#these walls are alive and they know i’m haunted but they don’t care. they remain. and there is no feeling quite like this

[flowercrowngods]

oh the inherent healing of rearranging your home. love is stored here.

[greenparker]

Between Nightmares.| Tasm!Peter Parker x Gn!Reader.

Pairing: Tasm!Peter Parker x reader. Summary: After unsettling dreams, you seek comfort in someone close. In that quiet moment, a deeper bond forms, stirring feelings that hint at a change in your relationship. Warnings: Angst, fluff, nightmares. A/n: I have sm fun writing these, gives me something to look forward to. I honestly feel like I can make this one into something more lol.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

The dim light of the streetlamp flickered outside, casting a soft glow that danced across the walls of your room, creating shifting shadows that felt almost alive. As you lay beneath the covers, restless shadows invaded your mind, dragging you into a series of haunting nightmares. Each time you closed your eyes, a new horror gripped you—echoes of past fears, the suffocating weight of loneliness, and the relentless sensation of being pursued by something unseen, lurking just beyond the reach of your consciousness.

Suddenly, you jolted awake, your heart pounding against your ribcage, skin slick with sweat as if you had just emerged from a cold pool. The remnants of the nightmares clung to you like a heavy fog, wrapping around your chest and making it hard to breathe. You squinted at the clock on your bedside table—it was just past three in the morning, the digital numbers glaring at you like a judgment.

“Not again,” you whispered, your voice barely piercing the stillness of the room. Rubbing your eyes, you desperately tried to shake off the dread that settled in your stomach like a stone. As you sat up, the chill of the night air sent shivers racing across your damp skin, and the familiar grip of anxiety tightened around you, a vice that squeezed with each passing second.

Just then, a soft knock broke the heavy silence, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. Before you could respond, Peter peeked his head through the door, his expression tinged with concern. His tousled brown hair fell charmingly over his forehead, and the relaxed way he carried himself offered a sense of warmth in the gloom of your room.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside with careful grace, as if he were entering a fragile world. “I heard you moving around. Is everything okay?” His voice was low, soothing, a balm to your frayed nerves.

You hesitated, still reeling from the remnants of the chaos in your mind. Meeting his gaze, you nodded, forcing a small smile, though the tightness in your chest remained. “Oh, you know… the usual.” Your voice was soft, fatigue threading through your words like a faint echo. “Nightmares.” You shrugged, trying to downplay the weight of it all, but the vulnerability lingered in your eyes.

“They keep coming back, don’t they?” he asked, concern deepening in his eyes as he stepped closer, the space between you filled with an unspoken connection.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice dropping to a whisper, as if saying it aloud would summon the terrors once more. “It’s like they have a mind of their own.” You buried your face in your hands for a moment, feeling the frustration rise like bile in your throat.

“I get it. It’s tough to shake them off,” he said softly, moving closer to the edge of your bed. His gaze held a mixture of empathy and determination, as if he wished he could battle your nightmares for you.

“You’re already helping just by being here,” you replied, meeting his gaze with sincerity. “But sometimes, I just feel so lost.” The words spilled from your lips, raw and unguarded.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said softly, his voice steady, a lifeline pulling you through the storm of your thoughts. “I’m always just a room away if you need me.” His presence was like a lighthouse cutting through the chaos, guiding you back to something steady and safe.

But his words stirred something deep inside you—something you couldn’t shake. You wished he wasn’t just a room away. You wished he was closer, much closer. But that truth, the one you could never bring yourself to say, stayed locked inside. After all, he was your best friend. And maybe that’s why it was so hard to admit.

A silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and shared feelings. The streetlamp’s soft glow filtered through the window, illuminating his features in a way that made him look almost ethereal. In that quiet moment, the chaos of your mind faded, allowing you to bask in the safety of his presence, a comforting anchor in your tumultuous world.

Then, a thought flickered through your mind, causing your throat to tighten with a mix of hope and anxiety. Maybe you would sleep better if he were right beside you—just the comfort of his presence would be enough to chase away the shadows.

“Peter?” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of your request. He turned to you, curiosity etched on his brow, as if he sensed the importance of your words before you even spoke.

“Yeah?” His tone was soft, inviting you to share whatever was on your mind, and you could see the earnestness in his expression.

“Would you… stay with me tonight?” The request tumbled out, woven with vulnerability and urgency. “Just until I fall back asleep. You don’t have to touch me or anything, but I think it might help.” You felt a flutter of anxiety in your stomach, but the sincerity in your voice held firm.

You watched as his cheeks flushed, his eyes widening slightly with surprise. He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous habit you had grown to recognize. “You mean… in the bed?” There was a hint of hesitation in his voice, careful consideration of the boundaries you both navigated.

“Yeah, exactly,” you replied, feeling a blush creep across your cheeks, a warmth rising from the pit of your stomach. “I just… I don’t want to be alone with these thoughts right now.”

“I totally understand,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Sometimes it helps to have someone there, you know?”

“Exactly! Just knowing you’re here makes it feel less… overwhelming.” You took a deep breath, hope threading through your veins.

Peter studied you for a moment, his expression shifting as he absorbed your vulnerability. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded slowly, a soft smile breaking through the uncertainty in his eyes. “Of course, I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

His heart raced at the thought, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding his veins. “Just to clarify, you’re okay with me being in your space, right?”

“Definitely,” you reassured him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, dispelling the remnants of fear. “You being here is exactly what I need.”

Your shoulders relaxed at his agreement, and you offered him a grateful smile, knowing he had to be exhausted too. You���d find a way to thank him later.

Scooting over in your bed, you patted the space beside you, inviting him in with an eager gesture. “Get comfy, bub,” you mumbled shyly, lying down and turning to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. “It’s a little cramped, but we’ll make it work.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he said, a hint of laughter dancing in his voice, his own excitement shining through. “Just glad I can be here.”

As he settled beside you, the small gesture felt monumental, a shared moment of intimacy that sent a flutter of anticipation coursing through you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, an invisible barrier against the night.

“Thanks, Pete,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the gratitude in your tone spoke volumes.

“Anytime,” he replied softly, his gaze steady and reassuring. “I’m just a call away, you know that.”

In that cocoon of warmth and safety, you closed your eyes, comforted by the presence of the boy who had become your anchor in the storm. You slept for about two hours before it happened again. This time, the nightmare enveloped you like a suffocating fog, the terror coursing through your veins as you gasped for air, your heart racing. Your breath came in quick, shallow bursts, and a sense of overwhelming dread washed over you, pushing you to the brink of tears.

Peter woke up immediately, instinctively sensing your distress. He turned to face you, concern etched across his features as the dim light from the streetlamp filtered into the room, casting soft shadows on his worried expression. “Hey, hey… it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm in the chaos of your mind.

He reached out, instinctively placing a hand on your back, a gentle touch that sent warmth spreading through you. His fingers were cool against your heated skin, grounding you in the moment. “You’re safe. I’m right here,” he reassured, his voice steady yet soft.

You felt a mix of embarrassment and relief washed over you as you turned to face him, tears brimming in your eyes. “I— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you stammered, your voice trembling as you fought to compose yourself. “It’s like I can’t escape it.”

Peter's gaze softened as he shifted closer, allowing the space between you to disappear. “It’s not your fault,” he insisted gently, his hand moving to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away an escaped tear. “These things happen, and it doesn’t make you weak.”

You leaned into his touch, seeking comfort in his warmth. “But it feels so real… so heavy,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The connection between you felt electric, and for a moment, the weight of the nightmares lifted just a fraction.

“Then let me help you,” Peter offered, his eyes unwavering as he searched yours for understanding. “I’ll be right here. We can face it together.”

With a mix of gratitude and longing, you nodded, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. Slowly, Peter shifted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. You melted into his embrace, your head resting on his chest as his warmth enveloped you like a protective cocoon.

“Thank you, Peter,” you breathed, the sincerity in your words hanging in the air between you. The simple act of being held felt like a lifeline, a tether that anchored you against the storm of your mind.

“You’re not alone,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet firm, as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. The reassuring gesture made your heart flutter, and you found comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“I just… I don’t want to feel this way anymore,” you confessed, your voice muffled against his shirt. The fear and vulnerability poured out of you, but nestled in his embrace, it felt manageable.

“I know,” Peter replied softly, his fingers threading through your hair as he held you close. “But I’m here, and we’ll figure it out together. Just focus on my voice.”

As you listened to his words, the warmth of his body and the strength of his presence began to chase away the shadows lurking in your mind. With every inhale, you felt the anxiety start to fade, replaced by a sense of safety you had longed for.

“Just breathe,” he whispered, his breath warm against your hair. With his arm securely around you, you could finally let go, surrendering to the comfort of the moment. The nightmares may have returned, but now, you had someone to face them with, and that made all the difference.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

[themuffin2649]

Muffin! Muffin!

For the Haunted AU!

Let's say one of the LIs kill MC (either by accident or on purpose), and he comes back to haunt them.

Ranging from trying to make them feel guilty, making their lofe a living heck, to just pissing them off.

"Please stop hiding my stuff!"

*Ghost!MC knocks down a cup filled with water*

Here are some Scenarios:

1: Doll (Leon killed the MC in his Bad end 2)

After school and basketball practice, Leon returns to hang out with his best friend. They chat… well… only Leon talks. This is because his friend isnt really… alive. In fact, he and a classmate named Reme worked together to Taxidermy what remains of his body.

Creepy: Yes, but Leon didn’t mind, because his best friend was perfect.

Leon: “I love you dear.” He says, and he kisses the cheek of his Taxidermied friend.

They start watching a movie about haunted dolls (Annabelle or Chucky), but Leon’s not really entertained by it. He looked back at the doll and leaned on it like a pillow. As Leon was starting to fall asleep, he felt something hugging him.

Leon: “huh?”

When he rubs his eyes, he can see that MC’s Taxidermied doll is hugging him back, and Leon makes a scream loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood up.

Ghost!MC: “What’s wrong Leon? I thought you loved hugs 😈”

Leon: “not like this.” cries

…

2: Take care of him 🔫 (Vincent kills MC)

After learning that MC was dead, Vincent’s Uncle cuts off all finantial aid, leaving poor Newt without a family and in poverty. In pure rage, MC haunts Vincent.

Uncle: “Vincent! I just got your essay back, and the teacher told me you wrote something very innapropreate on the paper.”

Vincent: “What?!”

Vincent’s Uncle shows his paper, with vandalism that says “[Teacher] is a poopy head!” With a poop emoji drawn onto it.

Vincent: “That’s NOT my handwriting, or my drawing style! I’ll talk to my teacher tomorrow to see what happened.

Vincent thinks that Leon did it out of anger, but that wasn’t right, Leon’s form of revenge would have been a bone-breaking beating. Looking again, the handwriting was… familiar… It almost looked like.

Vincent: “Honey?!”

Ghost!MC: “Ahh, so you figured it out.”

Vincent: “Honey, y-you’re back!” He said, tears forming on his eyes in both relief and fear.

Ghost!MC: “Shut up, you wanna know what happened after I died. Your Uncle cut off all financial aid to my brother. He had no choice but to live with Jon!”

Vincent opens his mouth, but before he says another word, MC throws a glass vase on the wall out anger.

Ghost!MC: “Listen to me! You are going to take care of my brother in whatever means you can. If you don’t, then I’ll do everything in my power to make your life a living hell!”

Vincent didn’t even realize he was shaking, but seeing the fury behind his honeybee’s eyes, he could tell he was dead serious (pun intended).

The following days, Vincent used his parents money to financially support Newt behind his uncle’s back. Newt was suspicious and confused about the random financial support after “mom” and “dad” cut him off, but money was money.

Sometimes, as a reward for helping his brother, MC gifts him chocolates, roses, or good grades.

…

3: Love Letter (this can apply to anybody)

So whichever LI kills MC does not only feel a tremendous amount of guilt, but over time, their rival keeps receiving love letters from the dead MC. The rival thinks that Newt is giving these letters written from when MC was still alive.

Meanwhile, MC makes sure that the murderer sees that he is the one writing the letters after his death to spite him off. Even lets him see what he wrote before sending it off to the rival.

Leon’s love letter: “Leon, when I’m by your side, I always feel safe and protected. You have protected me for 8 years, and I have never regretted meeting you. Not only are you a great basketball player, strong and dependent, but you’re also very soft and sweet like a teddy bear. You’ve also care for an protected my brother like you did for me. Thank you for everything. 🩷”

Vincent’s love letter: “Vincent, you are so much more than your family’s money. Although we have only recently met, your determination to get the things you want has inspired me, yet, you still care deeply about me. Not once did you care about our financial differences, you’ve always cared for and cherished me. I love you. ❤️”

What better way to show your anger than Emotional Damage.

[danaduchy]

Kivan trudged through the biting winds, his heart as cold as the frozen wilderness around him. His journey to this distant, unforgiving land had been long and perilous, but he would not be deterred. The faces of his family and friends, murdered in cold blood by the vampires he now hunted, haunted his every step. Revenge had fueled him, driven him across borders, and now he found himself in Skyrim, hoping to find clues that would lead him to his quarry.

His arrival in Skyrim had been chaotic. Helgen—where he had barely escaped the chaos of a dragon's sudden attack—had given him no leads. Only fire, death, and uncertainty. But Kivan’s purpose remained unchanged. He had heard rumors of an ancient order of vampire hunters operating somewhere in the region, the Dawnguard. If anyone could help him in his quest for vengeance, it would be them. His first lead pointed him towards Riften, a shadowy city rife with corruption, where Kivan hoped to uncover information about the vampire menace.

