your tireless practices pay off. As you walk into the banquet venue, hand-in-hand with Neuvillette, you find that you’re far less nervous than you had been when the idea was initially proposed. The kaleidoscopic butterflies that once fluttered around in the pit of your stomach have stilled, and you’re utterly calm — exactly what you need to pull this off.

Despite assisting in the planning of the party, you still find yourself awed by the extravagance of it all. You’re not quite sure if Neuvillette has come up with an occasion for celebration yet, as he had initially stated that it was a surprise on the invitations he had sent out. However, you’re sure that no matter its grandeur, the sheer opulence of everything around you is more than sufficient.

Aureate accents adorn nearly every item in the room, and the crystal chandeliers above gleam as though they’re catching moonlight from the midnight sky. The music that envelopes you is warm, each melodious note ringing out in a sweet droning of strings. It’s a perfect backtrack for an elegant waltz.

Most noteworthy of all, however, are the guests that surround you. Not a single person is dressed less than exceptionally. Sparkles, gems, and sequins are commonplace here despite being everyday rarities. Shades of seafoam, cobalt, turquoise, and periwinkle surround you as if the fabric of every guest’s clothing is a component of a lavish ocean of luxury.

Everyone around you dons elaborate masks that obscure only a portion of their faces. It’s a masquerade — a way for you to conceal your true identity from innocent civilians without appearing odd.

You’re quickly dragged out of your thoughts as Neuvillette leads you into the crowd. Everyone is swirling around in a series of intricate steps, twirling to the song that’s resonating within the idyllic air of the room. If not for Neuvillette’s tight grasp on your wrist, you fear you would have been swept away by a tide of partygoers.

“Do you recall how to waltz?” he asks, leaning in closer to ensure that you’re able to hear him over the unpleasant discordance surrounding you from all sides.

“Why does it matter?” you shoot back. Although you’ve opened up more and more to Neuvillette with each passing day, you’re not quite sure you want to dance with him just yet. “It’s not like this is necessary.”

“If we simply sit on the sidelines and observe everything, our suspect is bound to notice,” Neuvillette explains, his voice hushed. “Their eyes will be on you all night.”

The words send a shiver down your spine.

“So do your best to enjoy the moment and act as though you’re simply here to rejuvenate yourself.” Neuvillette pulls you closer, yet he leaves enough room to ensure that you’re not outright uneasy. “Is this arrangement sufficiently comfortable?”

You nod shakily as words seem to stick to the sides of your throat. It’s as though saccharine honey is sugar coating everything, its viscous properties slowing both your lips and your mind.

With your consent, Neuvillette guides you through the steps of a graceful dance. Although he moves with tact, practiced sophistication, you’re the absolute antithesis. Throughout your years underground, you never saw the opportunity to waltz, and as such, you’ve forgotten every intricacy of the choreographies you used to run through with Neuvillette. Thankfully, he keeps you in line, correcting every misstep you make with gentle guidance.

You find that the tenderness with which he handles you is something you’ve missed. Even now with contrasting feelings warring in the depths of your conflicted mind, Neuvillette’s arms are comfort manifested in a physical form. At the end of the day, he’s still home to you, and maybe he always will be. No one else will ever be capable of calming you down right before a criminal attempts to poison you.

For once, you decide to take Neuvillette’s advice. You forget all the duress of the current moment, and instead, you allow yourself to savour the warmth of Neuvillette’s embrace. So much for not being sure about dancing with him.

Time becomes an anomaly. Although each moment seems to slow, drawing out in a montage of careful movements, the dance is over before you know it.

Neuvillette leads you over to your table, and you take a seat atop the rose-coloured cushions of a plush chair, allowing a cream tablecloth to drape over your legs. As you sit down, you feel him tap your shoulder. He’s pointing to a man clad in a striped grey suit, his mask adorned with midnight blue stitching and matching feathers.

It’s your culprit, Francis, as you’ve learned. You don’t intend on allowing him to get away this time.

Patiently, you wait for him to approach you and Neuvillette. You already know he’ll walk up to you with the intention of ensnaring you within his trap. However, you’re two steps ahead in this twisted game of chess.

Sure enough, a grating voice rings out behind you before long.

“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Predictably, you’re met with the face of your prime suspect as you whip your head around. “And [name].” Right. He knows exactly who you are. Perhaps your imagination is weaving deceptions from preconceived notions, but you swear that you can hear a hint of a sneer in Francis’ words.

He spends some time chatting with Neuvillette, his dialogue consisting of flattery and exaggerated compliments. You’re not sure what your suspect believes he’s accomplishing, but a frown dances across your features as you continue listening in on the conversation. Any average person would be able to detect the deceit in his sickly-sweet tone, so the fact that he’s trying to utilize such a tactic on Neuvillette of all people astounds you.

You can’t help but wince as he makes blunder after blunder, your frustration welling with every sentence that comes out of his mouth. Finally, when it all becomes too much for you, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

“Neuvillette, I’m parched,” you complain. “Wanna go get something to drink?” Your own voice makes you cringe. Note to self: learn how to act in a compelling manner if you manage to make it out of this absolute disaster.

“It would be my pleasure to accompany you, but unfortunately I must remain here. Although tonight is a night of leisure, I still have matters to discuss with certain individuals, and they are expecting me here.” You find it fortunate that Neuvillette’s performance is more convincing than your own, his mannerisms and timbre completely natural.

“Oh, don’t worry about them, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Francis says. “Tell you what. I can bring them over to the drinks table for you and give them a few recommendations. I can promise you that I am an expert when it comes to this kind of stuff. My brother owns a drink company.”

This time you’re sure your mind isn’t distorting reality. The smile that he flashes at you is downright devious, assuring you that Neuvillette had been right about his schemes all along.

You take a deep breath before eagerly accepting his offer.

“Sure. Thank you so much for joining me.”

The walk over is silent, Francis’ bright persona dimming the moment you step away from Neuvillette. Instead, fractals of glacial tension seem to settle over the atmosphere, frosting everything over with a hostile air.

When you reach the beverages, you immediately reach for a cup. However, Francis waves you down.

“Allow me. I insist.” He picks up a cup for you, placing it down in front of the selection of drinks. Before you even have the opportunity to voice your preferences, Francis picks up a bottle, inspecting it thoroughly before unscrewing the lid. “This delightful beverage was produced by my brother. You simply must have a taste.”

For a brief second, Francis obscures your vision of the cup with his back. His hand traces a path to the front pocket of his suit. You know what he’s doing, so you don’t bother attempting to sneak a glance. It’s futile.

As he hands you the drink, you thank him politely. You’re careful not to spill a single drop of the liquid as you make your way back to your seat. When you finally sit down next to Neuvillette again, you continue bantering, each second ticking down and burning away into oblivion. The more time you waste the closer you draw to your goal. People are on their way to test the contents of the spiked beverage at this very moment.

Despite your attempts to simply wait it out, a problem arises when Francis begins to pester you.

“Go ahead,” he urges you. “Try the drink and let me know your opinion. I’m eager to take notes for my brother!”

In response, you shake your head with fervour. Sampling poison is just about the last item on your bucket list. As you continuously refuse, Francis begins to become irritated, his words beginning to crescendo in volume.

Neuvillette’s crystalline lilac gaze begins to grow concerned. Subtle moonbeams glint within his irises, reflecting his worry for your wellbeing. However, his eyes continue to hold an unuttered promise — an oath to ensure that no harm befalls you whatsoever.

That’s what comforts you the most when Francis finally snaps, lunging at you as he jabs a finger into your face. As he begins to speak, his tone is accusatory more than anything.

“You set me up, didn’t you?” he snarls. “The two of you,” Francis glances back at Neuvillette, who’s silently watching the entire exchange. “You’re not drinking the beverage because you knew I’d poisoned it all along.”

“Mister Francis, I would advise you to remain silent,” Neuvillette speaks, his tone authoritative. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in court of law.”

Unfortunately for Francis, he doesn’t take Neuvillette’s advice seriously. Instead, he’s hellbent on exacting his revenge. You begin to realize his philosophy is one that entails dragging others down with him when he pulls out an enchantingly-gorgeous translucent vial from his pocket.

It’s deceptively beautiful, its design making it seem as though it should contain nothing less than the finest divine nectar. However, you know how deadly the contents of the glass tube really are, and as such, a sense of panic begins to overtake your senses, overwhelming your head with countless scenarios where everything goes horrendously wrong.

Every diverging path vanishes into nothingness the moment Neuvillette steps in. A swift burst of aquatic energy fills your vision, and a cascade of pristine dewy droplets of water splatters your face as you close your eyes. When it’s over at long last, you glance around to find that Francis is on the ground, drenched and shivering as Neuvillette bends down to collect the vial he had been carrying.

“This will make for good evidence,” he notes, setting it down on the table alongside the drink.

It doesn’t take long for your backup to arrive after Neuvillette knocks Francis out. In fact, the timing of the poison-testers is a little too serendipitous to be organic. You’re starting to think that Neuvillette had planned to provoke Francis all along, but you don’t find an opportunity to ask before the team confiscates the drink and the vial to run experiments.

A crowd of onlookers has already begun to congregate, amalgamating in a curious frenzy. Everyone thinks they’re slick, but you can clearly see the way their eyes wander over to Francis’ unmoving form on the ground every so often.

“Follow me,” Neuvillette tells you as he takes off after the forensic team. Someone carries the samples of liquid that have yet to be tested, and a few others grab Francis and haul him off with you. You lose yourself in the winding hallways of the venue, each twist and turn serving only to further discombobulate your frazzled mind.

It feels like forever before you finally reach your destination. It’s quite ordinary in comparison to the sumptuous party occurring outside its doors — each wall a stark and blinding snow white and the lighting sterile and plain.

Francis is set down, and the forensic team promptly begins their investigation. As they labour, you turn to Neuvillette.

“Was it really necessary for you to use so much force when stopping him?” you reprimand him. “I’m grateful, I really am, but I think we attracted a little more attention than we needed.”

Upon hearing your words, Neuvillette chuckles. The sound of his laughter is a sonorous tune that you’ve missed hearing, no matter how much you want to deny it. Your heart races involuntarily.

“I was not intent on leaving your fate up to chance,” he says, sincerity weaving itself into every syllable he speaks. “Although keeping our operation a secret would have been ideal, I wasn’t planning to compromise anyone’s safety in exchange — especially not yours.”

Sometimes you resent Neuvillette for saying the most romantic things without realizing it. Every single rose-tinted word is like a shot to the heart, ensnaring your feelings in crimson threads of love. It’s as if you fall deeper and deeper into oceanic clutches, drowning — suffocating — as the weight of emotions hailing from both the past and present overwhelm you.

“We’re finished,” a member of the team chirps.

You feel the tension in your shoulders alleviate as both you and Neuvillette rush over to take in the results of the investigation.

“The two poison samples match the exact substance that was used all those years ago,” the analyst confirms, presenting you with the conclusions drafted on a sheet of paper. “With all the eyewitness evidence and the fact that he personally confessed to having connections to the very factory that prompted this investigation in the first place, it’s safe to say he won’t be seeing the light of day for a while.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief that you’ve been holding in for weeks. Your name has finally been cleared, and the real threat has been eliminated.

Above all else, justice has prevailed once more.

To your surprise, Neuvillette leads you to the grand stage at the forefront of all the festivities the moment you re-enter the main hall. Despite the pandemonium that had become the most prominent spectacle of the banquet earlier, people have resumed their lighthearted conversations and elegant dancing, swaying to and fro as if the alarming exchange between the Chief Justice and Francis had never occurred in the first place.

As people begin to notice the diminuendo in music and Neuvillette’s presence at the anterior of the room, the chatter gradually begins to die down, diminishing in a steady waning of volume. Eventually, silence consumes all, and you’re reminded of the sheer gravity of the Iudex’s aura alone.

“Greetings, esteemed guests.” The hall amplifies Neuvillette’s voice, each booming word reverberating and echoing off the opulent walls. “I stand before you today to announce a joyous cause for commemoration as well as to clarify the cause behind the commotion that some of you may have witnessed earlier.”

Whispers permeate the crowd as gossip and speculation begin to circulate. However, Neuvillette shuts everything down as he continues.

“The person here by my side today is [name],” gasps ring out in the silence, fragmenting every semblance of false tranquility that exists in the moment. “Yes, the very same [name] that was sentenced to life in the Fortress of Meropide due to suspected misdemeanours that resulted in an egregious death.”

Protests spread like wildfire through the rambunctious group of people gathered in front of you. Flames of disapproval threaten to engulf your entire being, stinging you with a rutilant aggression as you try to tune out everything.

“Silence,” Neuvillette commands. Thankfully, it’s enough to get everyone to settle down. “I apologize. For the past few weeks, I have concealed the true nature of the situation from you all. A while ago, I personally received a report detailing the suspicious activities of a company producing drinks as a front. Their more sinister schemes laid behind the scenes, as they produced toxins and other deadly substances away from the watchful eyes of the authorities. The composition of the poison they created was identical to that of the weapon used in [name]’s case. With this new evidence, we decided to reopen the investigation.”

Yet again, a shocked reaction is elicited from the crowd, and you begin to wonder how many times they’ll collectively gasp before the end of Neuvillette’s speech.

“When we looked into things more thoroughly, we discovered that the true culprit was Francis, a member of our very own Marechaussee Phantom. At the moment, he has been detained and is currently awaiting trial.”

Relief propagates amongst the crowd, blossoming in a pure flourish of unadulterated solace. A few people look at you with pity, each starlit glint of their eyes conveying their woe on your behalf.

Neuvillette waits this time, allowing the partygoers to mutter amongst themselves. When they begin to settle, he moves on to more positive news.

“I would like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to listen to my rather mundane explanations,” Neuvillette says. “Now for something more lighthearted.”

He gestures for you to take centre stage, and you reluctantly comply, gazing out at the ocean of people surrounding you.

“[Name] has finally been proven innocent, and as such, they will no longer be required to return to the Fortress of Meropide. This feast has been organized in their honour as a celebration of their return as well as an apology for years spent in isolation.”

Chants of your name begin to flood your ears along with cheers and apologies alike. At long last, you’ve been absolved of the burden wrongfully weighing on your shoulders.