Yet, after days of searching, speaking to the wrong sorts of people, and asking questions that led him down dark alleys, Kivan’s efforts in Riften yielded nothing. No one seemed to know—or care—about the Dawnguard. Disappointed, Kivan decided his next move would be to the College of Winterhold. The famed library there might contain ancient texts or forgotten lore on the vampires and the order that hunted them. But the road to Winterhold was treacherous, and Kivan knew better than to travel alone in such dangerous times.

It was in the city’s inn, The Bee and Barb, that Kivan encountered Marcurio. The roguish Imperial mage had been loitering in Riften, his sharp tongue and sharper wit earning him little more than a few bruises from unsavory characters. Marcurio had come to Skyrim with dreams of gold and glory, but Riften had proved a poor place for mercenary work. He was growing desperate for coin when he noticed the grim, armored ranger at the bar—a man who looked as if he needed protection, but whose eyes spoke of deep wounds.

“Need some firepower for the road?” Marcurio asked, his voice both cocky and tired. “I’m the best mage you’ll find in Riften, and I don’t come cheap… but I’m willing to offer a discount if you’re heading somewhere interesting.”

Kivan, having sold nearly all his remaining belongings to fund his journey, had little choice. He saw the desperation in Marcurio’s eyes, but also the raw skill beneath the bravado. So, he agreed. Kivan gave Marcurio what coin he had, and together, they set off for the College of Winterhold.

He had stocked up on provisions back in Whiterun, hoping to find a caravan heading north. But with the civil war brewing between the Stormcloaks and the Empire, most merchants stuck to safer routes. It had left Kivan with little choice but to buy a horse, spending more gold than he could afford. It still pained him to think of the cost, but he couldn’t very well make the trek on foot—not with the snowstorms that could blow in without warning and bury a man alive. The journey north was dangerous, as expected. Wolves, bandits, and the cold conspired against them, but they managed to survive by relying on each other’s strengths. Marcurio’s magic proved invaluable, his bolts of lightning and walls of flame scattering enemies before they could get too close. Kivan, with his skill in archery and his keen senses, navigated the wilds and kept them both alive with his resourcefulness.

Once in Winterhold, Kivan scoured the College's library for days. He found ancient texts, crumbling tomes filled with cryptic passages, and stories of dark forces and vampire lords, but nothing specific about the Dawnguard. His frustration grew, but he was unwilling to give up.

Marcurio, on the other hand, had expected to part ways here. He wasn’t particularly interested in Kivan’s vendetta, only in getting paid. But the cold, dreary isolation of Winterhold presented even fewer opportunities than Riften had. With no other options and little coin to his name, Marcurio decided to accompany Kivan further. Solitude, Kivan had said, might offer more answers, and so they journeyed west.

In Solitude, Kivan learned nothing new about the Dawnguard, and the two men parted ways—Kivan to continue his hunt, and Marcurio to seek fortune elsewhere. It was a quiet, unceremonious end to their partnership, each man going his own way.

But fate had a strange way of bringing them back together.

Weeks later, at the Winking Skeever inn, their paths crossed once more. Kivan had joined the Bard’s College and was preparing to leave on a mission to retrieve King Olaf’s Verse, a lost piece of Nordic history. He hadn’t asked Marcurio to join him. After all, the Imperial mage had made it clear before that he was only in it for the coin.

Yet, when Marcurio saw Kivan sitting alone at the bar, a mixture of determination and weariness on his face, something stirred within him. Kivan had risked everything—his life, his fortune—for a cause that seemed impossible. Perhaps it was the memory of their shared struggles on the road, or perhaps it was something deeper, but Marcurio realized he couldn’t simply walk away. Not this time.

Without being asked, Marcurio joined Kivan on his journey to recover the Verse. The dangerous crypts and treacherous foes they faced during that mission only cemented their partnership. It wasn’t about coin anymore. It wasn’t about survival. Somewhere along the way, the mage and the hunter had become bound by a strange camaraderie, born from shared danger and a mutual respect neither had expected.

From that point onward, Marcurio never left Kivan’s side. Together, they scoured the wilds of Skyrim, seeking the vampires that had destroyed Kivan’s life. And though the road was long and fraught with peril, Kivan no longer walked it alone. He had found an unlikely ally in the sharp-tongued, cynical mage, and though they both knew the end of their journey was uncertain, they would face it together.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Hoarding Behavior #6

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: death mentions

Curt felt awful about the whole affair. It was gross. Taking an innocent young man and letting him be devoured for the sake of what? Some building materials?

Was it really worth a life just to have a larger village?

It troubled him. Guilt sat in the back of his mind like a rotting corpse, tainting more and more of his thoughts over the weeks. The image of the slave pleading for them to let him go, that he didn’t want to die to the jaws of the dragon, haunted his dreams until he could no longer bear it.

He went to the priest, but there was nothing the church could offer him. It wasn’t a sin, they said, it was for the greater good. One man’s life in exchange for security.

It still didn’t settle him. 

The ghost of the man (he didn’t even ask his name before he died) still lingered in his soul. 

Curt thought of the bones at the cave’s entrance. 

He couldn’t undo his death, but maybe he could lay the young man to rest. Find some remains, bury him in the churchyard, with flowers and thanks and a proper funeral. 

Curt waited until the dragon flew west and disappeared past the horizon. He picked his way through the woods.

But as he examined the ground, there were no fresh bones. All the shards and skeletons were sun-bleached and weathered. 

He’d have to venture into the cave to look for him, or the man would never be at peace.

Curt grabbed the torch he brought and lit it with the flint and steel in his pocket. He crept into the cavern. 

It seemed… small. It only took a few minutes to reach the back wall, and the size of the tunnel just didn’t make sense. He turned and looked towards the exit. The cave was funnel shaped, not nearly the size it boasted from the outside.

Huh.

And still, no sign of the dead man. 

An eerie scrap of iron on stone echoed around him.

“Hello?” he called.

Silence.

Then he heard it again, from behind. Curt turned, and only saw the smooth wall of the cave. He reached out to touch the back wall, and it fluttered and bent under his touch.

What?

He pushed, and the- the fabric- gave way to reveal the true dragon’s den.

And in it sat the slave. Alive.

The man was sitting in a nest of pillows and furs. He hadn’t turned and seen Curt yet. He was dressed in skimpy purple clothes that showed off his shoulders and back, and gold sat on his arms and wrists.

Curt’s eyes followed the length of chain around the room, and it led out and into the nest. The dragon was keeping him like a dog on a rope.

He took a step towards the man, and he turned, startled. 

“Hey,” said Curt. 

“Um, h- hello.” The man looked scared of him, and Curt couldn’t understand why. Surely another human would be a welcome sight.

“Do you remember me? From before? I’m Curt. What’s your name?”

“I remember. I’m called River.”

Curt chewed the inside of his cheek. He eyed the lock of the shackle. It didn’t look complicated.

“I could get you out of here,” he offered. 

“What?”

“I could pick the lock, and we could sneak away.” River looked down at his hands.

“I- I dunno.”

“C’mon,” said Curt, “Do you really want to be stuck in here with a dragon?”

River shrank away. “It’s better here,” he protested.

“What- how? You’re a prisoner!” He glanced over his shoulder. No dragon.

“It’s better than slavery,” argued River, “Master doesn’t hurt me like humans do. He takes care of me. And where would I go?” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I can’t read or write. I’ve never trained in anything. I don’t want to be whipped and sold again.”

Curt opened his mouth to argue, but what could he say? River was a slave. The mark on the back of his neck was obvious.

Curt didn’t know what exactly River went through before, but he could guess. 

“But he still hurts you,” he said, still dubious.

“I’m safe here,” said River, shaking his head. “Just go away and forget about me.”

“You could be safe and free in the village. I’d protect you,” he offered. It would be difficult, but Curt could swing it.

“You don’t get it. He loves me,” insisted River, desperation in his voice. 

“That- that’s,” he stammered. “He’s a dragon.” 

A massive thud sounded in the tunnel. Shit.

River didn’t seem alarmed, instead shifting to sit up straight. Dread pooled in Curt’s gut.

He turned to the small entrance, and wondered how the dragon would fit through the doorway. He didn’t have to wait long. 

A… man with ruby horns and a shimmering tail walked into the cave. He saw Curt immediately and snarled, smoke pouring from his mouth. Fuck.

“I- I’m sorry-”

“You are trespassing,” he hissed, stalking towards him.

“I was just-” the dragon grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him up off the ground.

“What?” he growled, “What were you ‘just’ doing? Stealing?”

“No!” he squirmed, “I was looking for his body!” The dragon put him down. 

“Explain.”

“I-” he glanced between the dragon and River. “I thought you killed him,” he whimpered. “I wanted to bury his body.”

The dragon stepped back, tilting his head and looking him up and down. He strolled around to River, a clear dismissal.

“My treasure,” he cooed, petting River’s hair with his clawed hand. “Did he hurt you?”

“No Master,” said River, leaning into the touch like a cat. The dragon hummed, pleased. He turned to Curt and bared his teeth.

“Get out.” 

Curt sprinted to the door, running out into the tunnel, chest heaving as he stumbled through the woods. He ran until he couldn’t anymore, slumping against a tree. He panted as he struggled to catch his breath.

River was right, he should just forget and go home. He never wanted to get that close to death again.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[devil-doll13]

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper

Ciarán x Gn!Reader.

Tw: Gender neutral reader, also reader gets kidnapped by Ciarán so yeah, somewhat Dark Romance, Stockholm Syndrome as the reader is imprisoned/isolated, Angst, reader is very autistic coded idk it just happened the fic was doing whatever it wanted, also you die at the end… Sorry. This is a bit of new territory for me so please tell me if anything else needs to be tagged!

I’m out of the writing block gulag and I present to you, this… Fic. It sort of ended up being almost fairytale-like in nature because that just made sense for this character. Hope you enjoy.

Dividers by firefly-graphics

Spring

One day, you must run away. Far away, into the wilderness of your country, and leave behind you the pains of the day.

The first sprouts of the year have perked up above the soil, but they do not bloom yet. The grip of winter still holds life captive, a thick white mist blanketing the ground in an eerie shroud. The stone walls of your haunting ground jut out of the land like the teeth of felled giants, grey and silent. Then down yonder, the slabs of the stone circle stand guard like sentinels, murky in the fog. What they protect, who can say; or perhaps it is something you are protected from, as the elders in your village have told you.

You wander over the moorlands and clamber over streams and bogs, well loved and well travelled. From time to time you sit and rest upon a rock protrusion, humming some innsong, feeling some tension leave you, watching the day go by and the birds fly free, unbothered by your quiet presence. Later you think you had better make for home again - though it may be unwelcoming to you - lest you find yourself wandering the countryside ‘till the wee hours of the morning, led astray by visions in the mist.

And strange visions you indeed have.

The air is thick with some unknown energy. Alive, it seems, with the buzz of a hundred thousand watchers. All peering at you, the foolish little mortal, who has long frequented their mushroom doors and ancient tree carvings and hidden glades glittering in the sunlight. You, so unaware, so painfully human. You have known them for almost as long, though you remain but a trifling amusement in their eyes. Only one - one as alone and bereft as you - sees you truly and wishes to know you truly, more than any fellow villager would care to know you.

Then, he appears before you; or reveals himself.

His shadow falls onto you in the fading light of the setting sun, and you can do little but stumble into the bogwater and scream before this dusky knight and his dark mare are upon you. He reaches out and captures you in his arms, deathly cold like you imagine the inside of a coffin. You struggle in vain, but his grip is a vice, cutting and metal, hard. All goes dark as you imagine you have been killed; been taken by the reaper, perhaps God has come to destroy you for your wickedness, your sins and abnormalities.

It remains dark when you awake. But no longer are you held so tightly; you lay on soft, blanketing bedsheets. Adrenaline jolts you upright and you cry out in panic at the ghastly sight of your kidnapper, the icy fire hissing and flaring at the base of his neck, the only dim source of light to illuminate the room you’re in. He towers over you, imposing, stealing your breath from your chest.

“Please, please don’t hurt me…” You choke out.

The flames hiss louder, sharper, which only makes you more frightened, but he makes no moves to harm you. He gazes over your trembling form, seeming almost nervous in the way his gauntlets fumble. Still, you grimace away when he steps closer and reveals a small handkerchief, glowing. But it is not the fabric, you realise, but what is held inside.

Golden apples, their scent so sweet and intoxicating, and water from the clearest spring. He nudges you, though not forcefully, to eat and drink; still you have no choice, you think. As you bite into the fruit, you feel it numb your senses, and soon you give in to tiredness and fear and go to sleep, hoping and praying you had been dreaming; imagination wild and disturbed.

But no Springtime dream is this; you awake there, but mercifully warm. The soft bedsheets are still draped over you, lovingly arranged. A single source of light sits atop a podium, carved in a strange, circular fashion unlike any mortal design you have known. You sit up and see it is a glass bauble full of fireflies.

Your captor is nowhere to be seen. For a while you languish in your foreign bed and feel no desire to leave it, but fear of his return spurs you to leap from it, still dressed in your travel clothes. There must be some way out of this shadowy place, you reason, and with a feverish sweat and pounding heart you seize the flickering glass ball and try to navigate your way out of your room.