“Welcome back,” Neuvillette whispers to you as he intertwines your fingers to help you off stage. “You’re finally home.”

You hum.

“Thank you.”

No one has the ability to predict the future, and fate’s ordainments are always an enigma to even the most omniscient entities that traverse Teyvat. You have no way of knowing how your relationship with Neuvillette will develop with the passage of time — whether it will mend or fade away as the last spotlight upon the very murder case that brought you back together fizzles out. However, you think you’ll take a chance and revel in his proximity for the time being. He’s proven that he still cares immensely over and over again.

Perhaps with enough patience, your seed of hope will bloom and fill the abyss that had once overtaken your heart, transforming it into a garden of romance reborn.

The weight of Neuvillette’s words begins to settle as you realize that yes, you really are home.

Even after a desolate rain of bitterness and sorrow, the feeling of your hand in his is still home — home sweet home.

thank you so much for reading!! sorry for the long wait riko!

[ohdeerfully]

Can I please request Alastor and reader having a sleepover because of flooding in the hotel which made most rooms in the hotel out of service including Alastor's and Alastor chooses to stay at reader room because ✨romance✨ Oh and can I be ☀️ anon ( I'm the person who made first request.)

I love your writing so much!!!

hii again!!! thank you so much for the request ☀️! i love when anons give themselves names its actually so fun (,:

A Dry Bed

Alastor x Reader (fluff) TW: none! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

It’s nothing new when a violent demon shows up at the doorsteps to the Hazbin Hotel–Charlie’s idea wasn’t a popular one, except to a very niche market of demons. Many came just to cause havoc and make life harder for the already strained employees of the hotel.

This was new, though, you mused to yourself briefly as a fish-headed demon ripped open the door, the hinges squealing in protest. Bubbles of water floated around his body, strings of a magic aura keeping them attached to his form; there was a large one encasing his head like a helmet, making his already fish-eyed features more… well… fish-eyed and distorted.

Most demons weren’t manifested in hell bearing any sort of noticeable power other than sometimes having a decent “full” demon form. So, seeing this fish rearing a set of magical balls of water for attack, for no real reason in particular and with a glint of mania in his eyes, quickly put everybody to their feet and in action. 

Alastor was out doing god-knows-what, otherwise this would’ve been over in an instant. The other demons in the hotel were incredibly strong in their own right, but it was undeniable that the power imbalance was… huge. And the immediate chaos that ensued likely would’ve been prevented.

The fish barely hesitated after nearly breaking the front doors, immediately detaching his balls of water and hurling them in every direction. Bottles of booze were shattering, hanging pictures were tumbling, and wooden legs of furniture snapped. 

Of course, it was over nearly as soon as it started. With a movement so fast you could hardly watch, Vaggie had the fish pinned down, her foot pressed against his neck and spear pointed at one of his bulging eyes. Her eyes were narrowed so hard, her lips so twisted in a scowl, you could practically see the fire of her anger.

“Vaggie, hey, hey, hey,” Charlie quickly rattled out, pressing her hands against her girlfriend’s arm and gently ushering away the spear. Vaggie refused to release the demon, who was gurgling some nonsense in his bubble of a helmet. Charlie nudged at her leg that was pinning the demon down. “C’mon. No killing. You know the rules.”

“Charlie, this guy literally came in with intent to kill! Stop treating him like he wants to be in the hotel.” “I know! But… just…” Charlie thought for a moment.

The fish headed demon started thrashing around, but Vaggie’s strong leg kept him down. He was growing desperate, you could tell, and a magic aura seemed to flicker around him as he fought for his freedom.

Charlie opened her mouth again, likely to coerce Vaggie to let the guy go, but was interrupted by a loud, squealing groan from every direction. You frowned and leaned your ear against the wall, where it seemed the loudest. The sound of screaming pipes and popping bolts made you clench your jaw and whip your arms over your head, right in time for the walls to start bursting with dangerously high pressure water.

Vaggie turned a glare to Charlie and spread her arms in a “you see?” motion. She briefly raised her leg, only to slam it back down on the fish’s head. His protective bubble popped, and he was knocked out cold. 

Easily enough, the pressure immediately began to release after the culprit had been knocked out, but the pipes wouldn’t magically fix themselves. Charlie was running back and forth, trying desperately to survey the damage to her hotel. Footsteps came thudding down the stairs and a spindly pink demon came flying down.

“Hey, what the fuck is- fuck!” Angel Dust’s curse-filled rant was interrupted as he tripped head first into the steadily increasing pool of water, not expecting his foot to get dragged behind him by said water. With a moment of confused thrashing he stood back up and shook water from his now drenched hair.

“Guys, a little help?” Charlie snapped, unintentionally raising her voice at the three of you. “I don’t know what to do, but just-! Something!”

Niffty was quick to arrive after Angel, announcing herself with a shrill cry at the state of things. She immediately went to work, practically flying this way and that with a little hammer and nails. You wondered if she could just materialize that at will.

After finally ebbing the flow at the lobby, you looked at the stairs to the next floor. A steady stream of water made a shock of cold run down your neck.

“Guys…” You pointed at the base of the stairs and drew a line with your finger, following the trail of water.

Charlie choked out a short cry, and Niffty didn’t hesitate before barreling between your legs and up the steps.

“Oh! My,” A shocked voice called from the entrance. A prickling of static covered your skin, and tension immediately left your shoulders. With him here, this would go a lot faster. You turned your head to look at the Radio Demon, who was now delicately stepping through the layer of water that was now creeping out the open lobby doors.

“This seems like a dream of a little orphan from the Dirty Thirties, I do think,” Alastor joked, mouth ajar and eyes shut in a sinister laugh at his humor. His staticy ambience changed to a personal laugh track following his statement. His cane was held up carefully on his elbow as he surveyed the scene.

“No, this won’t do! Not at all, what a dreadful sight for new patrons,” As his hand rose and a crackling of loud static filled the room, you heard the noise of metal bending and snapping as he magically forced them back into place. Even with all the pipes fixed, the water remained. You guessed it was up to the rest of you to deal with that part.

“Thank you soooo much, Al,” Charlie had her hands clasped and shaking in front of her as she continued to spew thanks at him for the help. She stopped and looked around. There was still a huge mess. And there was still a lot of water.

The lot of you had spent the next few hours desperately trying to scoop, dump, scoop again, dump again, all the water out, but it seemed neverending. Husk had showed up at some point, went on a furious rant about his collection of now-smashed bottles, and had been cradling the remaining one ever since.

Charlie had given everybody a verbal pat on the back, and called it a night. “We can get back to it in the morning.” She said this, but you had a feeling she would remain up trying her best to fix the mess. Alastor had excused himself some time ago, saying something about his broadcasts and his papers. Since then, your thoughts have been filled with aggravation from his lack of aid. Yes, he had fixed the pipes, but the water. 

You gave a light smile to Charlie, half in thanks and half in apology, before heading up to your room. Your jaw was clenched with anticipation for what your room might look like. You could already visualize the damp curtains, the dripping bed, the mildewy air… And your clothes were surely ruined. You’d have to buy something to wear while you washed everything you owned. You sighed at the thought.

You took a breath before pushing the door open. And, when you looked inside, it was… completely dry.

“What the hell.” You deadpanned, eyes scanning the entire room. Surely there was at least a puddle of water somewhere. The water had affected every level, and although you did live on one of the higher floors you still couldn’t understand how your room managed to escape the flood.

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you, making quick work of your drenched clothes and changing into something dry. You fell face first into your pillows. Your eyes were so, so heavy.

A few seconds passed before a knock interrupted the sleep that had been creeping over your body. You heard the faint warbling of radio frequency, and felt both nervousness and anger at the thought of seeing Alastor.

You rolled off the bed and stomped your way over to the floor, flinging it open and glaring up at him. He simply smiled back down at you, his head tilted questioningly as if he had no clue why you were in such a mood.

His eyes broke from yours and he peered into your room. With a pleased glint in his eye, he brushed past you. You wanted to say something about his intrusion, but you knew it would be useless. So you just followed him in.

“Lucky you!” He said. “I took it upon myself to look into all the rooms, and yours is the only one that is still in such a shape.” You watched as he examined the contents of your room, grabbing up a decoration here and there to look it over before setting it back down.

He sighed, eyes closing as his wide smile closed into a meager grin. “Unsurprisingly that little bayou of mine flooded much worse than everywhere else. As much as it reminds me of home, even I’m not one to sleep in the marsh.” He laughed a little.

Does this guy even sleep, you wondered. You had seen his room once before, and envisioned that marsh in the corner of his room completely overrunning the rest. 

“Uh,” You toed the carpet and pursed your lips. You were still a little upset with him, but the idea of him going through the painstaking process of looking through every room in the hotel made it more reasonable for him to disappear earlier. “I mean, you could… stay with me. Tonight. Just tonight. Everything should be fine tomorrow, but I don’t want you without a bed. You know.” You rambled.

You and Alastor had gotten close over the past year, a little closer than he was with anybody else, but you avoided thinking too hard about your relationship. You worried that overthinking would cause you to accidentally overstep a boundary and you would lose the progress you’ve built getting to know him. You were worried about doing just that even as the offer tumbled from your mouth.

You watched as his teeth began to peek through his lips as his smile widened. There was something in his expression that you couldn’t quite place. Pride, maybe? Accomplishment? You weren’t sure. You didn’t have much time to consider it before his smile composed and he remained unreadable.

“How bold of you,” His voice cooed, the static that surrounded him buzzing louder as his face got closer to you. You swallowed back a lump that had formed at the proximity. “Inviting a man into your room. It’s rather unbecoming of a lady like yourself.”

“I-” Your face grew hot.

“I’m joking!” He interrupted you, leaning himself away and back in a laugh. He waved his hand at you while you frowned. You hated the way he lived off of teasing and embarrassing.

“Okay, nevermind then!” You folded your arms and stuck your nose to the side and in the air. His laughter paused and he looked back down at you. Heat still burned on your cheeks and ears.

He examined you for an uncomfortably long period of time. You had your eyes squeezed shut and you upheld your attitude in the silence for as long as you could before the prickling of radio static on your skin became too uncomfortable. You peeked open one eye to look, and immediately got nervous.

He was just standing there. Just staring with his sinister red eyes. It didn’t help that he was quite taller than you. Looming and staring. Probably the worst combination, especially with that buzzing of his.

You felt like an open book, way too vulnerable under his gaze. You lowered your head to look at nothing in particular by your feet.

“So… yes or no…” You said, taking back your earlier statement. “You can have the bed, of course. I’ll just… find a blanket for the floor or something.” If there’s anything dry, you added to yourself.

His expression broke from concentration, lifting immediately into a gleeful, toothy grin. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you to the bed.

“Won’t be necessary!” He cheered. He pulled at the covers and pushed you down gently. Or, well, gently by Alastor’s standards. You still bounced upon impact. You sat there, a bit dazed with confusion as you watched him cross to the other side of the room and tuck himself under the same sheets. 

“Alastor- Hey, really, I don’t mind-” He put a finger up to your lips, dramatically shutting you up. You decided to listen.

“What’s a sleepover between two close friends!” He said gleefully. You couldn’t help but let the term ‘friends’ echo in your mind as you fiddled with your thumbs.

Silence filled the room again, but after a while it became more comfortable than awkward. The sound of radio frequencies had died down a little. You refused to look at him. The clock ticked faintly in the corner.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt clawed fingers grab into your shoulder and pull you closer to the Radio Demon. You aided the movement by using your hands to scoot towards him.

Again, you had become close with him over the year, but you never took too long to consider just what you were. You always waited for him to make any move, because otherwise he might completely reject you. So, when he made the decision to bring you closer, you happily obliged, albeit a little anxiously.

You gingerly put your head against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heart. Or what might be a heart. Who knows. You held in a laugh when you realized that even that had some sort of radio-like sound to it. Nonetheless, it did help lull you out of any nerves you had being so close and intimate to Alastor.

You lifted yourself off of him with an elbow and looked at him. He was already looking at you, unsurprisingly, so your eyes met his. They were glowing a little, you noticed.

His face still had a grin, but it was light. And comfortable. His eyebrows were relaxed as he just watched you. 

Your heart was beating uncomfortably fast, and you were embarrassed to think that he might be able to feel it with how close your chest was to his.

If he did, he made no indication of it. He just kept looking at you with the strangest expression you’ve ever seen on him. It was gentle. His words from earlier played in your mind again; when he called you and him ‘friends.’

Did ‘friends’ look at each other like this?

Did ‘friends’ inch closer to each other as they stared into the others’ eyes, bodies flush against one another and legs beginning to tangle?

Your jaw clenched and unclenched as you neared him, and you frantically examined him for even the smallest hint of wanting you to stop. You swore he was leaning in too, though.

You felt his breath brush against your nose. Your heart was practically clawing itself out of your ribs and the elbow you had propped yourself up on grew wobbly with nerves. When Alastor’s eyes began to shut, ever so slowly, you followed suit.

And, for an incredibly brief moment, your lips touched his. One, two, maybe three seconds passed before he pulled away from you. You opened your eyes to watch his expression grow a bit puzzled. His smile was tight, and his brows furrowed slightly as he watched you. He seemed deep in thought, with what exactly you couldn’t guess, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable.

At some point his hand had come and was gingerly settled on your hip, which he used to pull you back down. Your elbow practically gave out and you fell a little rough back down on his chest. You couldn’t help but stare widely at the wall for a moment, just listening to his heartbeat again. Was it beating faster than before?

You smiled lightly. You had no idea if this was a step forward in your relationship with the Radio Demon, or if it would be back to ‘friends’ tomorrow, but you decided to just cross your fingers. You reached your arms up to wrap under his neck, and you slowly made yourself comfortable. He had lightly settled his own arms on your back.

You couldn’t help but send silent thanks to that aggressive fish demon from earlier, and a thanks to god himself, as strained as your opinions towards that guy was, for keeping your bed dry.

When Alastor began drawing shapes in your back, gently dragging his sharp nail across your clothed skin, you cast away all worries about the next day out of your head. It all seemed so far away now as you took in the smell of the demon laying underneath you.

You just hoped this would become a regular thing, because man, was this comfortable.