You cannot tell how much time has passed since you were taken here, for you are surrounded by grim, rocky walls overtaken by black ivy. It smells of damp moss and ancient dust, and the dark, cavernous space echoes your unsure footsteps back at you. Soon, you begin to suspect you must be trapped in the bowels of some dungeon, imprisoned here. Your heart, so heavy in your ribcage, sinks ever further into the abyss as you realise there seems to be no clear path back to your home. It is a labyrinth, your route only discernible by the uncanny murals etched across the stone.

You then feel a sudden itch urging you to turn back, to seek out the safety of your new cage, and the foreboding metallic steps sounding from the end of the gloomy hallway hastens your flight away from here. You hide underneath your sheets, as if a child again, and cry bitterly. You are not brave enough to face your kidnapper, nor are you willing to endure whatever tortures he will subject you to. You, so young, so full of life before, can see no way out of this all-consuming darkness.

Summer

After some further attempts, your hope fades into apathy, and you give yourself to grim resignation. You sleep as much as you are able, and dream of better things, of your village. Burrowing into your sheets like a worm into soil, feeling twice as wretched. You wonder if you are missed - or at least if your work is missed - or if your absence is noticed at all. For years you longed to disappear off to somewhere quiet and peaceful, but not like this.

Now you regret those wishes; your most desperate plea to God is that he spirit you back home.

Your captor visits to give you food and drink, though you have lost all appetite and eye the apples warily, remembering your sleepy daze when you ate them last. More unnervingly, he lingers in your room and watches you, sitting or standing. He does nothing to you, so eventually you start to feel a little safer in his presence, but no less anxious. Sometimes you try to speak to him, to reason with him:

“Who are you?”

“What do you want from me?”

“Why won’t you let me go?”

All met with silence. He has no head; you suppose he cannot speak. You are certain now that he is not human, and though his appearance is that of a knight, you see no heraldry to mark his allegiance to any kingdom. You begin to wonder if he is some vengeful or sorrowful spirit, accompanying you in death; or if he is the Devil, subjecting you to your own personal tormenting Hell. Your nervous thoughts quickly spiral out of control, and you toss and turn without rest.

Soon you tire of laying in bed, of the neverending sleep, and with your little light source venture out again into the labyrinth. This time you take a thread from your clothing - as worn and frayed as they now are - and use it to remember your way. You still fear what may happen should your captor meet you outside of your room; though he has been docile and calm for all the time you have known him, you know the nature of such otherworldly beings can be fickle.

Perhaps now the overworld has been cast in balmy Summer, the April showers past and gentle breezes blowing fresh, warm air into the fields, crops swaying. For an unknown amount of time, you have been stuck here, and seen no face but your own, reflected back at you in the Spring water. As far as you can tell, the only other being in this place that is not your captor is his beautiful black mare. She resides sometimes in a sort of rock stable, which you come across during one of your tentative trips outside your room.

In life, you felt an affinity for animals, preferred over other people, demanding and loud. She is rarely without her rider, but in those odd moments you creep into her living space and offer her your gilded apple. You braid her black mane and comb your fingers through it, all the while wishing you were back home and with the steady workhorses. She is like none other that you have seen in your memory, strong and dark and with wise, inquisitive eyes.

One of these times, you happen upon your captor doing the same. It is far too startling to see him dote on the mare as you do, with gentleness you have never seen him display before; or never cared to notice. You leave quickly and try to dispel the memory of it, so little does it fit your fearful perception of him.

Now you begin to study the mysterious murals by light of the bauble full of fireflies; simply for lack of things to do. They tell strange tales, but they all seem interconnected somehow, and though they resemble no Christian creation, you can still recognise their unearthly beauty. Over many trips outside to decipher them, you piece together the story of a knight who, seemingly having committed a great sin, is banished from the fair courts and made an exile, cast into the dark realm you now live in…

Only too late do you recognise the knight as your captor. It hits you unpleasantly, for you spent some time filled with pity and empathising with his plight. Both of you, prisoners of this place, and now he sees fit to chain you here in fetters alongside him.

Of course. No one, human or not, would wish to live in this awful place. Not willingly. An eternity of being alone, surrounded by this gloom and reminders of your own failures, would be unbearable. You understand this so keenly, for weren’t you alone before? Loneliness, A frighteningly human sentiment to associate with that terrifying figure. How could you sympathise with him, your jailer? You remember again the gentleness with which he tended to his horse, and feel disgusted, confused.

Your stomach ties itself into knots as you stand there, thinking and feeling too much. But then, you hear again the sound of footsteps approaching, and in panic you almost drop the bauble filled with fireflies. It is too close. You sprint back along your path of string, and there you see him towering over you, and flee fearfully back to your room to drag the great door shut and prevent his entry. Far too soon, you hear a great weight thrown against it that reverberates in your very bones. You recall that sword that lies by his hip, lethal-

“I’m not letting you in!” You cry, shivering.

He stops. There is quiet from behind the door.

For a moment, you feel an icy wave of terror wash over you. Have you overstepped? Will he force his way in now, and kill you for your insolence?

“I-I’m not letting you in until you agree to let me go.”

You swallow thickly, holding fast to your momentary courage; if you have dug your own grave by now, you may as well lie in it.

Silence. Then, you flinch as you hear the metallic step of his sharp sabatons, scraping against the floor. They become more distant and faint, until you are certain that he is walking away, away into the labyrinth to do God knows what, only you hope he does not come back to punish you.

You cannot sleep after that. Fear and hunger gnaw at your senses; you fed your apple to your captor’s mare. Miserable, you try distracting yourself by humming that innsong, but you find you have forgotten the tune. Little by little, your past life is slipping away from you.

When he opens the great door, you cannot stop him. But this time, he does not pass the threshold. You watch as this massive armoured being does the most unexpected thing: he kneels before you. His flames burn brightly, as deep a blue as Summer’s night sky. In his sharp, unsure gauntlets he offers up a bundle of fabric you quickly recognise as a collection of your old clothes, and between his fingers he clutches a beautiful red poppy.

This… You stare at him, unable to think or speak.

He does not move, only remains bended at the knee, awaiting your response. Your mouth is dry. Even you recognise this as a romantic gesture. Your captor is trying to court you, his own prisoner. You want to laugh at him for his absurdity; laugh madly.

“…I’m not taking it unless you let me out.” You say.

But he does not agree; or he cannot communicate without action. Still you know that your attempt to escape is futile, and that refusing the gift would ultimately be pointless. Slowly, hands shaking, you receive the gift. The fire on his neck hisses, flaring so suddenly it would’ve made you jump in the past. Now, you expect it. As a show of defiance, you still shut the great door on him, and he makes no effort to stop you. Soon, you hear his footsteps again, fading into the dark unknown.

You look down at your hands full of items. The poppy almost appears as if it will wilt in your fingers; in this place without life or light. You know now that it is Summer, and some sense of peace and calm washes over you. Now, with your old clothing, with a reminder of the overworld, you feel at strange ease.

Autumn

By now, you have adapted well to your new routine.

There is no sun, and the only way you can measure days or weeks is by the frequency of his visits. Each time he returns, he kneels upon his knee to meet you, offering a poppy. Each time you reject him, only you ask if he will let you go, or let you see your home again. He refuses, then leaves to resume his duty. Thus begins and ends the cycle of day and night.

Your suitor is not forceful, but he is persistent. He brings you other things, too, to make your cage more homely. It is the most comfortable and warm place you know in this underneath, catered to your fragile human body. You feel betrayed by your own emotions, as you find yourself touched by his consideration. You know you are a prisoner here, but somehow you see him in new light; with no others to talk to, you have started to confide in him despite your risky position here. He stays close and endures your occasional insults, and now you suspect he delights in your better mood, or at least in the idea that you have accepted your fate.

You speak, he listens, and watches you. Before, no one would ever do this, and dismiss you. All your flights of fancy, no matter how strange, are humoured in a way you never expected. When you express a desire to see something that will grow still in this barren place, your idea for a mushroom farm is fulfilled. It gives you something to do and look at; you adopt hobbies and pastimes you never considered before, too burdened with your work.

Still, you refuse his love. But as time passes, you feel less discomforted by his presence. His aura is calm and steady, reassuring like something ancient that has been in existence forever, like the stone circle you remember from your home. Then, as you feel more secure in your standing here, you leave your room again to explore the labyrinth.

Now when you meet him here, you greet him. You are no longer afraid, for you have learned with time that he detests to harm you. He starts, as if he is just as surprised as you yourself are. Together you sit in the dark, two prisoners at peace. When you feel tired, he extends a hand to you, offering to pull you up. You hesitate for a moment, remembering how he snatched you before. Still, you take it, and though it is cold it is not discomforting like you expect, but solid and cool. Without thinking, you hook your arm into his, though he is tall and dwarfs you. He leads you happily back to your room so you may sleep, and when you watch him leave you find yourself wondering what his hand, underneath the gauntlet, truly feels like.

After that, the connection between the two of you begins to strengthen. The barrier that kept you from touching now has seemingly been broken, and when you walk to and from your chamber it is together, arms linked as if you were both on a leisurely stroll. When you pretend that it is, it makes things simpler, so that you can forget the gloom that surrounds you. Better shackled as one than divided and alone, left to rot in this desolate place.

So your affection for him is not only of the heart, but rational. You make the most of your shared imprisonment. Perhaps you forget that it was he that dragged you down here, but as he caresses your face so lovingly, it no longer seems to matter. You learn then that his embrace is strong and enveloping, and see ashen skin beneath the armour which you kiss, falling further into the abyss, losing sight of all that you had sworn to fight against. He is, to you, as devoted and passionate a lover as any human man could be, and far greater still. You no longer have the willpower to deny your heart’s desires.

Perhaps now the outside world had begun to wither and die, as the seasons change and the leaves begin to fall, rotting into the dirt. You, a trifling mortal, should see fit to be buried with them; but your fate has been altered, changed now. Loving so utterly has transformed your heart and mind, your soul, and you still eat of the sweetest fruits and drink from the clearest spring, boons earned by your lover’s exploits. You now wish to become like him, without end. To become deathless, and forget, forget it all…

Winter

Still, you recall the sweetness of spring, the fruits of summer, the colours fading in the harvest, giving way to cold and deathlike winter.

This time, when you ask him once again to bring you back to your mortal world, it is not to leave him, but to experience these joys once more before you must let them go forever. To be his forever. He agrees, though reluctantly, as if you are terribly fragile and sick; though you feel so feverishly cheerful, as if you have gained new life and new being now. Only he bids you to hold on tightly to him, gripping your hands firmly in his as he holds the reins. You obey and bury your face into his travel cloak, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. The atmosphere shifts, the air is fresh, and you breathe in deeply, crisp and serene.

Your eyes, accustomed to darkness now, sting painfully in the light. Even though the skies are grey, sombre clouds brooding over the land, you see life once again for the first time in an aeon. Dying now - or already dead - to be reborn in the next life.

“I want to see my-my old home...” Your teeth chatter. He squeezes your hands that tremble against his chestplate. It is cold; not like he is cold, but from the bitter chill of winter. Under your shared shroud of fog, the grass is frozen, you see all around you the pale glaze of white. All is still, and the howling gale quiets in your lover’s commanding presence, pacified.

Together you ride across the moor, concealed by shimmering mist. Though you still recognise your country, you soon realise it has been changed. Then, with horror, that your old house has long been gone. All is replace now with new, alien structures and colours and brightness, a future so grotesque you are repulsed by it. You regret coming here now.

How many years have passed? The familiarity, the comfort you expected to find here, is gone. All that is left now is urgency and confusion and noise. Time has abandoned you as readily as anyone you have ever known; except for him, your lover. You no longer belong here, but to him, to his world.

You look at your hands. What is your essence, now not human, but also not like him? Now you feel that you wish to turn back, return to the dark and quiet of the underneath. But your folly leaves you untethered to your lover’s cloak, and in that moment his mare draws up and you slip off her back.

Then, you fall from the horse. You hit the ground.

As your body touches bitter soil and earth, you revert entirely; for you always have belonged to the overworld, a mortal fool. Your hands soon appear gnarled and withered, your hair overgrown and grey, as you age into a feeble elder, returning once again to the dying land. The last thing you see is that black gauntlet reaching out for you, as longingly as it did on that Spring day. But Death takes you first and steals you away, a cruel twist of fate that ends your story, as pitiful and as unfortunate as it had began.

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @flower-crowned-lady, @solmints-messyocdiary, @probably-a-plant-thing, @myers-meadow)

[thekrows-nest]

Huge wall of speculation incoming.

I have no idea if the OG! - Vamp! connection hinting at the mantra relates to stuff I’ve guessed at but hasn’t been publicly confirmed, or if it’s stuff that even I haven’t touched on.

Let’s see… let’s first go over what I do know.

The hunger is obvious. 

OG Krow is notoriously food insecure and that’s where his organ harvesting side hustle comes in. His thirst for fluids… if you know you know. He’s also metaphorically ‘empty’ because he’s been so emotionally neglected and lonely. Also his job and the dog eat dog survival growing up may have desensitised him to a lot of emotions like guilt, empathy (for those who give a reason) or fear.

As well as being a really striking visual it makes sense with all of this for Vampire Krow to have a gaping void at his core, a ravening hunger and thirst, an empty belly and no heart. Traditional vetala also prefer to feed on intestines so there’s that too.

OG Krow is an artist, and creativity is his entire drive outside Dove. (It could be argued that as a muse who broke his art block, Dove is even an extension of that.) Maybe there is some of that remaining.

OG Krow loves music and has sensitive hearing.

OG Krow is clever and sneaky, easily underestimated.

OG Krow loves birds. Perhaps that can be used in some way.

OG Krow was/is homeless, hypervigilant, stealthy, has wonky sleep schedule but great physical stamina. 

Vampire Krow may be tethered to one place or haunting abandoned places, but if he may have travelled to America he may have been cursed to wander. Or just have free will like most vamps. Or is being forced to move around to avoid being killed, or endlessly chase more prey. I don’t know.

I do know he doesn’t have an opulent mansion and probably doesn’t have a safe secure resting place. Vampire Krow doesn’t tire because he has nowhere safe to rest with other monsters hunting him and is always seeking the next meal. He can possibly be active night or day but might use stealth/night for easy meals if he still has enough sanity to not just charge in.

OG Krow is Bengali/Indian. 

In the subcontinent it would reallllly suck for him if he was weak to the sun. Or garlic. Or superstition. Too easy.

You know what? Both Krows have freckles and OG Krow curls up in bed to stay warm (maybe that’s just his substandard accommodation). I headcanon that if Vampire Krow  ever gets a moment of peace or if prey is unavailable he's sitting in the sun to get nice and dark or just not caring about it, he can barely feel the warmth but imagines it’s still a source of energy (prana) and maybe it warms his cold dead body. He tries to remember it from when he was alive. 

Maybe he even uproots and crushes cloves of garlic into his mouth because the strong acrid flavour is the only thing that still registers, or eats it like a starving human eats grass. 

Whoaaa… In some religious contexts Hindus may consider the strong odor of onions and garlic ‘impure’ and avoid them during sacred occasions or religious rituals. It is veg food though.

However like OG Krow he may not have been allowed to learn about Hindu beliefs. Despite having memories of life, having Hindu roots and being traumatized by colonization, I still don’t know what garlic means for Vampire Krow either way. If it’s good or bad. I’m going to say it’s not effective because it’s so well known against European vampires.

I don’t think Vampire Krow gives a single crap about crosses, or (if OG Krow had the religious upbringing I have brought up as a Krack theory) they may just make him angrier. This is a fairly traditional weakness anyway. 

Krack theory… OG Krow as orphan or in foster care?

Part of living Vampire Krow’s trauma under occupation may have been being orphaned or taken from his parents for colonisers to raise. 

I don’t think this is it as OG Krow is Bengali/Indian but there were also cases of British men siring children and returning overseas, abandoning mother and child to fend for themselves. Not a great position to be in in poverty, war, and famine… may have led to the loss of his mother or their separation.

This doesn’t square with him being turned as an adult unless there’s some device like slowly aging or he was just reaching age. But abuse of children of colour in ‘children’s homes’ was rife, mortality was high and covered up, and children were the favourite prey of traditional vetala. I actually have no idea how or why he was turned.

So. This is all I have so far.

Blind unreasoning hunger (greed), (bloodlust?) or rage may lead Vampire Krow into traps or destruction/capture by another monster. (Either Vishnu or Krishna said downfall comes through greed, lust or rage.)

Appeals to any remaining humanity may be somewhat helpful.

He may be bribed with… liquids. Or mangoes?

Water from the Ganges seems to be the equivalent of holy water.

Offers to braid his hair did seemed to give him pause. And marriage proposals? In Indian culture it can be inauspicious to have open (untied) hair and the attention and sensation of braiding might remind him of life. Or lust.

Perhaps Vampire Krow may be mesmerized by art or beauty. Perhaps he can be distracted by looking at or making mehndi.

Maybe he can be enthralled by music or given pause by loud sounds.

Maybe you have to be wary of him pretending to be trapped or enthralled, only to suddenly lunge.

He may pause to look at released birds, or stop to collect strewn feathers.

You cannot sneak up on him or outrun him as you will be taken unaware or tire before he does. I believe the term is persistence predator.

Krow mayyyy be weak to intense cold? Or at least not really like it.

Turmeric is an auspicious spice and to be avoided during mourning so maybe he’s weak to that? He may still be given momentary pause by Hindu taboos from when he was alive? Assuming he was allowed to learn about it.

He may have trauma from life around young ones being taken or hurt, and might be persuaded to spare babies or children.

As to the specific mantra relevant to OG Krow, I still don’t know. There may have to be some more lore drops before I even have the faintest hunch.

But I did look for mantras for abandoned babies and came up with another chant to Narasimha - then randomly stumbled on something interesting.

There was once a deva named Hiranyakashipu who sought the boon of invulnerability against most weapons and causes of death, and to become so strong that only Lord Vishnu could kill him. Beast, deva and man could not kill him, he could be killed neither at night or in the day, not inside nor outside, on the earth or in the sky, by weapons either living nor nonliving… 

Then one day Hiranyakasipu had a grievance and sought to kill Narasimha (the fourth avatar of Vishnu). Hiranyakasipu was then attacked by Narasimha under the perfect conditions to circumvent it all.

Narasimha took a form that was part human and part animal, attacked Hiranyakasipu at twilight, and did it at the threshold to his house. Narasimha laid the deva on his own thighs (off the ground but not in the sky) and killed him by disembowelment with his claws.

Probably not why Vampire Krow is gutted but an interesting coincidence all the same. 

So I’m guessing that Krow has a number of conditions under which he can’t be killed or at least things that won’t work, and so there may have to be some creative thinking, riddling and loophole abuse.

Vishnu/Narasimha also does seem to be the one to pray to for defense from demons or evil spirits.

Took a bit to get to this because my god what a novel that is this ask. /pos

I appreciate that you make me much more of a genius in character design than I really am Krowspiracy. /silly I guess it's one of those things that even if the creator didn't consciously go into a design with certain thoughts, it still subconsciously bleeds (ha) through. Maybe I still am a genius?

...New canon for Vampire Krow. He absolutely lounges in the sun whenever he does have a moment's peace. He probably doesn't really warm up any more, or really feel it, but, it's a moment to try and reflect back on when he was alive. To try and desperately still cling to what humanity he has left.

And no garlic isn't really effective one way or the other to Vampire Krow. The main thing for him is I wanted to get away from "traditional" (western) vampire weaknesses for him. He's not western, so why would those weaknesses apply to him? So someone trying to eat garlic or something as a means to ward him off are in for a nasty shock.

Crosses might not be a magical weakness to him, but they could still infuriate him as a possible reminder of British colonization. So in one sense, is a weakness, but not like how you'd think for a vampire.

I do like the idea that enthralling him with things of beauty is a means to at least give him pause (or even confuse him with unexpected kindness). There's so many stories of terrible beasts being tamed or thwarted or whatever when showing compassion to them instead of aggression. And that is a neat idea to have with Vampire Krow.

As for the specific mantra... I'll give a slight hint. It is to a specific deity but likely not who most would think of. And it does have to do with OG Krow lore. However, that lore hasn't been publicly revealed yet. (For you though, Krowspiracy, as a treat, I'll say you did pretty much nail what the lore was, more or less, in one of your theories.)

Pretty much for a mortal to kill him would require specific conditions I think (or well... basically nuke him sdfnmbdlf). A fellow supernatural would have an easier time killing him, albeit that doesn't necessarily mean they can accomplish the task.

[audioaujom]

4: Pushed Down Stairs [wrong end 3 ★5]

Corpse Party Hub, < prev, next >

This is wrong end 3 ★5 from Chapter 1!

Pairing: Ranboo and Tommy

Word Count: 1253

Chapter TWs: Mind Manipulation ("Darkening"), Graphic Depictions of Violence, Character Death

--

“Somebody died here… I can hear their voice.” Ranboo commented quietly, one of his eyes twitching as his head started to hurt. The sudden pain blossomed quickly, spreading out of his head and forming a tight, circular ring around his throat. He felt his eyes glazing over as he suddenly was floating away from his body, harmlessly lost in a dreamlike ocean as he began screaming with a voice he didn’t recognize as his own. “No… No… Please, don’t do this!”

“What’s wrong?!” Tommy watched as Ranboo keeled over, clutching desperately at his head, instantly placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and trying to get his attention.

In his distant haze, the only thing Ranboo was certain of was the overwhelming need to breathe, the pain in his throat becoming stronger. His gaze was bleary and out of focus, his legs carrying him out of the bathroom before he could even fully register where he was. “NO!!”

“Ranboo!” Tommy instantly ran after him, worriedly throwing glances around as he tried to catch up. It took him a moment, but he finally found Ranboo standing in a corner and facing the wall, mumbling to himself. Approaching carefully, Tommy noticed the far-away look in his eyes as he got closer, unease starting to eat away at his stomach. “Dammit! What the hell is going on here?!” Tommy hesitated as he started to reach out to his friend again, dropping his arm as he remembered what just happened in the bathroom. “Ranboo, are you alright?”

“Bring me more… I’ll do whatever you ask of me…” All of the words coming out of Ranboo’s mouth were strange, his voice pitching up and down unnaturally as he continued to stare blankly at the wall. He occasionally would twitch just a little, but his haunted gaze never left the wall in front of him. “I don’t care if you’re innocent, you’re listed as ‘buried alive’, right?!” Every new sentence was concerning to Tommy, who could only watch helplessly as Ranboo continued to talk to himself as if Tommy weren’t there. “They’re mine! I’m sure as hell not sharing with the likes of you! Cleanup is a real pain in the ass, too, you know! Have some pity!”

“Ranboo, fight it!” Tommy suddenly yelled, his hands tightening into fists at his sides as Ranboo still wouldn’t look over at him. "Whatever ‘it’ is.” He mumbled distastefully, before noticing that Ranboo was slowly turning to face him. He instantly brightened up, reaching forward for his friend before being shoved roughly back and landing hard on his ass on the wooden floor. “Hey, the fuck?! That hurt!”

“I believed in you!” Ranboo was screaming, but his face continued to stay passive and his eyes empty as Tommy frantically got back onto his feet and backed away from him. “Why doesn’t anybody listen to me?!”

“What the hell are you talking about?! You’re not making any sense, man!” Tommy tried again, only to earn a deeply disturbing laugh as Ranboo didn’t move his spot, his lifeless eyes now focused on a spot on the wall behind Tommy. “This is some wild shit! What is even going on…?” Tommy didn’t like the way Ranboo seemed to be staring straight through him, backing away before walking off quickly into another room. “I can’t leave him like this.” He paused, but in turning and seeing what remained of his friend still mumbling and staring blankly ahead he excused himself into the small top landing of the steps that went down to the floor below. “But I’m honestly so scared of him right now… What did this to him?”

Tommy sat down with a small huff, looking around as he pondered over what to do. He blinked as he thought he heard Ranboo’s voice from outside in the hallway, tensing and not turning to look until—

“Why the hell are you doing this?!” Ranboo’s voice was suddenly nearby and rapidly growing louder, Tommy fully perking up and starting to stand as he was then right behind him in the stairwell. “Answer me!”

“Ran—” Tommy’s voice died in his throat as Ranboo ran straight into him, the already questionable balance from his half standing position giving out as he then toppled backwards. 

His head collided last, stabbing lines of pain from each individual step running up his back in quick but steady intervals until he was only half-conscious as his legs folded over his stomach and he continued to roll backwards. The next several steps hit new places along his back and side, before one jutted painfully into his neck and he cried out before hitting the landing full force.

Hazy eyes at the top of the steps began to clear as Tommy bled out rather quickly, a good portion of blood already lost before he was all the way down the stairs. He twitched a little and let out an inhuman groan of agony, but he was already slipping away.

“Tom— Tommy?” Ranboo’s voice had returned to normal, the dark fog and strange sensation that came with the lack of control of his body lifting, the blurry memory of watching himself shove his friend drifting to and from the front of his mind. “Oh god… Tommy!”

One of Tommy’s legs was bent back unnaturally far on one side, a sharp shard of bone protruding out of his shin as the rest of him was splayed out like a ragdoll. Jogging down the steps to try and help despite the vomit rising in his throat along with the concern he was already too late, Ranboo nearly slipped in a particularly large puddle of blood on the landing, dropping to his knees beside Tommy’s body. A long tear in the side of his shirt revealed slowly growing red splotches, which would soon turn into dark bruises, a sickly shade of yellow already starting to tint his stomach and the available skin on his arms and neck—which was twisted awkwardly through the film of blood that ran down his chin from his open mouth.

“Tommy, can you hear me?!” Ranboo panicked, his hands flitting around in the air above his friend, whose eyes were slowly glossing over and didn’t seem to register the presence beside him. “Tommy, please! It wasn’t me, I didn’t mean to!”

Truthfully he wasn’t sure how he got here, crouching over a body that was slowly losing its warmth as the last bits of life flickered out in Tommy’s eyes. Something strange and fuzzy had taken over him in the hallway, his vision blurry and head full of cotton that muddled his thoughts and hearing. By the time he’d wrestled himself back to consciousness he saw Tommy falling, easily enough putting together the pieces of how he’d ended up dead at the bottom of the stairs.