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

A Warm Bed (sequel)

[colourstreakgryffin]

I had a silly idea, what about an Cheshire Cat!reader x Alastor? (Feel free not to do this dearie ( ·∀·) )

Haha. OMFG. A Cheshire Cat would really match with Alastor well! So, thank you, Lady Beelzebub! I’ll try this out!

Alastor- A Little Game

Vaggie has been so frustrated. Charlie has been trying to ease the crew. Husk is on the verge of murdering somebody. Niffty is annoyed that her cleaning equipment is gone. Angel is quite amused by what’s going on and Alastor is very invested in the cause

Lately, the Hazbin Hotel has been dealing with a suddenly appearing invisible menace causing pranks after pranks nonstop; locking or trapping up doors, stealing items and storing them high up, whispering out in the halls at night

Alastor didn’t suspect he’d ever run into the culprit of all this trouble but he has. After Charlie had been giving Vaggie a calmdown pep talk, the Princess politely asked Alastor to check around the hallways for any more prank remnants, the Overlord did so, just to see what he may find… and he made a incredible discovery

A floating cat-like sinner with magenta and pink colouring, most importantly, a big Cheshire wide grin. A rival of Alastor’s own smile and with almost half a body, as if cut in half

The sinner was in the midst of setting up a trap consisting a big silver bucket full of thick blood over the top of Alastor’s own hotel room door, but they’ve been caught in the act

And Alastor doesn’t plan on dealing out punishment… he’s too amused

“Ah… you must be the little troublesome beast causing so much disrupt in this Hotel?” Alastor asks almost immediately with literally no malice towards what’s been going on, his transatlantic accent smooth and almost making his voice sound more friendly and warm than he actually is as this cat sinner… or otherwise, you

Just giggles under your breath and disappears into thin air properly with the wide grin floating in the air for a few seconds almost magically before dissipating with you

“And if I have?” Your voice rings out after a few more seconds of silence, disembodied, invisible. You can’t be tracked with eyes but Alastor’s powerful magic can pinpoint where you are by detecting your own demonic magic, sharply looking over his shoulder to be greeted with your floating head

Just your head… no body, it’s like before when it was half of your torso. Now, it’s just your head. Your magic is a lot like the storybook fairytale character, Cheshire Cat

But that’s because you’re the most Cheshire Cat person anybody will ever met. Alastor couldn’t help but be so amused by you; you’re skilled, you’re snarky, you know what you’re doing and you’re resourceful, good at planning

Able to have avoided being caught by everybody in the Hotel for months now and you’re lucky enough to have been caught by the one member who enjoyed the chaos and madness the pranks caused

“I believe you must avoid the others if so” Alastor proclaims, almost mysterious and still silky in that radio-laced but classy and dapper tone as you tilt your head confused. For the first time, you’ve been snapped out of your mischievous chaotic demeanour

You suspected him to bark, to growl, to be annoyed so him not is so odd to you but quickly brushing it off, you manifest your whole body into frame. Cute fluffy striped cat-like ears flicking and long fluffy cat-like tail curling around, almost like a coil spring

You couldn’t really understand this Overlord, something you don’t like. You’d prefer people to be confused by you, by your style of insanity and madness, by your enjoyment of causing so much disorder and high-tension emotions

You were about to speak, basically floating over his shoulder before Alastor beats you to the punch. You can’t tell if you’ll like him or despise him with the way he speaks, almost condescending

“If you’re going to make my project topsy-turvy, I suggest do a better prank”

[daydreamingqueen1]

Sweets thief

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Warnings/Content: none. pure fluff, a wee bit of bullying to spence (totally harmless and friendly though), crushes, unhealthy amount of candy ingestion lol, no y/n, gn!reader too

Summary: You've been stealing sweets from your resident genius.

Word count: 1.2k

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It wasn't unusual for the BAU members to carry snacks with them.

The job was hard, stressful and, most importantly, it had unpredictable hours. So finding time to eat a proper meal wasn't always a viable option.

Nevertheless, eating is a basic human need and even if it's not completely healthy, the agents often found themselves battling their hunger with quick snacks.

As a relatively new member of the BAU, buying said vital snacks wasn't yet ingrained in your mind, resulting in you continually forgetting to buy something to munch on during cases.

Stealing was always an option though.

After several months with your coworkers, you are proud to say that you have managed to eat at the expense of all of their pockets, for experts in human behavior, they don't hide their treats so well.

However, after several months, you have come to know their go-to snacks and, subsequently, you have become picky.

Morgan eats some kind of high-protein bars with an awfully bright neon wrapper.

Emily loves those salt and vinegar chips every station has on their vending machines.

JJ, ever the healthy mom of the group, always has a few packages of oatmeal raisin cookies on hand.

Rossi carries eucalyptus and mint gummies like the old man he is.

And Hotch buys the most bland granola bars known to mankind.

With all of that said, the conclusion was obvious.

Spencer has the best snacks.

It is not only that he always has sweets but that he's the only one that manages for variety instead of a fixed thing. A bit ironic considering he is the most prone to sticking to a rigid routine. Well, you aren't complaining though, especially not this month.

You realized quickly that Halloween was a big thing for the resident genius, seeming to make the grown man regress to the mentality of an overly eager seven-year-old. It's lucky for you because that means that he chooses to try a new candy every single day of October.

It also means that you had begun stealing exclusively from him and, being surrounded by profilers, it wasn't long until you were discovered as the culprit.

A shadow had eclipsed your desk suddenly, making you look up to a squinting Dr. Reid. “Did you take my last Peanut Butter Cup?”

You shook your head, “No...”

Derek snorted on the desk nearby, “You've still got chocolate on your face, kid,”

Cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand, you smiled up at Spencer sweetly.

His converse sounded hard against the floor as he stumped away.

Apparently, you weren't that discreet. He ended up catching you many more times after that.

"Hey!" Spencer swatted your hand when you grabbed yet another handful of his M&Ms.

You shrugged, feigning innocence, “Hey to you too Reid, but we've been in the same room for a while.”

He huffed, inching the box slightly out of your reach.

Many more times.

Your hand was literally inside the familiar size bag of Starburst candy when Spencer came back from the bathroom.

“Oh come on!” he groaned, taking the bag out of your grasp, “Buy your own.”

You went back to the local police station office, giggling to yourself like a child with your hands full of candy.

At this point hunger had become a secondary motive to your stealing. The number one reason being how adorable Spencer's reactions were when he caught you.

In all honesty, you harbored a bit of a crush on the man. You didn't have the courage to tell him upfront, making your silly brain manifest your feelings like a preschooler pulling on the pigtails of their crush. Oh, but teasing him was so fun, and it got you free candy so it was even better.

Then, yesterday, there was an incident.

The team was on the jet, another kidnapped girl had been safely returned to her parents, fairly quickly this time too. Spirits were high at wrapping up a case with such a positive outcome, making most of the agents mingle and play games on the usually quiet ride home.

You were perched on one of the individual seats, scrolling away in your phone and absentmindedly eating some candy (you had bought your own for once).

You jolted a bit when a hand dived into your candy bag. When you looked up, you found a smirking Spencer standing right in front of you, looking fairly smug and popping a piece into his mouth. He thought he was finally getting back at you for eating all of his sweets.

His joy lasted for about three seconds before he realized his mistake.

See, to the untrained eye, he had just eaten a couple of innocent looking bear gummies. Except, these were not regular gummies, they were your favorite kind, the most sour kind.

Spencer's face scrunched up with disgust, the sour effect of the gummy doubled at taking him by surprise, the acidic taste completely taking over his taste buds.

You couldn't help it, you bent over your belly with laughter, inadvertently drawing attention to Spencer's predicament.

The whole team snickered as they watched him rush back and forth on the narrow hall of the jet until he got hold of a tissue to spit the offending candy.

“What the hell is that?” he turned around to confront you.

You gave him an apologetic smile, “Sour candy?”

More laughs filled the space and Spencer had sat down on the furthest chair from yours, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest.

Back to today, you feel actually kind of guilty about what happened. You have been munching on all of Spencer's treats for weeks and the one time he does it to you, the whole team ends up making fun of him. A bit of teasing was fine but you don't want the man to actually feel bad.

So when you see him stand up from his desk and walk into the kitchen, you quickly jump out of your chair and grab something from your bag, trailing right behind him through the bullpen.

He's making himself an exaggeratedly sweet cup of coffee when you corner him.

“Spencer,” you call, making him turn around. Your hands are inconspicuously behind your back, “Trick or treat?”

His eyebrows furrow suspiciously, “Neither if you're going to give me one of those monstrosities you like.”

You huff out a laugh, “No, no, I promise it's not that. Come on, trick or treat? ”

After measuring up how much he trusts your statement, he relents, “Treat.”

“Ta-dah!” you sing, revealing a single Hershey’s Kiss in your palm.

Spencer's eyes light up.

“I know it doesn't make up for everything I ate but it's an offer of peace.”

He gives you a small smile, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

As his hand extends to grab the chocolate, your brain has an impulsive thought.

You lean forward and peck his lips.

It lasts barely a second but it's enough to make your heart beat wildly against your chest.

Spencer stares at you frozen in place, a crimson color spreading all over his face.

“A kiss for a kiss,” you mumble dumbly, like saying that makes it better somehow.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ You think to yourself, your feet are prepared to flee the scene when he unexpectedly grabs your wrist.

“I– I...” he stammers, his cheeks turning impossibly redder, “I wouldn't mind if you stole more of those.”

A shy smile spreads on your face. Perhaps you won't start buying your own snacks soon.

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆

it's a bit silly but I was feeling halloween-y and craving sour candy

leave me a prompt or idea you'd like me to write!

♡, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

hope ya liked it, byebye

My masterlist

[mrpenguinpants]

Cat Distribution System [ Commissioned ]

— Recently, there have been reports of a large food shortage sweeping across Sumeru. The culprit? It's a...cat? Hang on- is this the right script?

Word Count: 4.8k

— Kaveh, Alhaitham, Wanderer + Cyno

Request: [ A platonic first encounter fic with a lazy/messy demon cat boy who is the personification of gluttony. ] Reader is based on an OC, so there are a few extra details/lore, but no OC names or physical details are mentioned. This is still an x reader fic. [Masterlist]

Thank you for commissioning me and trusting me with your OC again! While I didn't go as deep into the origin story as last time, I hope I did justice to his lore and character traits. I hope you like it!

“So, let me get this straight,” Kaveh starts, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. His brow furrowed slightly as his eyes flicked toward the figure across the table, who was happily stuffing his face with bits of chicken and Baklava—a bizarre combination that made Kaveh’s stomach turn. How was that not the worst flavor combination? Sweet, followed by the lingering taste of meat? And was that the crunk of teeth grinding against bones as well? Absolutely revolting. “You went out to investigate the food shortages in the desert, and somehow, you returned with... that?”

“Correct,” Alhaitham replied, his voice calm and detached, not even bothering to glance up from the pages of his book. He was so absorbed in his reading that it was as if the entire world around him had faded into the background. The giant elephant in the room—wait, no, cat—was the more appropriate term, Kaveh realized, his gaze drifting to the source of his growing exasperation seemingly dismissed. With a resigned sigh, he cast a pained glance to the otherfg side, where two fluffy ears flicked back and forth in a way that might have been endearing, had the man not been in the midst of devouring half the dishes they had. He was eating through Kaveh’s body weight in food, and with each bite, the pile of empty plates grew, a silent testament to the chaos of it all. Who exactly was going to foot the bill for this little catastrophe?

Kaveh stared. He stared hard. “What… is that?”

It wasn’t as though Kaveh was unacquainted with people sporting animal-like features—after all, he’d spent a good part of his morning discussing dwindling resources with Tighnari, whose sharp ears and bushy tail were as much a part of him as his sharp wit. But this? This was something else entirely. Never in his wildest dreams—or nightmares—had Kaveh imagined the source of Sumeru’s mounting food crisis would manifest as two twitching ears, an equally fluffy tail, and a bottomless appetite housed in what could only be described as a walking, purring catastrophe.

“Looks like we bit off more than we could chew,” Cyno said, lowering himself into a chair with the deliberate weight of someone resigned to his fate. Arms crossed and tone as dry as Sumeru’s deserts, he added, “And now we’re all stuck digesting the consequences.”

A long, theatrical groan followed, drawing attention to the figure at the table who was steadily sliding downward like butter left out in the sun. Kaveh collapsed further into the wood, his head resting on folded arms, his posture and overall energy reminiscent of a melting slime abandoned after battle—defeated, formless, and thoroughly unappealing.

"If you can still joke like that, I’ll take it as a sign that everything’s perfectly under control?" Kaveh sighed, his tone soft but laced with a hint of exasperation as he rubbed his temples, as though the pun had somehow caused actual harm. He shifted slightly closer to Alhaitham, who despite already having checked out of the conversation leans in, raising one hand to his mouth like a makeshift shield. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Kaveh added, "But seriously… if everything’s fine, then why exactly is the culprit here?"

“He followed us back,” Alhaitham said, his voice cool and dispassionate as if recounting a minor inconvenience rather than a monumental lapse in judgment. Kaveh blinked, his mind briefly short-circuiting as it tried to process the absurdity of the situation. The infamously meticulous scribe—who went out of his way to ensure his time card was never a second past overtime—took work home with him?

“He followed you back? And you didn't do anything to stop him?” Kaveh echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief as if repeating the question could somehow rewrite the reality he was hearing. The light-hearted atmosphere faltered, quickly replaced by a heavier silence as Cyno and Alhaitham exchanged a glance, one filled with a silent understanding Kaveh couldn’t quite place. Cyno’s expression darkened, his usual sternness sharpening into something far more severe, like a storm suddenly gathering on the horizon. His gaze flickered toward the corner of the table, where their... unwelcome guest lingered, before returning it to Kaveh with an almost apologetic weight.

“We didn’t exactly have a choice,” Cyno muttered, his voice edged with a reluctant resignation, as though the truth of the situation was one he was still struggling to fully accept. The words hung in the air, heavy with the uncomfortable reality of their predicament. The young man—cat? Kaveh paused, wondering if it was offensive to think of him as a “cat” in his mind. Maybe it was too soon to make that judgment, but the behavior was hard to ignore. The man gave a small huff, his tail flicking with a quick and irritated motion.

“You didn’t have to bring me,” he muttered, his voice laced with casual defiance, “I could’ve found more food on my own.”