“It wasn’t me…” He mumbled again, but this time no one was able to hear him except himself. His composure was already a mess, but he cracked even further and slumped forward to hug Tommy’s body, despite the blood that began to soak into his hoodie and smear across his face and hands. “I’m so sorry…”

The guilt was overwhelming for only a moment before it started to suddenly diminish, an odd fog slowly starting to overtake his mind. His panic and despair gave way to an odd hollowness, dropping Tommy’s body to the floor as the tears that had at some point started streaming down his face slowly stopped and he was left alone, feeling nothing but emptiness.

[mxyacho]

“Sorry,” she muttered gently as she noticed how he winced once the washcloth touched his face. She wasn’t a doctor or a miracle worker and she felt pretty useless as she saw the injuries on his face. Maya wanted to make them go away. Remove any marks or mars from the traumatizing experience he had unfortunately witnessed. Remove any reminders and take away the memories that she could see were haunting his eyes. But she would settle for providing comfort and relief and being there for him. Because no matter what, she would always be there for him, just like she knew he would be there for her.

That was why she had given him the option to not talk about what it was that haunted his gaze. The two of them knew better than most how terrifying it was to be vulnerable and respected that. It was one of the things that had really brought them closer. They both had let someone in close and got their hearts broken in return. They both had put up strong walls around them to prevent them from ever getting hurt like that again and they both knew the boundaries they could and could not cross. So if he didn’t want to talk about what happened, she wouldn’t pry. She would sit there and talk about whatever it was he wanted to talk about and then help him get settled to get some rest.

But he spoke. He told her what happened and all she could do was sit and listen to it. Not that she had anything to say because she wasn't there. And honestly, she was amazed and comforted that he felt like he could open up to her and tell her this. It made her feel…. special. But this wasn't about her. This was about Alex. She felt a large lump in her throat form and she force-swallowed it down when he mentioned what they wanted to do to Cass. He didn’t have to say it - being a woman, she knew what it was they wanted of her. There had been a few times she had used that to her own advantage when she was cornered herself but she never felt good about it. Maya could only imagine what was going through his sister’s head…what was going through his head when they took her away. And then to find her like that….there were just no words. Nothing to accurately quantify what it was that he had gone through.

And it just seemed like even when they got back that the blows didn’t stop coming. But to have his other brother back and alive had to be a good thing, right? Well, sorta, it seemed. Maya could understand his frustration. The anger he felt. And yes, it did sound bad because it’s not like anyone meant to be anywhere when the shit had hit the fan. But family was family and to not have them when the worst came - grief just had a funny way of working. But his family seemed to open the floodgates and everything just came out. She remained silent, her eyes watching his face and the flurry of emotions that covered every feature. She focused on every word, taking it in and feeling what he conveyed in his words.

Once he finished she pulled the washcloth away. “It’s okay,” she muttered, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving him the gentlest of smiles. “It seemed like you needed to get it all out. I’m just glad you felt like you could open up to me.” She probably didn’t need to say that, but she wanted him to know that it meant a lot to her that he was able to be open with her. And she to him. “I don’t have anyone, so I don’t know what you mean about feeling like you need to be other people’s reason, but I think that it’s not fair. You deserve your own happiness too. You should have your own reason, if that makes sense. I would like to think that your family would want you to find something that makes you happy and have a reason too. I know I want you to be happy.”

Maybe that was taking it a step too far, but she meant it. She cared about Alex a lot and to see him hurting so much hurt her too. It wasn’t fair that he was making everyone else around him happy while suffering himself. “If you want to stay here until you feel better, you’re more than welcome to. Get you a break from everything and everyone while you recover. I might not be a nurse or a doctor, but I don’t think you should be moving around too much, especially if you got a good kick to the ribs.”

He waited for her patiently on the couch. Once she was back with a cold washcloth, he winced a bit as the cold cloth hit his skin, but recovered quickly. He nodded in agreement, not feeling up to arguing with her even though the gentleman part of him felt he needed to insist on letting her take the bed. That had been his own fault for not thinking about her trying to get him to take the bed. Perhaps he could fall asleep on the couch and make it a moot point.

The compress felt good against his warm skin. He hadn’t realized how hot he was until then, even after his quick shower. His mind hadn’t had any room to attune to his body and comfort with everything that had happened in such quick succession. It was unfortunate he couldn’t take off his shirt with Maya right there, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Her presence and comfort was much preferred to any small change in temperature. A part of him felt selfish by letting her take care of him, but he wasn’t going to stop her. They both knew how difficult it was to let yourself be vulnerable. It was difficult to do in their world before the outbreak, much less after when it felt like vulnerability meant death. Yet he knew he was safe. In Redwood and in her home. He wanted Maya to know that he trusted her.

The idea to not talk about anything that had happened was tempting, but she was the only one he could really talk to about everything. It wasn’t as if he could complain to Cass or Renee about Cass or Renee, not that he had anything to complain about with his sister-in-law. The idea of talking to Andy about anything at the moment felt unfathomable. As he had thought before, though, he wanted her to know that he trusted her.

Alex let out a short, bitter laugh. He wasn’t sure where to even begin. Breaking their gaze for a moment, he attempted to gather his thoughts before looking back up to her. “There were some guys at the ranch. Reavers or whatever Ike calls ‘em. He knew the guys, a group was with for a while. They didn’t find any of the bags Nate had hid around, thankfully, but... they wanted to take Cass instead. For... you know.” Alex didn’t know if he would ever be able to say it out loud. The back of his throat began to feel that odd sort of pressure one feels as they attempt to hold it together. “I’m still not sure how I didn’t lose it right then and there or straight up pass out. But Ike was able to hatch his little plan and we played along where he was on their side. Kicked me good in the ribs with those damn steel-toed boots.The main guy took Cass into one of the other rooms before Ike gave me the signal. We took out the three guys left with us. Well, Ike took out two and I took out one. Stabbed him in the chest.” Cass had gone back into the ranch to bring their bodies outside so they wouldn’t rot in the building they had called home. He wondered what she thought about the damage she had done to the man he had killed, though it was nothing compared to what Ike had done to the other two guys with his bat. “Cass had taken out the leader when we got to her already. I’m so fucking scared to even ask what happened to her in that room. Only his shirt was on when we got there.” Alex knew he would ask, eventually. Or give her the opportunity to tell him, to be more specific. It was more important that she had someone to talk to about it than his feelings and the fact that he had no desire to know what he had done to her in that room.

It was impossible for him to keep a few tears from falling now. More energy was being spent trying to not cry than energy he had. “And Renee told us that my brother was back when we finally got back from the ranch. I don’t know how. The shit he had to go through to get here... I can’t even begin to imagine. And I know I should be happy, and I am, but there’s still this part of me that’s angry with him that he wasn’t there in the first place. But it’s not like I can ever say that, it sounds so fucking horrible. I know it’s horrible. And even with the little talk we had before the trip, I still feel like Cass and I are a million miles apart. I leave my life behind in Iris to come find her while she acts like I’m going to break so she doesn’t even try to talk to me and just goes to shack up with Sol instead. Except that thought only makes me feel worse, because she did try, at least a couple of times, but it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes it doesn’t fucking feel good enough. That I’m the one that has to make every fucking sacrifice, that maybe I should’ve just stayed in Iris because it doesn’t feel like she thought about me even once. I hate that she feels guilty because it was my damn choice to come here, so she feels like it’s her fault that I don’t like it here, but maybe she has a point because I can’t tell if my feelings are completely unreasonable or not.” He paused, shaking his head ever so slightly without messing up Maya holding the compress to his face. “Because she’s the youngest and she can’t do any wrong, of course. I’m the one who’s supposed to sacrifice everything so she’s happy. So I should be happy that she’s happy and just... I don’t know. I had been telling myself this whole time that her happiness - my family’s happiness - is the only thing that I should care about. They’re supposed to be my reason.” His everything. The reason he breathes and gets up in the morning and does the blacksmithing stuff he does even though, quite frankly, it’s not his favorite thing in the world by any means. He clenched his fist and released the anger that had made its sudden appearance. “How the hell can I stay mad at her after the ranch?”Alex’s eyes fell to his lap. It wasn’t even everything that was on his mind, but it was a lot of it. He had barely brushed upon his feelings about Andy. Then there was Renee and the boys. The man that he had killed. His mixed feelings on getting over Rosalie and potentially going back to Iris and whether or not he was allowed to want. Poor Maya had been stuck playing nurse while he let out every pent up feeling he’d had for the past couple of months. He sighed. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that, all you did was ask what happened. You don’t have to say anything. I appreciate everything more than you know, really,” he said, silently praying that he hadn't scared her off completely. He wasn’t supposed to take, and he had taken far more than he had ever planned from her at that point.

[after-witch]

27 horror movie and book quote prompts 

“Congratulations. You are still alive. Most people are so ungrateful to be alive. But not you. Not anymore.” (Saw)

“I’m scared to close my eyes; I’m scared to open them." (The Blair Witch Project)

"Even if you were to die your connection to your boyfriend would still remain. Even if you were to die your link to the world would remain. So why are you living?" (Suicide Circle)

“What an excellent day for an exorcism.” (The Exorcist)

“I believe death should be repulsive, so we don’t grow too fond of it.” (FearDotCom)

“Never look back. The past is a wilderness of horrors.” (The Wolfman)

"We've traced the call...it's coming from inside the house." (When a Stranger Calls)

"It was the Boogeyman." (Halloween)

"I told you, I feed erratically, and often enormously." (Shadow of the Vampire)

"The things we do for love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. This love burns you and maims you and twists you inside out." (Crimson Peak)

"There's evil in the wood."  (The Witch)

“Am I walking toward something I should be running away from?” (The Haunting of Hill House)

"Because you were home." (The Strangers)

"We eat the year away. We eat the spring and the summer and the fall. We wait for something to grow and then we eat it." (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)

"Wouldst thou like the taste of butter? A pretty dress? Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?" (The Witch)

"You weren't supposed to help her." (The Ring)

"In the sudden, brief silence, she heard something within her turn over. Perhaps only her soul." (Carrie)

"I hear it playing while one of you is screaming. Screaming down in the dark somewhere. Screaming the last scream you'll ever--" (Jeepers Creepers)

"The walls speak to me. They tell me secrets. Don’t listen to them, press your hands against your ears..." (Mexican Gothic)

"The flesh is weak... Only the soul is immortal and yours belongs to me." (Angel Heart)

"I take back every bit of energy I gave you. You're nothing. You're shit." (A Nightmare on Elm Street)

"You know, there are rules, you should be more careful. You might upset someone." (Trick 'r Treat)

"Home is the place where when you go there, you have to finally face the thing in the dark." (IT)

"Careful. This is the moment when the supposedly dead killer comes back to life, for one last scare." (Scream)

"The blood is the life... and it shall be mine." (Bram Stoker's Dracula)

"There was a cold, musty smell coming through the open doorway: it smelled like something very old and very slow." (Coraline)

"We're only as sick as our secrets." (Doctor Sleep)

[genshinboys]

Thigh job with Genshin Boys - Xiao

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Fem reader x Xiao

When you enter your flat, a handsome but grumpy Yaksha is sitting cross-legged on your bed resting his chin in the palm of his small hand. He grimaces and shoots something that can be referred to as a death stare in your direction. 

Here we go again. You think to yourself as you close the door behind you.

„You are late.” He basically growls at you fixing you with another menacing glare.

„It’s nice to see you too, Baby.” You approach the sulking adeptus and lean in to kiss his forehead but, alas, he backs away and frowns in turn.

„Oh, no kisses then?” A smile on your face but a sneer in your voice makes his blood boil.

It is like a match in a powder barrel.

„Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N!” He warns. „I know all of your cheap tricks.”

You let out an annoyed huff. Arms crossed on your chest.

„Why would you even ask when I saw you following me all the damn time, hmm?” You accuse your boyfriend, gazing right into Xiao's averting eyes.

„I wasn’t follow-,” and then he goes silent knowing fully well that lying isn’t an option with you.

„So?” You nag, hoping for any kind of response. „No need to be this jealous, Xiao.”

„Don’t get weird ideas in your head.” The boy deadpans. „I’m not jealous!” He defends himself but it doesn’t sound convincing enough even for his own ears. He blushes and turns his head away.

You let out a sigh and smile warmly at your boyfriend’s pettiness.

Does he even realise how cute he is? You briefly wonder and then you reach for his silky hair and ruffle it affectionately.

It’s been a taxing, full of ups and downs journey since you met the haunted by karmic debt Yaksha. At first, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. You were just another bothersome individual and he could not care less about your existence. It was unnerving. He was snarky, seething with rage for no reason, hiding his feelings for so long that it seemed to you that they were going to explode inside of him one day leading to his utter despair and demise. You got to know about his past and the weight of his karmic debt from Zhongli. You took pity. Somehow you felt compelled to help the boy, regardless of his repulsive demeanour. The golden-eyed Yaksha was of a different opinion, though. 

Xiao didn’t want you to get close to him. He couldn’t make any sense of your stubbornness. Why would you even want to have anything to do with him? Him? 

A barbaric monster, eaten up alive by remorse and regret. 

A blood-thirsty fiend whose sole purpose of breathing is to slaughter and spread fear wherever he shows his face. 

These were the thoughts so deeply engraved in his unfortunate soul that he couldn’t allow anyone to come near him.

He perceived himself as a hollow, barren of any human emotions vessel. The only feelings he was familiar with were pain and the burden of his legacy that he is forced to carry up to this day.

Bizarrely, as time had passed he was taken aback by some unfamiliar sensation of tightness in his chest. It wasn’t painful. Nothing that would come close to the distress caused by the divine will. It wasn’t permanent, either. It only happened in your presence, as Yaksha would hesitantly observe. Sometimes it got even worse. It would be accompanied by this fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

„Why are you this close? Huh? Do you have a death wish?”

„Move, I don’t have time to sit around and be idle like you do.”

„You have no respect for the adepti. Stop fooling around.” 

The more he pushed you away the more you were determined to lure him in. You couldn’t stop laughing when one day Zhongli informed you that the troubled Yaksha came to him to seek advice regarding this weird tightness in his chest and an upset stomach when you were around. 

And so, you smile fondly at your boyfriend as he yanks your hand away not liking the way you tousle the emerald green strands.

„I’m sorry XIao. I didn’t mean to be late. Just wanted to buy some jewellery.” You point to your thigh to get the adeptus’ attention back where it should be, which is you, not the wall.

Xiao glances at your thigh doing his best to remain impassive and uninterested. Unfortunately, his eyes widen a little and his mouth is somehow stuck hanging open as if he were to say something but the words never come out.

„You saw me bargaining with the shopkeeper, nothing wrong about that, right?” You explain to the adeptus currently captivated by the glimmering golden chain adorning your thigh.

Xiao has a lot to learn when it comes to dealing with his own emotions. You are acutely aware of that. He doesn’t know how to react, how to show that he cares or process what he feels. He doesn’t also entirely understand the purpose of half of the things that you insist on doing to him. Playful bites, tickling, holding his hand in public. He doesn’t question these actions even though it’s all a novelty. He does know for sure that it makes him feel flustered and all hot inside. 

Does he despise it? No. 

Would he like for you to continue? The answer to that question is definitely affirmative but Xiao is not going to admit it out loud. 

He also has no clue how to initiate all of these things. Is he supposed to bite you back as well? What if he hurts you? Everything is so overwhelming as he’s endured years of solitude and sadness. You have to patiently teach him everything from square one. Nevertheless, it’s incredibly rewarding and you find yourself falling for him a bit more with each clumsy kiss, a shy but warm hug and an awkward attempt at complimenting you.

However, despite being not well-versed in sexual encounters, Xiao does pleasantly surprise you by catching up with everything real quick. 

So, as his eyes are fixated on the trinket, you once again run your hand through his lush and long hair.

„Why would you even buy it? Pointless.” The boy retorts grumpily this time showing no signs of objection to your tender gesture. He moves his head up a little, losing himself to the tingling sensation going down his scalp.

„So that you can stare at me like that with those needy eyes?” You answer truthfully, barring the real intent behind your actions.

He snorts and his face turns into that lovely shade of pink and then deep red within seconds.

He would absolutely turn his gaze away if not for the fact that you take his chin in your hand and thrust his face upwards forcing him to look you straight in the eyes.

„If you don’t like it you can take it off.”

„No need.” 

You chuckle softly.

„Let me make amends for my delay.” 

You take a step forward and place your knee on the verge of the bed. Xiao drinks in the view of your thigh-highs squeezing into the meat of your legs. The chain shimmering lightly right above the lacy material.

„You can touch it, Baby.” You encourage the nervous Yaksha.

Visibly tensed, he reaches for the exposed skin and lightly traces the chain with his unsure fingers. It almost tickles but you let him do as he pleases and soon Xiao attempts to fully envelop your thigh with his greedy hand. He does cover half of it at best, but he seems satisfied and proceeds to squeeze it. It feels soft to the touch and he shivers at how warm and inviting your legs are in contrast to his icy-cold and sweaty palms. Bewitched, Xiao aches for more and he selfishly pulls you in so that you are now kneeling in front of him on the bed.

He stops breathing when you swiftly unbutton your shorts and undress for him. You let his eyes roam over your half-naked body for some time enthralled by the way Xiao’s pupils dilate in awe.

You lean into him as Xiao pulls you towards him for a messy kiss. It isn’t gentle as usual but full of passion and urgency. He whines when you bite on his lower lip but then you gently stroke him with your tongue to ease the discomfort.

Slowly, very very slowly, your hands go down his torso only to finally stop at the bulge in Xiao’s loose pants. You tug at the waistband and Xiao lifts his ass a bit to help you strip him naked. His penis, hard and heavy, resting now on his lower belly. He hisses when you palm his hard erection and that simple touch sends jolts of electricity down his spine. It leaves him intoxicated once you start gliding with the heel of your palm up and down the underside of his member. You repeat the movement and Xiao’s body jerks in response.

„Don’t tease.” The adeptus pleads through gritted teeth.

„I’m so sorry, Baby. Gonna make you feel real good.”

Xiao can feel himself growing impossibly harder when you place your feet on either side of his hips. When he looks down he can see your wet folds and the pinkish colour of your tight hole. Lying on your back, you prop yourself on your elbows so that you can look at Xiao’s face in the process. You scoot a bit closer to the confused boy, your bum is right in front of his erected shaft. You take his cock in your hand and guide him in between your thighs. In the beginning, you try to be delicate. You gently rub the tip of his cock, circle his shaft with your fingers and with a fisted hand spread his pre-cum all the way down to his pubic hair so that he is thoroughly lubricated. You wouldn’t like to hurt the boy during the whole ordeal. 

His breath is shallow. Excitedly, you clasp your thighs together and start playing with his dick. You rotate your hips and massage his cock. It slides in and out and Xiao growls feeling ecstatic. You exchange between rubbing him with your thighs or gliding your hand along his cock, starting at the very top and working your way down to the bottom until Xiao can’t stifle his cries anymore. A few more strokes and he is definitely going to beg. 

Xiao is on fire. It feels too good to be true and he wants this moment to last forever. He licks his dry lips and moans wantonly thrusting his hips forward. He meets you mid-way and the friction it creates every time he pushes his dick in between your legs leaves him gasping.

„You’re making me cum, Y/N.” He cries out for the last time before it is too late to warn you.

„Then cum for me, Baby.” 

Obediently, Xiao shoots his thick and heavy load all over your lower body. For a moment the world around him seems out of focus and it makes him dizzy. He pants heavily and can’t catch his breath. He feels as if he was drowning. But then, your loving arms envelop him and he is safe again. You gently stroke his chest hugging him from behind. He melts in your embrace letting his head rest on your shoulder. His erratic heartbeat slowly going back to its usual rhythm.

„I think it looks pretty on you.”

„Hmm?” You want the boy to clarify what he meant.

„The chain... Looks pretty.”

„Oh.” 

Shakily, he reaches out to put your hand into his and he squeezes them together. 

„I’ll never let you lose yourself again, XIao. I love you and I will protect you forever.”

Xiao recognizes the familiar feeling of tightness in his chest. A single tear rolls down his cheek but he hurriedly wipes it before you can notice.

„Shut up.” The boy responds angrily and kisses you breathless. 

Other boys:

Albedo

Diluc

Kaeya

Childe

Zhongli

Kazuha

[bye-bye-sunbird]

Bloodlust | Yan!Tartaglia x Reader

Hi everyone! So here's the Tartaglia fic I teased about a few days ago. I got a LOT of requests on him, and many of them shared a similar theme, so I hope this satisfies some of them. But one thing led to another and... well, here is where we ended up hahaha.

Please read the tags and the warnings before you continue reading.

Warnings: NOT SFW, dub-con, manipulation, mentions of blood, blood-kink (I... think?), victim-blaming, mentions of past abuse, mentions of murder, this is NOT a healthy relationship, this one got a bit dark, so be aware of it.

Reader is female.

We are drawn to what we lack.

You would often ponder over how Childe seemed to love the idea of you more than he loved you. No matter what he did, how charming his smile was, everything about him screamed danger.

He could make you feel safe, but never at ease.

Could anyone really blame you for having moments of weakness such as this one? If he insisted on being a weapon, then you would use him as such.

You knew it was a mistake to tell him about your last relationship. No weight was lifted from your shoulders, but another type of guilt cemented in your thoughts, like venom poisoning your mind.

A part of you hoped they would end up killing each other, maybe then you could finally start over. You could lead a peaceful, quiet life in Qingce Village, devoting yourself to the care of your beloved grandmother. Your heart clutched at the uncertainty on whether she was still alive or not. After you managed to escape your ex-boyfriend you had cut ties with everyone, for their own safety.

And then... Childe came into your life. Almost as if he sensed your longing for protection, your fear. And he exploited every aspect of it to his advantage.

When you were with him, no one dared to look your way. After what felt like a lifetime of being reduced to nothing, he made you feel almost powerful. After being denied everything, he offered you the chance to have it all. You knew he was dangerous, but nevertheless, you fell for it.

After all, we really are drawn to what we lack.

You knew what you were doing asking him to free you from your past. You knew the implications it would have. No matter the result, you would end up with blood in your hands.

"It won't take me long, I think," he says with a boyish smile that, considering everything that was going to happen, was just plain sinister, "I'll be back in no time."

You don't tell him to be safe. You stay still as he tenderly places a kiss on your lips. He then grabs your jaw, forcing you to look directly at him, "So be a good girl and stay put."

And you do, you wait for what feels like an eternity.

You pace around your house, an uneasy feeling numbing you. Every so often you look up at the clock. You lay on your bed, placing a hand over your chest in an attempt to calm yourself. You stay there, forcing yourself to block every intrusive thought and, hours upon hours later, you fall asleep in sheer exhaustion.

That is until you feel a weight sinking the bed around your frame.

A metallic scent starts to flood your sense of smell. A single drop of... something falls on your cheek, and with that, you open your eyes.

Even in the dead of night, the sight of Childe's face almost completely covered in blood will haunt you forever.

"Angel, I'm home," he whispers as he lowers himself down to kiss your neck.

You remain speechless as he licks and nibbles, savoring every inch from your neck up to your ear lobe and down your clavicles. His gloved hand leaves a trace of blood in your clothes as he unbuttons your dress.

"It is done"

You let a hitched breath escape you when you feel the tip of his tongue hover over one of your breasts. He ministers shallow licks before gently biting your nipple.

"I thought about you the whole time" he confesses, a boyish grin emerging in his face as he leaves your breast to look at you. The way his eyes are clouded by a mix of feral desire and bloodlust sends shivers down your spine. "You were right to be afraid of him, he was strong" he adds, the words spilling over your skin, warm and breathless, as he slowly raises your skirt over your hips, "Just not enough".

You tense like a bowstring in his hands, in a mix of fear and arousal. You hate yourself for this.

"Oh?" you feel the curve of his smile forming on top of your skin, "Do you want to know how I did it?", you shake your head, and mutter a simple "No". He hums mockingly, "Afraid that is going to ruin the mood, huh?".

He presses his body an inch closer enough for you to feel the bulge in his pants rubbing against you. "I waited so long for this", he lowers his hand below your skirt. "I have quite the imagination, y'know?" he grabs your underwear, the cold, wet feel of the blood in his hand making you tremble. "You are so quiet most of the time", he tugs at the fabric, slowly pulling it down. He trails small kisses up your jaw. "I wonder how you'll sound when I fill you up."

He pulls away from your face, bitting his glove out of his hand and tossing it aside, a small stain of blood left on his smile as he easily sinks two of his fingers inside of you. The obscene, wet sound making him chuckle. You drop your head back onto the pillow, a whimpering and trembling mess. Your hands dig into his jacket as you let out a breathless moan.

A few seconds pass before he slowly starts to work his fingers inside you. He sets a pace that is meant for you to be overly conscious about everything that's happening between your legs. It's almost torture, and you can't fight the urge to start moving your hips, seeking a release. Guilt, fear, and pleasure become one as a single tear runs down your cheek.

He laughs hauntingly as he speeds up the pace. You bite your lip in an attempt to stay quiet, but a moan manages to escape as you grind desperately against his hand. But just before you come undone, he pulls his fingers out. You open your eyes to witness how he lasciviously licks his fingertips, a lovesick gaze clouding his blue eyes before he pins you against the mattress in a hungry, almost feral kiss. You hear the sound of his belt being sloppily unbuckled, after which one of his hands pushes your knee to the side.

He pulls away from the kiss, looking down to position himself. You feel the tip of his length rubbing your entrance, his hot breath starting to tremble against your skin in excited expectation.

"He wanted to see you again," he says suddenly, but you are too far gone to pay any attention to his words. "Maybe I should have brought him here, to witness how I fuck you."

A loud gasp rings in his ear as you feel your walls stretch. He enters slowly, allowing you to accommodate all of him. Your mind goes blank as he pushes himself up until he's completely sheathed inside of you.

"You are such a good girl, taking it all in" he grunts, gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust now, hard and fast. Because you are so tight, and the way you shiver beneath him puts him on the verge of insanity. Instead, he moves slowly, his breath coming in shallow, shaky sighs.

But once you catch your breath, all previous considerations are thrown out the window. His pace quickens, and soon he is thrusting into you hard enough to make the bedframe hit the wall, leaving shallow scuffs on the cement. You let out wordless cries, completely lost in nothing but the obscene sound of skin against skin, as you come close to your climax.

It doesn't take long before you let go, twitching, jerking, and grinding against him as you come, almost passing out. By the time you regain a sense of self, you look down as Childe is still pounding into you, seeking his own release in a mix of sweat and blood, a crazed expression drawn in his face.