“And left more skeletons in the rainforest?” Cyno shot back, his tone dry. The cat man shrugged, the movement causing his ears to twitch with a playful smile. No remorse whatsoever.

“I was hungry,” he said with a casual shrug, his tone almost too smooth, as though hunger itself were a completely reasonable excuse for his behavior, “It’s not my fault this place has no decent food.”

“Wait, hold on. You’re telling me that this kid—who, by the way, looks like he hasn’t seen a bath in weeks, and that’s putting it lightly—has been roaming around the forest, eating his way through everything he comes across, and leaving carcasses in his wake like some kind of... monstrous scavenger?” Kaveh’s eyes narrowed, his mind reeling as he tried to piece together the chaos of the moment. Cyno let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the situation. He glanced briefly toward their uninvited guest, whose tail flicked lazily in the corner. Truly the embodiment of a menace, even the stray cats who knocked over flower pots had the same content look. As if they stood above the Archon's themselves.

“That’s... the gist of it,” Cyno admitted, his voice a reluctant blend of resignation and mild disbelief, as though he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around how things had gotten this far. Kaveh’s jaw dropped. His hands shot up in a dramatic gesture of utter disbelief, and he slowly turned his incredulous gaze back to Cyno, then to Alhaitham, and finally to the creature occupying the corner of the table like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“And you—you brought him here?! To our place?!” His voice had risen to the point where the last question practically exploded from his mouth, punctuating his growing sense of utter absurdity. He wasn’t sure whether to be horrified, exasperated, or just completely lost for words. Alhaitham exhaled slowly, his fingers pressing against his temples as if trying to stave off the headache threatening to bloom. At least he was starting to realize he couldn't avoid faking deafness to Kaveh's ever-mounting overthinking.

“He’s not a threat to the city. As long as we keep him fed, he won’t cause any trouble,” Alhaitham gestures with his hand, his voice steady, but there was an underlying weight to it. Kaveh, not at all convinced, raised an eyebrow, his skepticism practically radiating from him. He crossed his arms, looking from Alhaitham to their “guest” with barely contained frustration.

“That’s a big assumption,” he muttered, his words laced with more doubt than a stack of building materials. His eyes flicked toward their unwelcome companion, who was now happily licking the remnants of some forgotten dish off his fingers, completely oblivious to the growing tension around him, “What’s to stop him from eating his way through the city next? And I’m not just talking about food. Shouldn't you be more worried than I am Cyno!?”

“If he does, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, he’s just… a nuisance," Cyno glanced over, who, now finished with his meal, was lazily lounging in his chair tipped so far back that it would take the slightest breeze to knock him over.

Kaveh pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to process everything, “So, let me get this straight once more. You went out to solve a food shortage, and instead of fixing the problem, you brought home a cat with a black hole for a stomach? And before you even start Alhaitham, I know you said he "followed" you back.”

"Ah, so you do listen."

"You-!"

Kaveh opened his mouth to continue arguing but then paused, his eyes narrowing as the gears in his head turned, “Wait a minute. When you invited me out for dinner...was this your way of pushing your problem onto me?! Does this mean I’m stuck dealing with him now?”

“That depends,” Alhaitham hides his mouth with his book, the bastard, “Are you offering to take responsibility for him?”

“This has to be some kind of cosmic joke. I knew I shouldn't have trusted in your good faith! I didn’t sign up to be part of the accidental cat distribution system!” Kaveh's up onto his feet, the chair pushed back with his palms flat against the table in protest.

The visitor tilted his head, his ears twitching. “I don’t know what that means, but if you’re offering food, I’ll stay.”

“I’m not offering food!” Kaveh said quickly, almost defensively.

“It’s not a matter of being fine with it,” Cyno said with a weary sigh, “It’s a matter of necessity. If we left him alone, he’d cause more problems. Alhaitham is still the Acting Grand Sage, and I have to scout the forest for any other "visitors". You’re the only one we can count on, Kaveh.”

Kaveh stared at him for what felt like an eternity, his gaze flicking between Alhaitham and Cyno. His chest tightened, and his mind spun in circles, torn between his growing anxiety and the strange tug of responsibility. His heart twisted and twinged, at war with his brain, which insisted that he had no idea how to take care of a cat, let alone a full-fledged person. Hell, he couldn’t even manage to keep his own life together! But... the look Cyno was giving him was enough to make him falter, his resolve weakening by the second. How many times had Cyno helped him, without question? And technically, wasn’t Alhaitham also turning to him, a trusted senior, to step in? With how much of a brick wall these two were, they’d likely leave a bowl of water and food, lock the door, and pretend this entire mess didn’t exist. But even if the “cat” turned out to be some dangerous menace to Sumeru, he was still just a kid, wasn’t he? It was hard to tell with all the grime and disarray, but Kaveh could never turn his back on someone in need. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know what he was doing—he had a soft spot for lost souls. He sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration, resigning to his fate, “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Perhaps,” Alhaitham, ever the picture of composure, stood up, brushing invisible dust from his clothes as though this entire conversation wasn’t nearly as catastrophic as it felt, “But for now, it’s your disaster too.”.

---

A few weeks had passed since Kaveh found himself reluctantly sharing his space with you—a strange, cat-like humanoid creature who seemed to have no sense of personal boundaries, let alone normal social conventions. Things, as he had feared, had barely improved. Kaveh leaned back in his chair, the creak of the wood echoing in the otherwise quiet room as he squinted up at the ceiling, silently counting the seconds until he would inevitably lose his patience. His life, it seemed, had morphed into an ongoing exercise in suppressing the instinctive desire to be a people-pleaser. Sure, he’d grown accustomed to dealing with clients who would endlessly revise their requests or scrap entire projects at the last minute, but this? This was an entirely different level. At least his clients didn’t sprawl across his desk or raid his fridge as though they were entitled to every last bite of food in the place. And they certainly didn’t follow him around like a persistent shadow, knocking over everything in their path.

Lately, your favorite pastime had been trailing after him, meticulously upending his carefully constructed systems. His drafting room—which had once been a sanctuary of messy but organized—had now become an unrecognizable battleground. Stacks of books, once aligned neatly on the floor, were scattered haphazardly, their contents not even spared the mercies of a half-hearted attempt at organization. More disturbingly, there were signs of clutter everywhere: empty plates left licked cleaned, crumbs scattered as though you’d been purposely grinding the bags into dust, and the occasional abandoned cloth or discarded paper—all remnants of your uninvited presence.

Today, Kaveh watched in silence, eyes narrowing as you sat cross-legged in the corner of the room, flipping through a book with the kind of careless disinterest that set his teeth on edge. Your tail swayed lazily behind you, brushing against the floor with a gentle brush, as though you weren’t inches away from toppling over a lamp if he didn’t keep a vigilant eye on you. It was frankly, unfair. Every time he glanced over, there you were—completely at ease in a space that used to be his own.

“You could at least sit in a chair like a normal person,” Kaveh said, his tone edged with the discontent that had been steadily building up inside him. He gestured toward the chair beside him, pulling it out with a theatrical flourish as though offering you a seat at some royal banquet, “I’m not asking for much here.”

“Chairs are uncomfortable,” you replied without sparing him so much as a glance, your voice casual, almost dismissive. How oddly familiar huh? “And besides, the floor’s warm from the sun.”

Before Kaveh could fire back, the soft sound of deliberate footsteps, accompanied by the faint clinking of bronze, sliced through the tension in the air. Oh, thank god—Alhaitham was home, so he could finally take you off his hands—

But when he turned to look, his words faltered in his throat. It wasn’t Alhaitham.

Instead, it was a young man with blue eyes, fair skin, and short midnight blue hair with choppy bangs falling over unimpressed eyes. Well, at least one of those details was right?

“You’ve certainly outdone yourself this time,” Wanderer remarked, his eyes sweeping over the room with a mix of bemusement and something Kaveh couldn’t quite place. Then his gaze landed on you, relaxed and utterly unfazed, lounging in the corner, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always had a remarkable talent for collecting problems.”

Kaveh’s eyes widened in confusion, his mind scrambling to process the unexpected sight. He had no idea what Wanderer was doing here, or why he’d chosen this exact moment to make his appearance. He didn’t even know the man all that well—certainly not well enough to waltz into his home and deal with the complete disaster Kaveh had found himself trapped in. Kaveh opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, he let out an incredulous laugh, his hands trembling slightly.

“W-Wait, what?” Kaveh spun around, his mind struggling to catch up with the scene unfolding in front of him. He glanced from you to Wanderer, and then back to you again, his confusion intensifying with each passing second, “Why you? Why—what are you doing here?”

“Me? I was under the impression you were in need of assistance," Wanderer’s lips curled into a barely perceptible smirk, his voice dripping with the same wry tone he always carried. He leaned casually against the doorframe, the sound of his hat ornaments clicking against each other rings in the room, “You do seem to have a knack for making things... complicated.”

Without missing a beat, his gaze shifted back to you, scrutinizing you with a sharpness that almost seemed to pierce through the haze of frustration Kaveh was feeling, “And this must be the stray I’ve been hearing so much about.”

“Stray? Careful with your words, I bite,” You echoed the word with a flicker of annoyance, the corners of your mouth twitching downward as your eyes narrowed. Kaveh, too caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts, barely registered the subtle shift in the atmosphere—until he saw it. Small flecks of dark energy, swirling and bubbling up from the surface of the floor like ripples in a disturbed pool, were slowly spreading outward. Kaveh had never seen anyone—let alone you—manifest something like that before. Even when he was hauling your limp body away from his paint water, you only acted as a limp body, “Bold choice of words for someone who looks like they blew in on a bad breeze."

Wanderer didn’t so much as flinch at the jab or the unsettling energy bubbling from the floor. His gaze remained steady, almost bored, as his hand flicked in a smooth motion, summoning a frenzied swirl of anemo that danced wildly in his palm, his expression betraying no sign of concern. Meanwhile, your ears flicked back, irritation flaring within the depths of your gaze, but a sly, almost mischievous grin crept across your face, as though you were ready for whatever came next.

"Spirited, aren’t you?" he mused, his voice as dry and unaffected as ever, "Usually, that’s just a mask for trouble."

"And you’re all business? What, are you his boss now?" You punctuated your question with an almost mocking tilt of your head, letting the tension in the air thicken.

"No," he said bluntly, voice devoid of warmth. Wanderer’s lip curled slightly in disdain, the sharpness of his gaze intensifying as he responded in a tone colder than before, every word clipped with precision, "I don’t have the time—or the patience—to monitor his poor decisions. I’m here because someone asked me to keep an eye on the bigger picture."

"Enough!" Kaveh barked, his voice ricocheting off the walls as he sprang to his feet. His finger jabbed accusingly toward Wanderer, the motion sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room, "If you two want to start duking it out, take it outside! I’ve had enough of this nonsense!"

Wanderer’s gaze remained inscrutable, his expression as neutral as ever, though there was a subtle shift in his eyes—something fleeting, almost imperceptible. The swirling anemo energy in his palm began to wane, dissipating in a controlled, deliberate manner as he flicked his wrist dismissively. The unspoken truce also retracted your claws as the dark elemental energy drifted back into the shadows as if it had never appeared in the first place.

"Overseeing you is hardly necessary," Wander replied, his tone returning to its smooth and cold tone, "The results of your decisions speak for themselves."

He stepped closer, his gaze sharpening on Kaveh, "Are you really prepared to handle the mess you've made? Do you have even the slightest idea of what you've invited into your life? Or are you just fumbling along, hoping it’ll all sort itself out?"

Kaveh’s jaw tightened, fingers twitching as if he might snap at Wanderer, but the words stuck in his throat. His room was a disaster—papers scattered like confetti, books in disarray, and an undeniable scent of half-eaten food filling the air. It was a mess, sure, but it was his mess. He glanced toward you, still sprawled out in the corner like you owned the place, and for a moment, his frustration wavered.

Sure, you were a walking, talking disruption, eating him out of house and home. But... you hadn’t been all that bad. At least you hadn’t burned the place down or knocked over any shelves yet. You were mostly quiet when you weren’t eating his food or moving things around in what he was starting to suspect was some bizarre attempt at helping. It wasn’t perfect, but somehow, despite the mess, things could’ve been worse. With a resigned sigh, Kaveh rubbed his temple and shot a glance at Wanderer. Regardless, Kaveh had taken on the responsibility to house you, even if it was a reluctant decision, but you were still his responsibility. Kaveh let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before waving a hand in Wanderer’s direction as if to brush off his concerns.

“Okay, fine. I’ll admit it—you’re right. I don’t really know who he is, where he came from, or why he insists on eating everything in sight like they’ve been cursed by a bottomless pit of hunger,” He shot you a pointed look, but there was no real malice in it, “But if he truly wanted me dead—whether for my so-called ‘poor decisions’ or because I’m his only source of free food—I think he would’ve made his move by now. I mean, he's had plenty of opportunities.”

He gestured vaguely toward the mess around him. “Like the first night, he crashed here? I was out cold. He could’ve done anything. Poisoned my food, set the place on fire, stolen my mora, or even used me as a chew toy for whatever dark energy nonsense he's capable of,” Kaveh waved his hand dramatically as though painting a dire scenario, then stopped, folding his arms with a huff, “But no. What did he do? He ate their fill, curled up in a corner, and passed out. Hardly the behavior of someone plotting my untimely demise.”

Kaveh turned to Wanderer, his tone shifting from exasperated to firm as he pointed a finger at him, “So, yes, maybe I don’t have all the answers. But at the very least, he's my responsibility right now. If anything goes wrong, it’s on me—not you. And as far as I’m concerned, this house has survived enough without you adding to the chaos. So, if you’d be so kind as to, I don't know, maybe don’t blow the place up, yeah? I’d very much appreciate it. I’m already stressed enough without adding structural repairs to the list.”

There was a brief pause as Kaveh adjusted the collar of his shirt and muttered under his breath, “Honestly, you’d think this house has a giant target painted on it the way things keep happening…”

Wanderer fixed Kaveh with a look that could only be described as utterly unimpressed, letting the heavy silence hang between them like a drawn-out sigh. His blue eyes bounced between the two of you and the tiniest hint of a smirk curled at the corner of his hips. Instead, he leaned back ever so slightly, his posture oozing casual indifference, and gave a shrug so languid it might as well have been an insult in itself.