His grip on the sheets strengthens as he begins fucking you with increased, almost animalistic intensity. And in no time, he comes inside of you with a final thrust, a strangled-sounding moan escaping him, filling you with his seed as he refuses to move as if making sure you receive all of him. That's when you notice the cuts all over his clothes that leak small streaks of blood.

He collapses on top of you, and then you feel the weight of everything that just went down upon your conscious. You feel disgusting, you are not better than him. Your lips tremble as you cry quietly.

You feel like mourning. Not over your past lover, but you, who will never be free.

You didn't just change the monster, you became one.

[gentrychild]

I wish you would write a fic where... Fuyumi dyes her hair pink

Fuyumi left the Himura house so furious that she couldn’t think straight. Dry ice followed her every step and she hoped that her uncle, so devoted to their grandparents, would step on it and break a leg.

“Fuyumi, what’s wrong?”

“She is a beauty, just like her mother.”

She kept walking, too enraged to dare to look back at him because something was going to happen. Something that could land her into Tartarus if she made eye contact, because right now, she hated him. She hated her grandparents. And she hated herself.

How could she not have seen that coming?

Her grandmother, telling her to please visit, because her health wasn’t so good and seeing her granddaughter would surely make her feel better.

Only to find both her grandparents, her uncle, looking in perfectly good health while they were sitting next to her suitor, a man that was looking for a bride with the right quirk.

“She has a very strong ice quirk. Almost too strong, if that can exist.”

“If it upset you so much, why didn’t you say so?”

Because she had been too stupid to make a scene She hadn’t dared to react, to show their dirty laundry to a stranger, and now, she was running because the anger had been rising and rising and she was afraid it was either going to eat her alive or explode.

“She is such a good cook and she loves children. She is a teacher, after all.”

“You know how grandparents are! They just want you to be happy. And he is a very nice man…”

Her uncle finally caught her – her short legs be damned – and he grabbed her arm.

“She has two brothers and she took such good care of them.”

Fuyumi raised her hand to bat away her uncle’s hand and the next thing she knew, her palm was colliding with her uncle’s cheek. The noise was akin to a lightning strike, her palm started to burn but her uncle’s expression was worth it.

He looked at her like she has gone mad, like he was afraid of her. Like he was just realizing that her quirk was far stronger than his and that the Himura name is half forgotten while the Todoroki name is known through the whole country and abroad.

“Tell your parents that they don’t have a granddaughter anymore. I am done chasing a mirage. Do not call me. Do not try to contact me. And help me, if you ever tried to use contact Shouto or even Natsuo, I will burn everything you hold dear, consequences be damned.”

Whatever was on her face or in her voice, he seemed to believe her.

After that, she went straight home, just holding the rest of her anger, repressing it like she had done all her life. She could do this. Now that she had cut away all ties with her grandparents (really, she was the last one, her brothers hadn’t seen them in ten years), maybe, just maybe things would get better?

She reached her room and took a deep breath, imagining a red cloud leaving with the air she was exhaling. As she did, she felt the anger leaving.

Until her phone rang.

Grandmother was the caller ID.

From that point, things became really simple but slightly chaotic. And loud. Loud enough for someone (she wasn’t sure who) to knock on her door, then knock some more. For said door to be opened then closed in silence.

Her phone met an unfortunate end as it crashed into the wall hard enough to be thoroughly shattered. Other things followed, most of them trinkets offered by her grandmother. Then came the clothes, that needed to be ripped until nothing remained. And finally, various things needed to be frozen solid.

By the time she was done, she felt better. She tied her hair into a ponytail, cleaned her room, and when she walked out of her room, she realized that her father and her brothers probably were in the house.

Maybe they didn’t notice?

She put one foot one foot on the living room and saw the three of them avoiding eye contact. Her father was reading the newspaper, something she had never seen him do. Shouto was also reading but his manga was upside down. And Natsuo was in the kitchen, making tea.

The tea was disgusting infused for too long, but they all drank it. She mentioned that she needed a new phone and her father immediately gave her one, registered to his agency but it would do in the meantime. And Shouto talked about his life in the dorms.

No one mentioned anything about Fuyumi’s outburst.

All in all, the day ended pretty well.

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

“She is a beauty, just like her mother.”

Even with her immediate family being extremely considerate (or scared of her but she was fine with both) and her grandparents’ phone numbers blocked, her grandmother’s words kept following her. Enough for her to start avoiding mirrors again, something she hadn’t done since her teenage years.

Her first impulse was to cut her hair. She had never worn it short and that seemed like enough of a drastic change.

Until she remembered what her mother looked like when she had gotten married.

Hair dye it was, then.

She went to the salon thinking black. It was proper, neutral, and a hair color she could handle.

And yet, somehow, when she came out, her hair was pink.

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

“It suits you.”

Those words quickly replaced her grandmother’s words. She heard it from her family, her coworkers, and her friends. She had more of the latter those days, as she spent less time at home and learned to be more her and less the eldest Todoroki daughter that was supposed to take care of everyone.

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

“You look happier.”

She didn’t feel like she was happier. She felt angrier than before. She felt more melancholic. And less patient.

But she did feel more. And smiled more.

So maybe it meant something.

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

“You’re not taking that call?”

“No, I guess I’m not.”

“Good for you.”

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

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for this family. Back then, I didn’t realize it but you’re the reason we managed to fare so well.”

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

“You’re incredible. I hope you know that.”

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

Slowly, more words were added to the ones that were haunting her. It didn’t replace them. She doubted that they would ever disappear.

But they took more place, until it was the first thing she thought about.

[izzabeean]

Double Bind | Chapter 2

pairing : fushiguro toji x f!reader / gojo satoru x f!reader

warnings/tags : 18+, manga spoilers (up to chapter 79), alternate universe, unrequited love, love/hate, obsession, explicit language, graphic description of corpses, blood and injury.

genre : angst + smut

word count : 3,596

a/n :  hi! please be kind with my interpretation, I'm aware some things might not connect with the manga timeline. also, I'm unsure how I feel about the fighting sequence and mentions of cursed energy. but other than that, I'm very happy to share with you this next chapter. it's about to get a little more angsty now. I hope y'all like it!!TW: mentions of a corpse, mentions of blood

masterlist

<< prev | ch. 2 | next >>

Total and complete irremediable sorrow trembles through you when you’re met with Toji’s remains-- his entire left side of his torso obliterated and his arm severed. A gloom of disappointment clouds you as the realization that his invincibility is only backed up by his pride. He is not eternal, nor free from harm, something so sickening to come to terms with that it makes your stomach swirl.

“You meant the world to me,” you whimper, feeling layers of unsettling emotion. It feels surreal. Like everything has just been ripped away from you in this tragedy. 

“I should have protected you.” But is protection something you could even offer him? For he couldn't even save himself at the time of his destruction. 

Gazing upon his corpse, you wonder if perhaps he is finally at peace, able to shove down his vengeance on the world. Yet you couldn't even fathom the heaviness of your heart as you know he could not eternally rest when the animal that killed him is still alive. 

A rumble of irrefutable heat sparks in you, your pulse starts racing as your hands start to sweat. The feeling of heavy anguish in your chest seethes and consumes you, building up a wall of treachery and wrath. How could he leave you? How could he go as far as to fuck you then just die like that? It’s unthinkable. Unreasonable. Unlike Toji, to just die.

Then like a switch, the rational side of your brain turns off. Instead, you are encompassed with a fury that's far more vast than the deepest ocean. A hostility wakes up in you as you look up to the man that brought you here. 

“Who did this to him?” You manage to grit between your teeth. 

The man pauses taking one conniving look at you before replying. You don't know if you can trust him but he's the only one that has the definite answer. You're about to repeat yourself, as your patience begins to falter, but he cuts you off with a breath, looking at you dead in the eyes. 

“Gojo Satoru.”

Him? You think, tracking back to the moments Toji has spoken to you about the Six Eyes. Your skin crawled and the hairs on your neck stood up, it was so haunting. Never has a name engrossed you with so much hate and anger. The fuming flames of emotion grasped at your heart, squeezing it to the point of discomfort.

Your greatest strength as an assassin is always thinking through and planning before taking action. You’d get to know your target, get a feel for their mannerisms, to a point that you could read their next move upon attack. 

Yet upon hearing that name… Like tunnel vision, your hunger for vengeance outweighs your principles. And yes, you know the risk of what you are up against. But you don’t care because you only have one goal:

To take down Gojo Satoru.

“Where can I find him?” Your voice is stern and cold. The task will be a bit more of a challenge than expected, but you weren’t one to back down from someone so sinister. It makes your head hurt. The pain was so searing you couldn’t even think what you were supposed to do. 

The man smirks, noticing the change in your demeanor, then passes a note. You take it from him and unfold it to reveal the location of your target. You couldn’t wait, you had to see what these Six Eyes are all about. 

Without hesitation your body takes off from the rush of adrenaline, knowing exactly where he is. Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. It was almost too easy to track him down. In fact, you were almost certain that you could potentially fall into a trap, but avenging Toji drives you forward. 

Hiding from plain sight, the towering white-haired man stands adjacent to a slim, tall man with black hair tied up in a bun. 

That’s him, you think, eyeing him up and down noticing he’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses protecting his bright blue eyes. You can’t hear their conversation, but you hear a startling laugh from Gojo, making your entire body tremble with disgust. And as if he could hear your thoughts, he turns to look in your direction just before you duck for cover holding your breath.

You wait a moment counting to ten, before looking out to see where he’s heading to. Though when you peek out, you notice the black-haired man walking away and Gojo starring right at you. Your eyes widen, as you dash away instantly, out of his sight. Your heart starts to pound, it feels like it could break out of your chest as you run away as fast as you can.

“Have we met before?” A voice sounds while you are in mid-sprint and beside you, you see Gojo flashing a cheeky smile. “I feel like I would have remembered such a pretty face though.”

His teasing is torturous, it makes you want to vomit. You jump away changing directions, but he continues to tail you.

“Maybe at the sweets shop?” he asks as if you’d both known each other for years and he was trying to catch up with a casual conversation. “Or maybe on a job?”

Your eyes widen, fully knowing he’s probably just playing coy and knows exactly why you’re here. There's uncertainty whether you can flee from this encounter, so with all your frustration, you lunge towards the target. And seemingly your strength almost doubles as you attack, but your strike is not fast enough to even touch Gojo. 

Fully aware that you're not totally in control of yourself, you put your running to a pause and stand facing Gojo to catch your breath regaining your balance and composure. You've come totally unprepared, giving Gojo full control of the encounter. 

"Aw, c'mon. You don't have to be shy," he coos standing with his hands on his hips. "I know my good looks can make a lot of people nervous."

You can't believe that he just said that. It's almost as if he's mocking you in the way he grins like he's warning you to not be too careless.

"Believe me," you rage. "You're not my type."

"Then why did I catch you spying on me?' 

“It was a test,” you lie. It's true that you were caught but you couldn't give him the satisfaction that he is right. 

“Hm?” he hums. “Who do you work for?”

“Work for? You hiss. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but you do,” he purrs. “A lot of people are out to get me.”

He has this crazy look in his eyes as if he could so effortlessly end you and you know he could. But you couldn’t let this be the end, not when Toji went and died without your consent.

"They thought they could distract me with such a pretty girl,” he flirts and it just fuels your anger more. 

Springing forward you draw out a knife strapped onto your calf then constrict your cursed energy into it. With a loud grunt, you aim for your target's legs hoping you can stun his movements. But Gojo just dodges it, instantly appearing behind you. He’s fast. Almost too fast to take note of where he is. You swing the knife at him again, but he remains vigilant only showing you how mundane it is for him-- it's too easy for him. It makes your blood boil.

You push yourself further and further, putting all your techniques into gear, as you're constantly reminding yourself with each attach that it's for Toji. Your moves get slopier as your frustration bubbles within you causing an eruption of negative emotions. And the fight isn’t even close.

"I think that's enough," Gojo utters, grabbing your wrist seeing you carelessly tire yourself out.

You don't listen as you try to gather up as much energy as you can for the final blow seeing as this is your only opportunity to get this close. With a final distressing scream, you thrust the knife towards his throat, but it stops before even touching him, not even causing a scratch. Sheer shock courses through your spine, as you fall to your knees gutted and destroyed. If this was trying your best, you didn't know what you could do to beat this nuisance. You can't avenge Toji, not when you're this weak. You feel like a disappointment. How can you say you'll kill this monster when you can't even touch him with your attacks? 

You try to keep your eyes open, but everything around you blurs and the last thing you see is Gojo's blue eyes, then everything goes black as you collapse.

All your will to fight diminishes and the heaviness of your body outweighs the heaviness you feel upon defeat. If you were going to beat Gojo, you were going to have to go through some severe training, at least you will have to if you get out of this alive. Being alive feels so much more difficult than it did before, of course, you barely had anything to live for in the first place, but Toji was a reason to continue going. Even if you didn't see him often, you still looked forward to the days you would encounter each other. There was always something about the way he looked at you. No one else in the world gave you such an honest look, even if he almost looked repulsed by you. Yet, when you think back to that last day you saw him, you could see his eyes filled with a longing to see you. Perhaps you were a bit naive to think so, but you'd like to believe he did somewhat care for you. It's something that you feel so deep in your bones, no words need to confirm it. The thought gives your strength, the strength to open your eyes and keep fighting.