“Choice,” he began, his voice slow and razor-edged with that detached condescension that always managed to crawl under Kaveh’s skin. Seriously, now that he thinks about it, where did Wanderer even come from to perfect that tone? “It’s the crutch people lean on when they can’t face the fact that they’re at the mercy of fate. A comforting little delusion, isn’t it? But you—”

Wanderer's lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smirk as he gestured vaguely up and down at Kaveh, “You’ve made your bed, Kaveh. Now get comfy.”

Well. That was a rather optimistic outlook. Really did wonders for Kaveh's self-esteem. Thank you for the pep talk—truly inspiring. He needs a better social life, he can only have one pessimistic realist in his life stomping on his poor little emotional heart.

"It’s not about optimism; it’s about reality," Wanderer continues with a new teasing edge, as if reading Kaveh's mind which he really hopes isn't possible, "Not everything goes according to plan, but hey—That’s the fun part, isn’t it? Keeps life… unpredictable."

The way Wanderer said it made Kaveh’s irritation spike, as though he genuinely took pleasure in the spectacle unfolding before him—or more specifically, Kaveh’s exasperation. For a moment, Kaveh paused, his frustration giving way to a fleeting sense of disbelief at just how far things had spiraled out of control. It didn’t ease his headache, but it did make him wonder if the universe was playing some elaborate joke at his expense.

"Fun? This?" he shot back, gesturing wildly to the room. Books were scattered across the floor, random objects you’d somehow decided were yours cluttered every surface, and the whole space felt like it had been turned into your personal domain of disorder, "If this is your idea of fun, I don’t even want to imagine what you’d consider a total disaster!"

Wanderer’s lips curled even further, a light yet equally heavy laugh escaping him, "Well, you could always take notes. You’re already halfway there."

He gave Kaveh a long, appraising look, his eyes flashing with a mix of mild amusement and something resembling skepticism. Kaveh stood his ground, still bristling with frustration, but there was a strange, unwavering conviction in his posture. While he didn’t seem to be particularly impressed by the show of defiance, but there was something in his gaze—a flicker of reluctant respect. It wasn’t approval, Kaveh knew, but it was something. Perhaps Wanderer had expected him to fold under the pressure, to back down in the face of the power difference between them all, but Kaveh wasn’t that easily swayed. Without a word, Wanderer gave a dismissive wave, his hat tipped once and his cloak swirling as he turned to leave. The faintest remnants of anemo stirred around his feet as he moved, but he didn’t look back. His visit, brief yet harsh just as the winds he uses, hung in the air, almost an afterthought. The door closed quietly behind him, leaving Kaveh alone once again.

Kaveh exhaled slowly, tension seeping from his shoulders, and for a brief moment, the weight of the situation lifted. The main source of concern had left, but there was a strange sense of having passed some kind of unspoken test. He didn’t know what Wanderer had seen, if anything at all, but Kaveh felt... a little more resolved. Even if Wanderer thought he was making a mistake, Kaveh had decided. He was going to handle this. He would handle it, somehow.

He glanced around his room, still a mess, still a monument to his questionable decisions. But it was his responsibility, and no amount of judgment was going to change that.

“Is he always this warm and fuzzy? Must be fun at parties.”

And he already spoke too soon.

You had been silent for what felt like an eternity, tucked away in the corner like a quiet spectator to the whole scene. The back-and-forth between Kaveh and Wanderer had been something to behold, the tension so thick you could almost taste it in the air. You had sat there, content to watch, half-amused by the spectacle and half-interested in how Kaveh would handle it. The way his frustration simmered, the way Wanderer barely seemed to care—it was all too entertaining. But now, the storm had passed. The tension had broken, and the silence in the room had settled into a comfortable lull. You could almost feel the scene winding down like a well-performed act. So, as the sound of Wanderer's footsteps faded, you finally pushed yourself up from the corner, stretching leisurely, and let a sly, mischievous grin spread across your face. The playful glint in your eyes returned, a clear signal that you were about to add your own touch to the show.

“You two have a weird vibe,” you remarked, still stretched out lazily on the floor, your posture an unholy mix of casual indifference and quiet mischief, “Are all your friends this charming?”

Kaveh gave you an exasperated glance, a thin line between his brows deepening as he muttered under his breath, “Not a friend. We're barely acquaintances.”

The words hung in the air, but you hardly noticed the growing tension. It only seemed to entertain you more. The silence between the two of you stretched for a few moments, thick and palpable until you broke it once again—oblivious to the discomfort you were causing. You propped yourself up on one elbow, looking over at Kaveh with a grin that was equal parts mischievous and playful.

“You’re a good guy, Kaveh. I think I might stick around longer,” you said, voice light and teasing, though there was an edge of sincerity buried under your usual nonchalance. However, in spite of your sincerity, Kaveh’s eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as if trying to will your words away.

“Not a chance,” he shot down bluntly, his tone more biting now, though the faintest trace of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth, “This isn’t permanent.”

You let his words slide right off, your grin only growing wider, a silent challenge in your eyes. With a lazy flick of your tail, you topple the lamp that Kaveh had sent you too many warning glances at, completely unbothered. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I couldn't explore the full lore of this reader, but if you're interested in knowing more, please reach out to the original creator: @thezboss

[cutieeva]

Addicted

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞

Female Reader

Warnings : Manipulation. Brainwashing. Sexual assault. Mention of murders. Dubious consent. Detail sex. Blackmailing. Power abuse. Toxic relationship. Cheating. Home Invasion. Stalking.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

❛ 死神 ❜ Meeting Light yagami was a mere coincidence yet the several meetings again and again doesn't seem to be anymore because the more (Y/N) observe the more she realize how fake he is yet she fail to be aware of his twisted desires held for her

To be cousin of Misa is difficult could be understatement because it is much more than that, it's heart-wrenching, gulit, frustration and more complex emotions are mixed because watching her sister even if cousin sister break down into (Y/N)'s arms wailing to be back to her passed away parents is heart-wrenching.

Guilt due to the helpless (Y/N) felt for hopelessly comforting her with words that are lies and even have difficulty to be happy with her alive parents in front of her as if she is taunting her sister.

Frustration on her sister's newfound obsession with the serial killer Kira who's praises of anti-hero could be sang at the same time hatred was there for taking law on their own hands. No, (Y/N) isn't saint to think what the kira is doing completely wrong rather her opinion dances between supporting their way of cleaning filth yet hating how they do as they want which was prove by killing the false detective life simply case he hurt the killer's ego. Also a newfound emotion has planted within her manifesting to grow larger and larger which is : fear. Fear for the safety of her sister's alarming love for the Kira just cause they did a good deed of killing her parent's culprit. Fear of her sister ruining her life just to meet the said killer or being taken advantage of bad people in name of Kira.

However expect her surprise when she met Yagami Light, the most intelligent boy she shared her school with came to her house with her sister introducing to be her boyfriend standing beside Misa who squealing quietly just the same way (Y/N) notice whenever Kira's name is mention.

"How odd". She was beyond confuse of how Light was able to peel her obsession with the Kira because as much as she knows he is the epitome of justice even being the son of Yagami Soichiro, the leading head policer of ongoing Kira case. "They are vastly different. How come she is romantically involved with such man despite fangirling over a serial killer ?" She remembers meeting the boy due to the unusual events of that day.

"I am bored". (Y/N) thought with a sigh, unable to hear the boring theories of the professor are uttering as her (E/C) eyes gaze over the window she was sitting near when a quite grasp left her lips seeing a black notebook written something over it fell from the blue sky. "What the ?" Unable to comprehend she decided as soon as the class ended she would surely go outside to touch the notebook for at least to check.

Bell ring indicating finished last period made her quick to be at her feet holding her small black bag and run through the hallway. "These are the advantage of not having friends". She chuckle finally drumming over the dust and in front of the very same black book she saw earlier. "Death note". She read out loud about to touch when her sight saw someone else's palm hold the mysterious notebook as she look up meeting beautiful bronze eyes belonged to Light, her classmate.

"Is that yours ?" She asked pointing her finger to the notebook.

"Oh ! Of course not. Rather I saw it from the distance while walking outside the gate and thought to pick it up and deliver to the police station". He elaborate smiling gently as she always saw him in front of his friends, professors and each person alike.

"Oh".

"Well, seeing you ask me if it's mine automatically prove it's not yours right ?" (Y/N) shook her head, smiling nervously.

"Okay, then please submit the notebook to the police station for it's rightful owner to claim. I will take my leave". Feeling awkward and having nothing more to converse she decided to leave and finding his nod as a permission she left. Unaware he stayed until her figure disappeared.

"(L/N) ? Right ?" Light's voice ripped her from the clouded thoughts to find the boy sitting in front her, on the desk chair Misa uses.

"Uh, yes". (Y/N) nod, straighting her wrinkled clothes to appear at least presentable when seconds ago she was in mist of drawing a art that occupied her mind when the door burst open revealing cheerful Misa with her least expected classmate.

"Is her aunt your mother ? Judging from the different surnames". He asked further taking a look at her from head to toe discreetly as she sat on her bed.

"Yup ! She looks nothing like the lovesick girl". Ryuk pointed out Light's thoughts.

"Yes. My father is foreigner from (C/N) while mother is Japanese so you could say I am half Japanese". She smiled, still having doubts of their relationship. "So, could you say how you two met ? You know, love story ?" Misa laughed sitting beside her and linking their arms together.

"Well, it was love at fight sight for me". The blond girl shamelessly unraveled looking at her love, her savior, her lover ignoring the fact their relationship is an play. "I was in awe how a man could be both handsome and intelligent so I persistently tailed behind him until he couldn't deny me". Lies spewed her lips so smoothly (Y/N) belived while Light holding the urge to roll his eyes knowing they rehearsal the script beforehand.

"And when we were in relationship he slowly fell for me and I fell more". (Y/N) doubts were beginning to waver and smile soften spotting her cousin's eyes adoring cupid heart and her lips coated with sweet nothings.

"She loves him". Hearing each and every word from her lips speaking proved that, failing to noticing her single moves are observed and calculated by a certain brown head boy. Light from his correct understanding has known the classmate he clearly recall from their first meeting from finding the death note and discovering she is her cousin who has soft spot for Misa could be useful in upcoming events just like the another foolish shinigami, Rem but hopefully she doesn't become a thorn in his way otherwise he must pitifully execute her like the rest.

"Misa, can you bring some snacks from downstairs ? I am hungry". Light narrowed his eyes at the sudden request. "Also Yagami-san, would you like to have some too ?" He nod smiling a little.

"Okay ! Wait for me and oneesan do not try to talk behind my back ! Do you understand". The girl warned walking away giving her a playful glare earning a chuckle from (Y/N) that made Light stare at her.

"She look nothing like Misa nor is her behavior". Light had heard her name from Misa before meeting today yet fault due to not paying attention he couldn't recall her until he came inside the room meeting an familiar face from their few days intractions washing away all the expectation he had of how more irritating her sister could be. "She is gullible enough". He thought.

"So, Yagami-san, do you love her ?" The question was expected since he had re-think multiple questions to begin with. Smiling the perfect facade he replied in beat "Of course".

"And what is the points you like about her ?" (Y/N) watched his perfect facade carefully where he crafted to smile nervously and fidgets his fingers when in reality he is getting annoyed by her piling questions. She is annoying.

"I, like her everything. From her way of dressing to the way she cheerfully talks to her way of handling people and most importantly the fact she is so brave even after her parents has left the world. She is still hanging strongly as ever". The girl's smile dimmed at the mention of her dearest relatives death yet she paid attention to the sincerity unaware of the fact he made just for her to see.

"So, she shared her parent's death with you ?"

"Yes". No. It was the first reason she is attached to his hip. A nuisance death what he thinks.

"If she shared such vital topic that must mean she trust you enough". (Y/N) sigh, looking at his eyes. "Then you must also know her obsession with Kira ?" His muscles tense but he kept the act of nodding.

"Indeed. It was in the first weeks of our relationship I got to know her unhealthy obsession with the serial killer". A bitter taste left by the negative word he used at last.

"What do you think about Kira ?" Now, he won't lie about this question coming expected but that doesn't mean he can't speak the right words in set. The words she might want to hear.

"I will be honest with you". His serious bronze eyes stare at her. "My own moral compass is little bend. Still that doesn't mean what they does is correct instead they only acts upon what they deems is correct and that thinking itself is terrifying and must be put stop to it". Hearing such words from a boy who's son of a national police agency and multiple times announced to the teachers of his dream of becoming one along observed his visible hatred towards criminals should have felt right but why does it feel so wrong ? Her raw human instinct is settling anything but safe and good. All the words sounds distant and wrong.

"Yagami-san, please tell me your real opinion not the one you would tell to hide your real ones". Breaking the silence she didn't know was there flicker her eyes deeply into his. He merely look down and back up with a soft chuckle disregarding Ryuk's raspy laugh.

"Smart girl". He jollily commented already being entertained.

"I guess I was caught". His eyes lifted with his lips. "Okay, I do support Kira's actions of killing criminals but I do not support their killings against innocent civilians because I think the innocents do not deserve such way of death to heaven". Light appeared to be shameful of his way of thinking when in contrast his fingers were itching to write her name on the death note and erase her existence from the earth. She is getting inside his skin. The second person to thoroughly caught his lies aside from the mysterious detective L.

(Y/N) eyes dart at the door hearing the upcoming footsteps of her sister to her classmate. "I understand". She did. Understood her intitution was right about the white lie he spoke moments earlier.

"But could you also share your opinion". Light oddly enough desire to know her thoughts for the sake of knowing her better. Or so he claim.

"Umm...nothing simply than the fact I have observed the person has fragile ego proven the moment he killed the fake detective just cause he was provoked such an impulsive decision". The brown head boy's eyes twitch at that sentences.

"That was good". Ryuk full on indulging the second person who doesn't fall for his facade easily and insult so bluntly at the same time could be the fast reason of her own demise he pitefully felt bad.

"Also I notice how the name Kira means killer at the same time shining in Japanese if I am correct then it must mean if the killer themselves liked to called killer in more fashionable way that proves they are aware they are nothing more than a killer but judging from the past killing of both the fake detective and police officers it seems the killer has forgetting it's identity and wants to be some sort of justice hero". She finished titling his head.

"I like her". The god of death openly admit his favoritism wanting more to see what becomes of her in the near future. Hopefully she survives after this situation for his want of fun. However Light doesn't share the mutual feeling. His lips part to say when Misa barged in holding plate of delicates and snacks.

"Have bites". Little to no noises were made placing the plate on top of the little table.

"Thank you". (Y/N) took one bite into the cookies before diving into what he was suppose to say if Misa didn't came so abruptly little did she know the blonde girl was standing behind the door since the topic came what he likes about her by successfully fluttering her heart and leak hundred butterflies inside her stomach.

For Light after eating and talking some meaningless strings of sentences he care not to remember only seeing red by the moment those words this bitch utter immediately put an natural end to their meeting, waves their hands goodbye, somehow got rid of the another bitch, Misa. He so restelessly want to strangle her neck to the point he could see life fade from her eyes, pale body fall limp for eternal. Once he got home excusing himself with a strained smile and fake soften eyes to his mother and sister.

In no seconds the death notebook was laid open and a pen fist between his fingers tightly about to write her name that no one would stop him expect "I have observed the person has fragile ego proven the moment he killed the fake detective just cause he was provoked such an impulsive decision". It flashes across his eyes itself pausing his movements.

"Ha !" He mockly laughed. Laughed more and more and more and more that it scared the shinigami watching how wicked the laugh turned to his eyes pure evil red. "If she thinks of death was an implusive choice I made then how about I taste her hell ?" He smirk planning to get closer to know about her in order to completely destroy her.

The following day of her colliding with Light Yagami at the school gate to return home was again awkward but this time for the reasons he was romantically involved with her cousin, she still has suspicious about due to all her gut feeling screaming the boy dangrous. A danger.

"Would you like to walk home together ?" He suggested wearing his usual charming smile.

"So direct ?" The god of death snicker.

"Okay". Well, no excuse she has to decline his kind offer other than the fact her house is at different direction from his. Soon she find herself walking with the least expected boy she often seen and came face to face once in a while. The walk itself was silent surrounded by comfortable noises like their walking foosteps, few cars driving, birds chirping on their nest over the tree.

"Why did you invite me for a walk ? We aren't so close enough yet". Her quite voice break the train of thoughts of Light who for the first time after getting hands on the death note has been in peace.

"To get to know you better". (Y/N) was taken aback, flicker to his eyes to find them already intensity watching her. She flinched. He noticed.

"Oh". Quickly her gaze turned away only to fall on top of a cute cafe she has been eyeing for a long time which Light has notice too.

"Want to go inside ?" She glance to check his expression where he smiles and she nods going inside together. Few people were seated and she chose the closest seat to the window. He sat opposite of her. "This cafe is nice". He compliment watching her nod carelessly and look around the cafe. "Seem to be the first time of her".

"Welcome to Cutieeva Cafe, here is the menu for you to order and please press the bell to call an waitress or waiter". A woman wearing her black mix white cloth elaborate smiling ear to ear and place two menu on their table.

"Thank you". (Y/N) thanked her taking one between the two menu to check what she would be ordering to end up with Katsu sandwitch, manju and iced matcha latte while Light ordered egg salad sandwich and iced coffee with milk.

They waited in the same silence boring the god of death.

"Didn't you said you would talk to her ? If you don't talk then how would you know her weakness ?" Ryuk crossed his legs and sat floating in the air with hand under his cheek knowing how the male human ignored him.

"I will charge apples for this boredom". Light tune out the whining of the supernatural creature focusing on the girl in front of him who never ready to met his gaze if not necessary he even remembers being baffled in their first encounter how she run away unlike others he has came across his life to be talking to him in any possible way or reason. The food plate were served and the moment his requested food entered his mouth did he felt the disgust raising. "It's a trash". However he didn't let the negativity express over his face, glancing over to (Y/N) who ate just fine. To ease the disfavour he drank his drink "They didn't add milk and it's bitter". His lips threat to twitch.

"You shouldn't force to eat something you dislike". Light froze. His mind for a second was blank and non-calculative words blurt out.

"What do you mean ?" He stare into those (E/C) he found yesterday night in his dreams.

"The way you only bite some of your food and immediately turned to drink then look at your food makes me think you might not like your order. Maybe I am wrong but I simply want you to know that you shouldn't force yourself to like something for the sake of others". If before he wasn't intrigued then he certainly is now.

"And what would happen if I force myself ?" The words escape eager then he wanted. Looking forward to her next sentence, looking towards to her next expression, to their next eyes met.

"If you do, it will only hurt your own self that might later be forgetton if you are so used to the mask". (Y/N) utter not confident anymore feeling her unspoken secrets exposed by the words she speak from her personal experience. Feeling his burning gaze yet stick to looking at her meal.

"Sounds like an personal experience to me". Click ! His brozon eyes gleefully when she looked at him. At his eyes. Only at him.

"Ah ! What a interesting turns of events". Ryuk observed each little things. Feeling tension built just like his entertainment settling.

"Because it indeed is". (Y/N) look away turning his gleeful to a frown. The first slip up of his expression he is happy to be not caught.

"Could you share with me ? Because sometimes sharing helps to ease the burden". His eyes soften along his voice quiter. After all he would hate to let others know about something that meant only for his ears to heard or else too bad he has know each their names and wipe their existence with the power he have as an new god of the world.

"I—" (Y/N) suck breath. "I think I— will take my leave now". Quickly without checking at the other she took her bag, place her order of payment and left hurried failing to notice his hand in air with the intent to grip her wrist and stood up from his seat watching her back becoming smaller and smaller and smaller. All her mind had filled with her dull past of her friends smiling in front of her but sneering and spatting lies behind her back, preventing others students of befriending her, isolating her before comforting her with web of deceit how others are cruel and mockingly laughing at her face when in dispair she learnt the truth. Even stealing her right of cutting her ties with them instead the trio announced of leaving such a pathetic person as (Y/N) herself when she asked the reason behind such cruelty were offered because "It was fun". A measly toy she was to them when to her they were her friends, her non-blood family.

It left a scare to never able to look at other people with the same pure faith she had on people. Refusing to believe be rewarded by good people and doubting each mutters coming out of their tongues. Paying more attention of their behavior after all what the bitterness of betrayal is given by an alley not an enemy that's the first reason she notice Light's off putting behaviors.

Meanwhile Light was left clenching his jaw and fury rush in his head to whisk away all the plates from the table, lash out his boiling anger. How could she left him ? All alone and not even sharing her past when she talks as if she knows him.

"Someone's angry". Ryuk stood up on his feet, lacing his arms behind his head in an laid-back position in contrast of the human's emotions piling. The death note user held back to glare at the hideous creature he deems and walk to the counter paying both of their order and taking her money on his palm. Touching the corners that her fingers have touched. He gently smiled walking out of the horrible choice of cafe to his house letting his head cool by the breeze kissing his face away and eyes on guard for any followers. This realization made his eyes slightly wide at how dangerous loosen his guard was staying with (Y/N) not care of the world, his world, his concerns.

His sole focus on her locked world he seem to unable to step inside unlike countless others he has done. Within seconds to days his result was the same. Victory but with her he tasted not only failure yet desire too. The desire to be seen, to be known. As much as he despite of someone knowing his true self to exploit or use for their own gain like Misa or expose him as Kisa like the annoying detective L. She is different, she wants to know him, she seen right though him, his unspoken flaws to perfections without a hint of scorch. She sees him for who he is and tell him to embrace it even if it means risking her life by sharing her nagative thoughts. Giggy feeling spread like vines over his body, dipping into his flesh to find it's way to his heart. Just imagining how she would react of him being the Kira, her cousin is obsessed with and the real reason she is with him already makes him yearn for her. Want to see her, see how more these measly feelings could grow ? But if it becomes a obstacle then he must cut the root of it all. Nothing would stop him from becoming the god.

Then how ? How come every single day from the day on he set up accidentally meetings with (Y/N), making time to be with her rather than his usual duty of writing criminal names on his death note to create a better place, be with her than Kira most of the time even going as far as to disguise Misa as a way of entering an certain (H/C)'s head girl house little by little. He simply can't seem to stop this twisted pleasure of inserting himself on the picture life beside (Y/N) without any filth or that bitch inside.

The longer he spends time, the longer those feelings distinct where the god of death teases him when the girl of his wet dreams arrive and she is getting clever with her excuses better than the precious one but how adorable ? When the one being lied is the master of lies himself. He has impressively maintaining the almost perfect double life as a student and the infamous Kira that lies from small to big holds no surprise to him anymore. So, albeit knowing her little amusing lies his patient, one of his strong suit has been helping the thread from being cut off however he is growing impatient. Astonishing him and proving his desire for her was greatly underestimated and that strong suit of his apparently doesn't work related to (Y/N) who is passing day, week is scared for her life.

She might be little oblivious— but not blind to his increasingly uncomfortable advances towards her about inviting her to his home when his parents are out, touching her at every chance he gets, leaning closer than a boy having girlfriend should be, whispering into her ear, creating one-sided plan without Misa, tried holding her hands—claiming it's for her safety from strange men attacking her. Ironic ? when he himself is no better than the 'strange men' he described. Perhaps more dangerous he was because the dreadful day arrived. The day where their pretense of nothing happening is ruined. The say where his patient put to an end along his desire begin to woven the fate of their to seal together. Branding (Y/N) his.

"Good thing I ran out of the class when he was called out by the teacher". She sighed of relief finding no sight of an certain brown head behind her. For some strange reasons the deity might want to punish her or else why the accidental meetings with him keep occurring ? Or "This is a set up ?" No, what would he want from her ? Surely he isn't thinking of cheating on Misa— no. (Y/N) shook her head from digging into the topic far too liking from her.

Ultimately without any difficulties she calmly reached her house, stretching her arms and walking upstairs to her room when her eyes went to Misa's room and memories of her moving to their house after her parents death flooded to how late at night whimpering, wailing could be came from her room and (Y/N) helplessly call her parents to help Misa. Only if her parents weren't killed, if only her cousin lived happily, only if Kira didn't exist, only if she didn't developed unhealthy obsession then perhaps Light wouldn't be able to came into her sister life and have the chance to cheat on her. "No, no. I am again imagining things. He wouldn't cheat on her".

Quickly her toes step upwards to her roon and her fingers touch the cold doorknob only to twist and open it with a creaking noise and the straps of her bag fell with a thud on the ground while her eyes remained on the ground. "I need a shower". She closed the door behind her and about to head her attached bathroom when her (E/C) eyes met his rather red alike ruby eyes fondly.

Light sat on her bed flipping her art pages. "W-what ? A-are you doing ?" He silently spin a key around his finger. Not any key but a key to their house.

"Gifted by Misa". His gently voice revealed however the girl oppose of him felt her head spinning, rounding around her head, heart pumping in fear.

Fear.

Terror.

Disgust.

All the negative emotions she ever felt was surfacing over her face Light could see, he was like an magician reading her thoughts, her emotions, her fears and he would surely use them. Make them his weapon.

"This is disgusting". (Y/N) with a sneer about to run out—

"Do you not fear for Misa's life ?" Her all actions stop in air. Breathing escalated, hard to inhale, hard to feel, hard to express.

"What do you mean ?" She turn to face the man she thought could be trustworthy for Misa. "What do you mean ?" She yelled louder for him to reply her yet all he offered was a wordless smile. A smile nothing alike an polite gentleman instead a victory smile, a smile only those offer when they know all the power of the pawns on a chessboard are on their palms and she was a pawn destined be to at his control. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN ?" She cried, run towards him and yunk his white collar.

"She is your lover ! How could you threat her life ?" How could he ? How dare he ? How heartless he has to be not caring about others ? Especially of his loved ones, the ones who would do anything for him, sacrifice for him, fight for him, be with him. Tears well in her eyes merely imagining Misa's perished body in front of her.

"If you dare to touch my family I will kill you". (Y/N) threaten, fisting onto his thin cloth. A family is what Misa is to her. A sister. A cousin she will do any limits of protect. Even if it means killing hi—

"Even if it means sacrificing yourself ?"

"What ?" Her eyes narrowed.

"I never liked her let alone romantically viewed her. She is nothing but a nuisance, a thone, a mistake, a pest in my life. I never wanted her. She did and forced me". (Y/N) refuse to believe the words coming out of his filthy lips. "The one I want is you. I desire you". He breathless confessed his hidden want. Leaning over her face while her grip on his collar crumble, she lean away astonished.

"No. You don't". She step back gazing at his yearning eyes, cleared bronze eyes held reflection of her, just like his mind filled with her, his heart filled with her. His larger hand grip her wrist from stepping away any further than she already was in the past days. Another hand circle around her waist pulling closer.

"Don't leave me. You must be mine. You should be mine". He mutter leaning his head to her heart, ear pressed to the racing heart, pulses of her veins and his right hand intertwined with hers like their lives were now. "You are the only one who truly understood me. Seen me how I am. Never forced me. Criticized me, always bluntly told my flaws to my perfections. You are someone to be my queen. To be mine entirely and eternally". He closed his eyes pressing against her chest— to her heart racing because of him. Her breathing halted because of him. Her pulse rushing because of him. Everything she feels because of him. He is equally in her roots just like she was in his.

(Y/N) slowly looked at him to find his eye lids opening and all she found was madness, chaos, desire and her reflection. From the moment they met her intitution already announced him danger, bad news and fake. But she brush it off, ignoring the voices within her mind pointing how intensely he looked at her. How he behaved with her but she pretend to be unaware, run away from the reality that something was off with him all for the sake of her sister's happiness attached to this man yet it lead nothing else than her own downhill.

Before she realize the danger surrounded her, it was too late. She was caged. In his palm as a pawn of desires and caged in his arms. "Be with me and Misa will be alright. Be my queen and no harm with be done. My love, you don't know what can I do to disappear a person". Her knees gave up only for Light to hold her. "Do not worry. I am here. Give yourself to me and everything will be alright".

With a thud her back touch her once safety of a bed along the destroyer of her life, the killer of her soul, the ruiner of her body above her. His intelligent gaze replaced with full of lust. Adulation adoration "What would you do if I don't obey you ?"

"Kill Misa and I promise I will get away with it". Light honestly revealed, he has already plan to get rid of the good for nothing god of death, Rem with Misa. The only reason she wasn't dead to his inconvenience of the Rem but to own (Y/N) he will make it possible and crowned her his queen.

School white shirt disregarded baring her upper skin and her breast under the bra. Hungry eyes drank at the sun ray's kissed (S/C) skin. A divine present she is to him. The perfect love of his life. Insteadly he pressed his lips to hers earning a groan from himself due to how good it felt. Her lips were smooth, soft featherly and creamy like the pastries he likes. His tongue invade hers, tasting her tongue, twisting them together and sucking her, taking all her sweetness to himself, blending their saliva together and moving in rhythm of their love song ignoring how she remained unwavered.

When air became a need, a way to breath he decided to separate his lips from her leaving a lace of sliver saliva thread onto their lips— an evidence of his passionate kiss. He smirk finding her (S/C) cheeks decorated with crimson hue, lips gleaming his saliva and tears build on those hatred eyes.

Light insteadly latch Into her skin, curious if her body taste as sweet her lips does and he wasn't disappointed sucking her chin, neck, collarbone banding her his with the butterflies kisses and purple hickeys. However only whimpers, choked tears were tuning his ears unlike the music of moans he was awaiting. How could she ? Contrast to he was in heaven, the hell was brought for her on earth. Torturing her with those burning hands, soul-sucking kisses and purple scars on her body. The ruiner of her ripped the bra she used as an shield presenting her vulnerable and helpless.

Her breath hitched and eyes shut feeling wet lips coating her buds and he indulge his fantasy of his sleepless night come true even better beyond his tricks of imagination. He lovely bite and circle the buds with his tongue to earn any sweet noise from (Y/N)'s pretty lips. Showering devotion to their love making. "She is so perfect". Her head to toe was a goddess in a human's body. All of her flaws and hatred he viewed in her turned into rose tinted glass. Quickly those purple and blue bruises painted over her breast and his other hand kneading her breast as he continue to mark her down and down until his eyes sparkle with excitement and hers with terror.

He slowly dragged her cloth all together letting harsh breeze touch her second most private part which he delightfully touched. "So delicious it looks. All for me to have". Blood painfully rush to his own private part palming her small sex and lean his mouth inside the flesh. Finally the held tears of her roll down, crying at her cruel deity. At the cruel fate written for her. "Please help. Somebody, anybody help". How sad. Pitifully she quiver under Light who was enjoying the taste of her, the liquid she made from, created into.

"I can't". Crazed blood rush into his mind that he no longer take his slow time to worship his queen within a blink of an eye his own lower pants gone and without preparation, without protection he slammed his cock into her virgin flesh filling himself tight around her walls. "How sweet. All your first is me and I will make sure your last is me too". He bite his lips, gripping her naked thighs hard that she felt her bones would break.

"But my soul is broken". She screamed her pain of being raped. Agony of taking his part into her pussy so suddenly and forcefully. It hurts. It hurts more when he moved inside her, thrust again and again. Brim of bile threat to pour out of her throat as he continue to pleasure himself using her body— no a body belongs to him.

"So good, love. You are the sweetest. The most divine queen you will be". He chuckle thrusting faster. In mind to impregnate her. Yes, he will make sure to lock the shackle around her ankle well and the lock will be their sweet child which she soon realize when his hips slowed and strings of white liquid was released inside her womb.

"No. No. No. No. No. No". (Y/N) screamed at his face, red from anger. "I will kill this child if it grew". But all he did was lean and kiss her lips.

"Then I will kill Misa, your family and each person you come to care one by one". He shuss her by kissing her adorable protest only he can heard and see not even that Ryuk who is not here from the beginning busy devouring his addicted apples.

Just like he is slave to his (Y/N) "I am—". He kiss her. "Addicted".

FIN

[fakesimp]

Stress Reliever — ft. Wriothesley

Crack? ; Fluff ; Suggestive ; Established Relationship

A/n — Haha, I'm burying my face to his chest, I don't care anymore. I am manifesting.

He inhaled sharply as he felt your hair brushing against his, skin. He blinked down at the culprit, that's laying on him, on his chest. Face buried deep towards his chest, his hand just awkwardly hovering over your figure. Unable to process what just happened, he laid there gaping as he stare at you.

"Babe," He muttered softly, you can hear his heart going so fast as you place your ear right on top of his racing heart, "What are you doing?" He mustered up the courage to ask. Earning a chuckle from you, making him even more confused. "I am laying down," You replied, and then you lean away, smiling cheekily at the man below you, "On your chest, to be precise." You added.

"If you have wanted cuddles you could've asked—" "But where's the fun in that?" You cut him off, he opened his mouth to retort before he just closes them and shook his head in amusement. Now his hand placed on your waist, he stared at you. With such a loving gaze, "Sure, where's the fun on asking what you want." He said before one of his hand brushes against your hair, soon his thumb gently graze under your eyes, to your cheek.

"Only you that manage to get the Duke laying still underneath a.. threat" He smirked, "A threat? Me? Are you sure I'm just a threat?" You retorted playfully. Slowly crawling up a bit as your face is now on the same level as his, leaning down, pressing your forehead against his. "You're not only a threat, but also someone I adore, someone I'm obsessed with." His hands squeezes your hips, down to your ass, he just gave them a quick squeeze before letting out a hearty laugh at your gasp. "Wriothesley!—" You scolded him, he simply smiled oh so innocently at you.

"What? I'm just admiring you, loving Every. Inch. Of you." He said, and each time, he squeezes your ass. Making you squirm on top of him, he laughed again before he pull you up a bit more, burying his face at the crook of your neck. His lips pressing down against your skin, he whispered. "Can't I spoil you with my love?" "Mmn.. You're so unfair, I'm just using your chest as a stress reliever" you muttered, before leaning back, pressing your hands down on his chest.

He grunts before he huffee amusingly, his hands now on your thighs, he smiled as he laid under you, seemingly enjoying of the position that you two are in. "Stress reliever? My chest? What a way to relief your stress when you could've ask for my help." His rough hand squeezes your thighs, "Could've been a bit more aware of what I need Wrio.." You whispered lowly before you heard a low growl emits from the male under you when you presses your weight down on his hard length. His hands that was on your thighs went up to your hips, his gaze flickered up to you, his icy blue hues dilated.

"Right, I should fix that, aren't I?" He chuckled lowly before he grip your hips tightly, making sure that you stay still.

"Then let's relief that stress, shall we? I'll take a good care of you."

©fakesimp — 2025 || Do not copy/translate/use for ai

A/n — Wriothesley, I literally had to rebuild your artifacts, I even switch some with Neuvilette ( I'm so sorry Neuvi, I'll rebuild your artifacts again 🥹 ) Please get your constellations to come home and your signature too 🥺..

[write-something-new-again]

Atsushi and blood.

Atsushi and blood and feeling nothing from it. Crazy, he thinks, that some people will pass out at the sight of it. He's standing in a parking lot, two bullets wedged in his abdomen, and cool as a cucumber. Sure, it hurts, of course it does, but he's used to it. The echo of a hammer and nail ache in the back of his head. The tops of your feet more much sensitive to pain than this. He barely even clenches his teeth.

Now Kunikida's fussing over him, panicked and urging him to sit down. His notebook is already out, ready to manifest something to help contain the wound, to put pressure on it- because there's so much blood. Atsushi doesn't bat an eye.

Blood stained the concrete of his cage. Blood's always ruining his clothes. He knows what it tastes like.

A mission gets a little rowdier than expected, resident tiger-boy of the ADA ends up biting a bad guy in self defense. A big chomp with those tiger fangs of his. The culprit's led away in handcuffs, his tricep almost completely red. Atsushi feels nothing. Like he could have kneed the guy in the throat and he'd have the same reaction. It's like sweat. It's like tears. Blood is so nothing special.

To others, blood is hurt. Blood is injury. Blood means danger.

To Atsushi, blood means nothing.

[astra-ravana]

The Dark Dead & Baneful Necromancy

The Dark Dead are restless, tormented, and tormenting souls of the earthbound dead. Usually they are the real culprit behind a "demonic" haunting. These human souls because of their lack spirit and their material obsessions, cling to their earthly existence, either consciously or subconsciously. As such, they are in a state of perpetual suffering. They become one of the lost, lonely shades haunting this world. A necromancer can employ or manipulate these spirits for a number of purposes, depending on the type of spirit.

The Murderous Dead

Shades of the hateful, violent, and murderous who, in life, possessed an immense bloodlust and rage and in death continue to seek out bloodshed and the demise of others.

Uses: Can provoke or even perform acts of violence including causing bloodshed and death. (Note- These spirits can easily turn on the one who employs them)

The Murdered Dead

Spirits that have remained in a shocked state, mind and soul, because of the violence that led to their death and often are bound to haunt their place of demise. They don't always seek direct revenge, but they are most often confused and enraged, as they relive the terror of their deaths.

Uses: Can cause significant harm and often create/bring confusion, anger, mental illness/anguish, and madness. They can also influence the minds and emotions of the living, provoking violence and fear.

The Burnt/Burning Dead

Spirits of those who burned alive and in death still remain in the flames in their minds, suffering pain and horror. This includes a sub-category that are obsessed pyromaniacs or arsonists in life that caused harm through flame. They take delight in the destruction, agony, and pain they have, and still cause. In either case they tend be obsessed with fire.

Uses: Can cause pain, terror, madness, and horrible accidents, disfigurement, and death by way of fire.

The Drowned Dead

The restless souls of the drowned which often stay attached or even trapped within the bodies of water that claimed their life. There they can often be the cause of drowning incidents.

Uses: Known to be effective bringers of nightmares, insanity, and in some cases, serious breathing issues/suffocation.

The Insane Dead

Lunatics afflicted with mind-shattering mental illnesses in life which carries over into death binding them to a earthbound nightmare. These spirits often do not grasp their own deaths due to confusion and insanity. As a result they will continue to haunt their familiar surroundings, people, or objects that they were attached to in life. Their existence is one of perpetual madness.

Uses: Cause nightmares, confusion, and full blown insanity/psychosis. They can literally destroy the minds of living people as they form strong attachments which makes their lunacy rather contagious.

The Plague-Bearing Dead

Ravaged mentally and physically because of painful and contagious diseases, these shades remain obsessed with sickness and their own suffering, even in death. They are in a constant state of anguish.

Uses: Can afflict the living eith symptoms of their own diseases and manifest said illnesses physically. This is because the seed of any sickness is first planted in the subtle planes before it manifests in flesh.

The Vengeful Dead

Those amongst the Dark Dead who in death remain obsessed with some just or unjust quest for vengeance. It's recommended one have their own obsessive sentiments concerning revenge in order to work with these retaliatory shades.

Uses: Effective when merciless and harsh justice is sought and they are especially good to employ when the target has wronged someone in a similar manner as the spirit was wronged. (WARNING!- Shades such as these are very  dangerous as they can easily possess the minds of those who call upon them. One must possess sufficient knowledge and fortification before spirits such as these should be worked with.)

The Suicides

The souls of certain suicides who in death continue to obsess over the circumstances of their deaths and their own choices. They may remain bound to futile, self destructive impulses.

Uses: Possess the power to cause sorrow, madness, anxiety, depression, or to provoke self-destructive/suicidal tendencies.

The Unrepentant Dead

The souls of hardened, impetitent, and merciless criminals who remain obsessed with their vices and material attachments.

Uses: Called upon within certain contexts in order to combat and escape the law and successfully commit crimes, usually in exchange for offerings pertaining to their base desires and addictions that still influence them in death.

The Lonely Dead

Tormented souls of the miserable, regretful, and lonesome who may not have ever had anyone to care for or love them. This real or perceived lack of love is thought to be the cause of their unnatural attachment to the realm of the living. Some of these spirits may suffer in death because of some wrongdoing, which they obsessed over in both life and death.

Uses: Most often called upon in order to cause regret and sorrow, or in order to afflict a target's senses with all their own sufferings until they do as demanded of them. These tormented spirits can also cause depression, self destruction, or in some cases, even provoke suicide.

The Cursed Dead

Shades who died as a result of some form of sorcery or witchcraft directed at them in life. They often still remain bound by the same curse in death, a captive of whatever element caused their unnatural demise.

Uses: Only accessible and useful if one knows how and why they became cursed and by which powers they, in death, are kept subjugated. This knowledge can be learned through a variety of esoteric means or by speaking to (or actually being the one) who cursed the spirit. Abilities are dependent on the conditions of the curse and manner of death.

The Stinging, Crawling, and Snaring Dead

Restless dead killed by poisonous insects, spiders, other crawling creatures, venomous animals or even toxic plants/fungi. The remain in the perpetual nightmare of their death and what caused it. These shades often manifest in bizarre, unnatural forms because of the synthesis between the shadow of the being that claimed their life and their own human soul. They may possess an extreme phobia or obsession with these creatures in life.

Uses: Can leave actual bite marks on the living, swarm them with nightmares and paranoia causing sickness of the body and soul.

The Vampiric Dead

Vampiric shades with an insatiable hunger for the life force of living beings. These parasitic impulses likely developed in life and carried on after death. The atavistic form assumed by these nocturnal spirits is typically that of a bat or nocturnal bird of prey. They share some common attributes with incubi/succubi as in they enter the dreams of their targets to feed on them.

Uses: Possess thr power to empty a target of their vitality, bring weakness, sickness, nightmares, madness and possibly even cause death through the siphoning of a target's vital force.

[glacierclear]

Disorganized rambling lore dump for Eden (sorta for my own reference, for the purpose of categorizing thoughts!)

Exploring the concept of a werewolf who doesn't know they're a werewolf and lives in constant denial, despite all the warning signs.

D&D lore seems to revolve a lot around "rejecting" or "embracing" your lycanthropy and I thought it would be interesting to conceptualize a character that rejects it so thoroughly they don't even know they have it.

Eden Glee was the youngest sibling of a strong and resourceful family. They didn't have a lot. They lived within their means, and relied on one another. Eden was playful. Mischievous. Ventured too far, took miscalculated risks, and frequently caused trouble for their family. Eden was always an unlucky child.

They met the wolf alone one night. In an attempt to free the poor creature's leg from a trap, it attacked them, marring their face and inflicting them with lycanthropy. They managed to run home, crying and telling their family that a strange dog had bit them in the woods, unaware of its true nature.

On the night of their first transformation, their family was killed.

To them, they were the sole survivor of a vicious attack, not realizing they were the true culprit.

Wherever they went, death followed. They fled to towns. Villages. Remote settlements. Every month brought new corpses. Of course, they came to the most obvious conclusion.

With motivations unknown, the beast must have followed them, bonding on the night they had met.

So, Eden chose isolation. They ventured east, building a home for themselves in the deep forests of Cormanthor. They became self-sufficient. The further they were from people, the safer everyone would be.

Time lost structure. In the years spent hiding, months intermingled, and gaps in their cognition blurred. It no longer felt odd to lose days' worth of memories. That's just how the cycle worked when you lived alone. Surely, this is just that "cabin fever" people would talk about.

Every so often, they'd stumble upon new carnage. A desecrated animal corpse. A ripped up tree trunk. The remains of unfortunate wanderers passing through the woods. All reminders that the beast still lurked. It still followed.

And it was easy to take things as they came. To dismiss changes in their body as explainable phenomena.

Staring at the moon made them uncomfortable now. The light almost itched the blood beneath their skin. But they had always preferred the daytime, anyways. The only reason they were in this mess to begin with was because they were out past dark. It made sense to grow wary. Silver burned and stung their flesh. Mama's necklace had to be sealed away in a box. But their big brother once developed a strawberry allergy when they were young. It wasn't outside of the realm of possibility that this was a similar case. They had always preferred the look of bronze, anyways. Their family would grow wolfsbane. It made excellent poisons, and they'd pick the flowers to decorate their hair, even if it numbed their hands and tingled their scalp. But now, just the sight of it horrified them, triggering an almost guttural, vicious reaction. But...grief manifested in strange places. Perhaps the reminder was too painful, even after so long.

But, worse than anything else, they just missed the world. They missed friends and laughter and warm fires shared with those they loved. The weight they shouldered was heavy, but as long as the beast still lived, they would not risk another. God, they could not lose another.

They were beyond seeking answers. The best they could do was manage the circumstance. Ward away as many as they could. Keep people out.

Maybe there was no explanation. No reason for why this happened each and every month. That was just the nature of bad luck.

And throughout the years, that had never changed.

Eden was always an unlucky child.

[thewertsearch]

CG: I NEED YOU TO COME THROUGH FOR ME, BECAUSE WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF MANPOWER HERE. CT: D --> We are CG: YES DIDN'T I MENTION? FEFERI, KANAYA AND TAVROS ARE DEAD, SOLLUX IS UNCONSCIOUS, AND TEREZI IS MISSING.

It all fell apart so fast, didn't it?

One minute, he was sitting in the Veil’s rec room, bickering with Jade. The next, everything was blood and honking.

What the fuck happened to Kanaya.

You foolishly misplaced your glasses during your heroic revival attempt, leaving you with no way of communicating with the others to warn them.

Phew. You got me, Hussie.

But there is no one in here. Just someone taking a nap on the horn pile over there. And a big puddle of something next to the transportalizer.

We turned our back on Kanaya's body, and now it’s on the move.

Who’s the culprit, though? The only troll unstable enough to do this is probably Gamzee...

Are those.... fang marks?

KANAYA!!!

She's back!!

I mean, she's apparently a fucking vampire, but who gives a shit? We're back in business, baby!

Man, this is fucking random, isn't it? From where I'm sitting, it's come completely out of the blue. If it gets my girl back in the game, I'll take it, but how the hell does this even work?

I know Kanaya used to dream of being a vampire rainbow drinker, but dreams don't usually come true this easily. Alternia does have undead, so it's possible she was bitten before she Entered, but I would have expected her vampirism to have manifested much earlier in the session. She has always had pointed teeth, but I assumed it was just a natural trait in trolls.

Is it a Sylph thing, perhaps? The class is apparently 'more magical' than a Witch, so maybe Kanaya's latent magical abilities were triggered in death, restoring her to... undeath?

If that's true, though, then why a vampire? They don't have anything to do with Space, unless you count the fact that they're nocturnal, and thus active when the night sky is visible. I doubt that's even true for rainbow drinkers, who are probably diurnal.

Kanaya's thirst for fuchsia blood would suggest that her instincts have taken over for the time being. We won't really know how much self-control she has until she's face-to-face with a living troll, but I'm confident in her willpower.

That said... I'd absolutely love a villainous Kanaya. If she fully gave into her thirst, she'd be a bigger threat than all these idiots combined - especially if she has access to the traditional array of vampire powers.

Anyway, please excuse me as I pop the biggest bottles of champagne. Kanaya's back, baby!

[jesterbonkers]

૮ author ' s note ᜔ : uhh just a silly rewrite of one fic from my old account , it's kinda crusty in there so i thought it needed a refresher .

౨ৎ warnings : . mentions of death , rotting ; angsty kinda ; reader implied to be afab ; implied suicide !!

It was late , by then your precious children were asleep . It was a miracle how you could keep them and not just throw them out into the forest.

It was the anniversary of your dear husband , Michikatsu , leaving you. It has been a long time. You didn't know if he was alive or 6 feet under by now .. Maybe he even found a new woman for himself , a new family . Every thought you had about where he might've been only fueled the sorrow you felt.

You couldn't even cry anymore , you already dedicated so many tears and pitiful words to him it honestly felt pathetic , and that's coming from the person , who was waiting for their already lost husband. There was no hope within you but you still waited , like a loyal dog in its booth.

You worked day and night , for a few years now. You ccouldn't support yourself and two children without him , but it was pprobably your fault . Your fault for not trying to look for him , your fault for not atleast looking for a new man... What about your kids ? What would Michikatsu say if he came back and saw the condition you were living in ? The condition your own children lived in ... Oh he wouldn't be hapoy but you can't fix it on your own.

Sometimes you neighbors helped you but even that effort was becoming futile . But not that you could afford to decline it.

You were tired out of your mind. Every night you layed out the gifts that Michikatsu gave to you while you were togheter on the table and just stared at him as if you were trying to manifest him back. As if he'd feel your pain deep inside him and finally come and protect you. But no.. No that never happened.

Michikatsu was a great husband. And his gifts always had a household purpose. Dresses that were made out of materials that could easily be sewn back togheter in case of anything and etc. But there was one that stood out to you. A little pocket knife that he gave to you after one of the girls in your village got attacked and assulted . The culprit was found.. But .. He was still worried. He taught you convinient ways to fight people off and honestly you nailed it.

Sadly it became your item of choice.

Kokushibo walked into the ruins of some old home. He was hoping to find atleast anything valueble , anywhere. It reaked of blood in here , but there was seemingly no alive beings.. And he wasn't lowly enough to eat rotting corpses if there was even left anything from the decay.

The house seemed familiar but he didn't pay much mind to it. He lived for a long time , probably saw a few simillar houses in his time. Nothing out the ordinary.

With a sigh the six eyed demon left the old house without anything.

Oh what an animal he has become.

[maladaptiveobsession]

*pokes you politely*

How would bailey deal with the pcs suicide death? Loved the headcanons for the LI's (I almost cried) but what about or detested dearest?

“Too little, too late” pt.2

➥ pt. 1

➥ Synopsis: Bailey’s reaction to the player’s suicide.

➥ Contains: gn!reader, male!bailey, yandere!bailey, suicide by hanging, descriptive death

➥ Words: 905

➥ A/N: Again, do not take the content warnings above lightly. Bailey’s sentiments and the player’s death is described in detail. His feelings are quite complicated and couldn’t possibly be explained in short excerpt format, so this entire post is dedicated to him. Unfortunately, it seems that every character I write for ends up obsessive and infatuated. Still, I hope this is to your liking.

Assuming you’re a dependent, nothing more or less, he’s not all that distraught. More so annoyed. You wouldn’t be the first of his orphans to off themselves, and you certainly wouldn’t be the last, but fuck if the paperwork wasn’t infuriating. Being honest, he had grown partial to you. Of all the little shits, you were his favorite. Really, he thought you were tougher than this. What a shame. He’ll remember you, though with less clarity over the years. He very occasionally entertains thoughts of who you’d have grown into given the chance. Additionally, he might sell your body if the demand is high enough.

Now, having developed a deeper bond than that of caretaker and charge, he’s certainly not taking your death well. For so long now, he’s handled difficulties with violence and retaliation. Had you simply been murdered by an overzealous pervert, he’d have an outlet for his aggression. But no, as your own killer, there's no culprit to make pay. There’s nobody to blame but perhaps himself.

Your entire relationship had been new territory for him. It had been so long since he had felt anything beyond exhaustion and annoyance, even longer since he had developed genuine attraction. There was much struggle navigating the terrain. Despite his fondness of you, you still owed a debt. Regardless of whatever feelings he harbored, he still had a job to do. Attachment was weakness, and fuck if he didn’t have enough enemies sniffing about for any sort of leverage. His outward indifference was protecting not only himself but you and that other little shit you cared for.

Really though, his attitude towards you swung violently. When his feelings first began manifesting, denial crept in. He cracked down on your payments, showing no leniency. You were auctioned off into increasingly worse and worse circumstances. Yet there were times he was neither the ruthless extortionist nor the iniquitous instigator that had recently surfaced; rather, a disturbingly gentle caregiver took his place. This sudden disruption in his behavior confused and alarmed you.

A long while passed before he returned to clarity, reluctantly accepting his growing obsession. He reflected on your relationship, and his stomach swelled with jealousy, heart heavy at the thought of anyone else touching you. To your disturbance, he became increasingly more controlling and possessive, isolating and restricting you.

At some point, the money no longer mattered to him. He stopped advertising you to his patrons long ago. You belonged to him, and nothing would change that.

His sudden, inexplicable infatuation scared you. Though he'll never know for sure, you must have come to the conclusion that your freedom would only be granted through death.

By no means was he a good lover—something he was well aware of. He didn't need to be told just how unhealthy your relationship was. He doesn’t feel much remorse; you were his to do whatever he pleased with. He was selfish at times, but he always acted in your best interest, regardless of how violently you fought against him.

For all his faults, he kept you safe. He was willing to do whatever it took to keep you unharmed and in his grasp, even if that meant hurting you.

The only fault he acknowledges is that he didn’t pay enough attention to you.

Had he seen past your aggression, he'd have known you were a suicidal fool and would have locked you away where only he had access. There, death would only visit you in your dreams.

Familiar numbness engulfs him after you pass. He won’t lower his walls again; he can’t afford the heartache and betrayal. The townsfolk notice his increased bitterness since your passing. The orphans whisper amongst each other about how much more ruthless he’d become since then.

Bailey works himself to the bone, desperate to forget. He never thought he’d miss anyone, least of all you; he never thought he’d need to. You’re supposed to be here, but he got careless.

He grieves silently. Everything reminds him of you. The weight of your death crushes him, leaving no room for even contentment. He'll spend the rest of his life regretting, always wondering if you might have reciprocated given the time.

He won't cry, but the grief in his eyes is indicative of his misery. He misses your voice, your smile, and your laughter. He regrets not taking more pictures. Above all, he misses the calm moments you shared: sitting in his lap, cheek pressed against his chest with his hand cupping your waist, as you tried not to nod off while he diligently read through stacks of paperwork. At night, he dreams of you; sometimes memories of your laughter. Most nights, he's reminded of the way your body hung limply. He remembers the struggle to cut you loose, revealing raw rope-shaped bruises across your neck. He remembers gathering you in his arm—still warm but growing colder—and nearly crashing his car in the rush to get you to the hospital. He doesn’t remember much of what happened after, but he knows there’s a fist shaped-hole in the waiting room, and Harper is noticeably more on edge around him.

Years go by, and your death still plagues him. Your absence has left him hollow and void, more so than ever before.

His carelessness cost him everything. How could he let the comfort and security you brought him cloud his judgment? What a fool he had let himself become.

[wonderfull-star]

Peri and Irep are more closely related to each other as opposites than the other fairies and anti fairies.

I have a question. We all know that fairies and anti fairies are opposites that change when each other changes in some quality. And for example, if Cosmo became smarter, then Anti Cosmo will become more… dumb. But why did it never work with Peri and Irep? They were both shown in the Wiki to have high intelligence from birth. Both the one who quickly learns magic, and the other who creates complex plans to take over the world. But what if they are connected to each other more strongly than the others? Like they are more sensitive to changes in each other (but at the same time can have similar qualities with each other). I noticed that Peri and Irep both go through some "emotional swings" like phases. For example, when they were still very small, then immediately after Foop’s birth he wanted to destroy his "double", essentially wanting to occupy the most important position. While Poof was the opposite of this and seemed to be in his “calm phase”. Later, by later episodes of season 7 and on, Foop became more down-to-earth. He already considered Poof more like his rival(frenemy) than an object for destruction. Poof, on the contrary, became more aggressive and uncontrollable (the moment with his crazy love for brownies was wild). And it was far from their “terrible twosome” phase. Foop even showed softer features. For example, he even became friends with Chloe to some extent, even protecting her from Vicky.

In the new show, Foop/Irep’s stronger desire to enslave and destroy as in season 7 returned, but this time things became "more complicated". That is, while he returned to his "old" self, Poof/Peri became more reserved and cautious. And here the culprit of such changes was Peri himself. And the reason, as I wrote earlier, is that he became more careful in using his magic. Which ultimately only worsened in later life, manifesting itself in his constant stress. What about Irep? Since Peri became more careful than before and began to strictly adhere to the rules while under stress,Irep, on the contrary, became more uncontrollable, not adhering to the rules and also tempts others to do the same. Many people wonder in the new show: "Why is Irep even trying to kill him? Has he forgotten that he himself will die because of this?" He understands but cannot restrain himself. Anti-fairies are essentially the opposite "reflection" of fairies, remember? But the situation with Foop/Irep is much more complicated than with the rest of the anti-fairies. Because both are stronger than the others. And that means both are more uncontrollable like in magical power and like in terms of emotions. And both essentially have split personalities that they clearly do not accept or do not want to show.

And you know, it seems to me that soon there will be a turning point between Peri and Irep that will change future episodes in the new show…