But when you open your eyes, you can't see anything. Only absolute darkness. And the sound of water dripping like:

Drip... Drip... Drip...

It’s terrifying, but it feels like it’s calling you so you walk forward further into the nothingness following the sound. All your senses heighten, and an icy breeze prickles against you decorating your skin in goosebumps. The dripping still fills the silence, but as you grow closer to the sound, a voice whispers in your ears. The words aren’t loud enough to understand, but you swore it was someone calling your name. Then a speckle of a dim warm glow looms in the distance. You wish to call out to it, but you can't seem to find your voice so you start walking towards the strange phenomenon. But the light only grows further and further as you walk and a deep sense of anxiety pushes you forward. You sprint towards it, hands reaching out in hopes that somehow you can grab it. 

The light starts to grow brighter and brighter. But as you get closer to it, it isn't just an illumination. You see a figure. It's hard to make out what it is but it looks inhumane. You slowly encounter the thing half scared, half intrigued. The pressure starts to build in your chest and breathing becomes almost unmanageable. And once your eyes adjust, you can see everything. 

Toji's mutilated body stands in front of you.

You fixate on his injury noticing that the dripping sound is coming from the absence of the left side of his torso. Blood drips his open wounds as it pools below him. He gazes at you with regret and says, "I told you not to come looking for me."

A sob rises in your throat as you release a mournful cry reaching out to grab him. But your body falls into the blood and keeps descending below him to the point you are closed back into the darkness. You cry in exasperation trying to bite back tears and then you wake. 

You rise up from the ground clasping your chest trying to digest the events that just unfolded. 

It was just a dream. 

You look around to see where you are and don't recognize the room. You are surrounded by walls covered in thick opaque paper painted with a landscape of the mountains and trees. The floors are covered in thick tatami mats as the ceiling is raised coffered with warm wood. A translucent sliding door made up of wooden lattices covered in translucent paper dresses the room in a cool glow of moonlight. 

You wonder how long you've been out and attempt to move but your body screams at you to stop as pain engulfs you. The last thing you remember is falling on your knees before your nightmare. You let out an agonizing yelp unable to fully process this throbbing. It's hard to tell what's worse, the physical pain from your body or the emotional pain of Toji's death. 

The sliding door shoots open and a white-haired man saunter's in covering your mouth with his hand. 

"Shh, you have to be quiet," he whispers. "No one knows you're here."

Looking up you see Gojo, his eyes twinkle as he gazes down on you. Your body begins to lurch forward trying to get away from him but he just pins you down harder. 

"Stop," he utters. "You're only going to get yourself hurt."

You're squirming comes to an abrupt stop seeing as the severe pain in your body shoots through you once again. And you're calm but in agony.

"Don't scream, ok? I'm going to remove my hand now," he says calmly, then waits for your reassurance before slowly moving his hand. 

"What am I doing here?" You snap almost instantly after he pulls away and takes a seat beside you. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"A pretty girl like you?" He smirks. "Can't let that go to waste, plus you're not as strong as you think you are."

"And now what do you plan on doing to me?" You hiss, riled up by his presence in the room. You had only hoped to exchange very few words whilst in combat, but now you're stuck with him as punishment for not planning your attack. "Is locking me up some form of torture?"

"If you haven't noticed you're not under any restraints," he says gesturing to your body.

You wriggle your limbs to check how limited your movements are, but alas your only constraint is a blanket.

"You're a menace," you blurt out, feeling your face grow flush.

"A menace that lets you live?" 

"Why am I here then?" You fire back.

"Why did you try to kill me?" He asks, drawing in closer to you closing the gap between the two of you. "And I’m quite nice to even say you tried."

You don't respond, keeping your lips shut tight sending him a heavy glare. 

"Fine, I'll just have to use another kind of technique on you," Gojo adds, leaning in seductively. You're sure that dying right now could ruin everything that you've worked for, but a part of you would be at peace cuz you hoped that maybe you'd be able to find Toji. 

Gojo keeps his hand behind his back as if she is hiding his attack from you and you close your eyes in an attempt to shield yourself from the disturbance that is about to unfold. When the attack doesn't come, you open your eyes and see a bag of sweets in Gojo's hands.

"I'll feed them to you," he says in an almost threatening way.

"It's not necessary--"

"Say ahh," he sings, popping a chewy delicious red bean flavored treat in your mouth.

At first, you're taken aback by his weird form of torture, but as the flavors coat the inside of your mouth you settle into the bed feeling a bit better. But dropping your guard down just makes you more uneasy at the fact he is feeding you sweets and a big pit in your stomach forms.

"Are these poisoned?" You exclaim furious at yourself for giving in to this killer's tactics. 

"You seriously think I have--" he stops himself mid-sentence. "No, they're my favorite. I got a fresh batch this morning. How could you think I would soil such pristine sweets?"

Your face is in awe at his exclamation and you're not sure whether or not you're dreaming or just in hell. 

"Enjoy!" He says getting up to leave the box beside you before opening the door to leave. "Oh, and make sure not to be too loud. I wouldn't want my colleagues to find out about you."

With that, he shuts the door rendering you speechless. The situation you were in is far from sane in itself, you couldn't quite understand the ethics behind Gojo's decision to not kill you. Honestly, you thought him to be quite foolish for letting you live, this only gives you more opportunity to find his weaknesses so you could destroy him. But until then you were stuck in this room. 

A day and a bit go by, and the pain overwhelming your body begins to settle down. You hadn't found much intel seeing as you've been constricted to this room, but you were quite pleased Gojo came to visit giving you more food-- none of which had nutritional value, just more sweets. 

There was no added worth of being here, just time wasted where you weren't able to plan your attack. Gojo had been gone for a while and you suspected him not to be back until the morning, so this evening, you hoped would be the opportunity to sneak out. 

Getting up from bed your bones crack settling into your stance, the pain is still present, but you couldn't stand being here for another moment. As you pull open the sliding door you are met with Gojo face to face, causing you to jump out of your skin. 

"Want to go on a stroll?" He asks, choosing to ignore your attempt to escape. You're hesitant, to say the least, full of distrust. This man hasn't done anything to harm you but you can't give in to his ways. With a grin on his face, he adds, "I'll let you hold my hand."

"Gross," you mumble, walking past him outside to the elegant garden only lit by the moon. 

"Breathtaking," he whispers, taking the words right out of your mouth.

"Are you always this articulate?” You say before looking over to Gojo who is staring at you. 

"Are you always this stuck up?" He pokes back in hopes to get a reaction out of you. And he does because he can see the rage in you as you scowl at him with annoyance. "C'mon. Lighten up a little."

He walks in front of you down a gravel path and you follow behind. Evergreen foliage surrounds you, as small dim lanterns light the way to a small pond shimmering in the moonglow. The sight is tranquil and calming, bringing you a sense of peace. You wish you could have shared this moment with Toji, even if it was doubtful it would happen in the first place. A strange sense of urgency alarms your brain as you recall the dream you had the other day. Obviously, it could have been a sign to turn back and try to not kill Gojo, but it only made you even more determined to do so. 

"Why couldn't I kill you?" You whisper.

"Same reason Fugishiro couldn't… that's why you're here isn't it?"

You snapped to look over at Gojo, "Wh-- what. How do you know?"

"It's not the hardest thing to track," he teases. "Especially when a woman's in love."

"You're a fucking asshole," you utter. "You knew all along?"

"Cussing is a bit unattractive," he retorts. 

"Like I haven't heard that one before," you snort.

"That's not to say I don't like it," Gojo purrs, stepping in closer to you.

"When will you let me go?" you ask, pushing him at his chest with your fingertips.

"I don't know if I ever will, maybe you'll just be my prisoner forever," he flirts, to which you roll your eyes and cross your arm against your chest. "What no witty banter, your boyfriend seemed to be more up for it."

"He wasn't my boyfriend," you snarl.

Gojo looks at you intently as if to try to read your mind, then leans in closer.

"Then this makes this even easier." 

He closes the gap between the two of you. His lips look soft to the touch and seeing him closer you can honestly see why he has such a big ego. He's actually quite attractive and you wouldn't be surprised if he enjoyed handfuls of women chasing after him. Though this didn't really interest you and you turned away quickly before he could press his lips to yours. 

"Nice try. I'm leaving," you rasp walking away towards the wall of the garden to leave. You expected to have him stop you from escaping, but you find yourself continuing to walk away and get further and further from the room you were resting in. But now your deed is done and you can work to expel the disease that was once Gojo Satoru. 

Gojo watches you from behind, taking in your figure memorizing it. He knows that letting you go won't be the last time that he sees you. He knows that deep in his heart you will for sure be back.

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (March 9/2021) - Roses and Blood Vines

One day remains before Ponk’s attack. Ponk gives Foolish another warning, another chance to join the Egg. Foolish still says no.

Hannah returns from a five-day journey feeling sickened by something. The Blood Vines have crept onto her house... 

Something has to be done.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Tubbo

Foolish

Ranboo

Hannah

Karl

Eret

Captain Puffy

---

- Ponk makes his way through the Nether to the Temple of Undying. He surveys the place, wondering what to blow up first.

- He scouts through the chests, taking some diamonds here and there.

- Ponk places a few pieces of TNT in Foolish’s snake statue as a warning and heads back.

- Foolish joins the call, Ponk now at the Oogway Shrine.

Ponk: “Foolish...you know that time is ticking, right?”

Ponk: “Are you familiar with the hourglass parable?”

Foolish: “No, I am not.”

Ponk: “Me neither, but an hourglass has lots of sand in it, right?”

- Ponk starts talking through the Egg

“Hello, Foolish...the time is ticking...blood, fire and explosions will happen. You’re going to die, Foolish, if you don’t join me. DEATH.”

Foolish: “You speak of my summer home?”

“Your summer home will be no more.”

Foolish: “We’ll see about that.”

“Tick-tock goes the clock.”

- Ponk abruptly switches back to his normal voice and starts talking to Foolish about that scene in Kung Fu Panda where Oogway paralyzes the leopard guy  by poking him, and the leopard guy broke out of prison to defeat the five people

- Foolish asks if there’s a meaning to this. Ponk tells him he stole all of his music discs and put TNT in their place.

- Ponk says to be careful about the tripwires he put. Foolish says that with his emerald eyes, he will see through them.

- They go back and forth about preparations and Ponk’s plan. Ponk tries to convince Foolish that actually, he already blew it up (he didn’t)

Ponk: “Look, Foolish...I’m here to offer you another chance, okay? You can join the Egg, be a happy family, y’know? You can be a god, but you have to serve the Egg...”

Foolish: “You see, Ponk, I think the Egg will lead to heartbreak. Misery. Regret. And then death.”

Ponk: “Remember, Foolish, remember...you can never save a life. You can always prolong it.”

Foolish: “I might disagree with that...but that’s for another time.”

- They get distracted by Skeppy’s prank on the mansion

- Ponk goes to an Ender Chest and shows Foolish its contents. Foolish is outraged that Ponk actually took all his discs -- even Pigstep!

- Ponk shows Foolish the Wall of Pog Women

- The subject goes back to the Egg. Ponk asks again if he wants to join the Egg. Foolish says no.

Foolish: “I don’t think the Egg is good for anyone, and you know? The Egg may not even need you guys! The moment the Egg has enough power, it’ll toss you all aside like the little ants you are.”

- They start talking about cats

- Ponk meets Foolish down at the spider spawner and attempts his Technoblade-killing tactic on him.

- Ponk continues to prepare

- Foolish is still working on Tubbo and Ranboo’s mansion

- He goes to see Michelle in Snowchester. He ponders how strange their family is. A sheep pirate, a totem-part-shark and his totem son, an undead zombie piglin baby, the other brother -- a green blob?

“Nice meeting you, Michelle...um, yeah. Hopefully you never meet Dream.”

“...Just your average Minecraft family...”

(More “Schrödinger’s canon” family dynamics for now, but this is the moment the Wiki is referencing if you were wondering)

- Foolish continues work on the mansion

- Hannah heads back to the main Dream SMP area

- She’s been trying to make the server more beautiful, adding trees, flowers, natural things. But she was off picking flowers for the main pathway when she woke up with extreme nausea. She could barely walk.

- It’s finally time. Something is pulling her back.

Hannah: “It’s definitely time to bring spring to the server. This server is so, so messed up. There’s not enough trees, there’s not enough flowers, there’s not enough anything, especially in the main area."

- The only thing keeping her strong -- alive -- are the rose flowers. It took her two days to find the strength to walk back.

- Hannah starts planting flowers everywhere. The pathway is deteriorated, there are no trees, no flowers, not enough natural fauna that weren’t planted by the people. Her flowers have been picked and turned to dye by people. She needs more flowers to stay strong.

- She sees her house has been covered in Blood Vines. She suspects the Blood Vines have been eating up some of her rose flowers. All of it has to go. She doesn’t know who or what this is, but she believes it’s trying to kill her.

- Sam (and Tubbo disguised as Ranboo) arrive, and Hannah speaks with Sam about her house. Sam was coming to clean up the bank site.

- Sam helps Hannah start to clear off the Vines.

- A cow gets in the way. Hannah says it must be contaminated and kills it.

- All of a sudden, Sam shouts to not break anymore. Hannah looks and Bad and Antfrost have arrived.

- Bad says he thought Hannah was a supporter of plants. They don’t see why Hannah needs to clear the Vines away. Hannah and Sam insist they’re just trimming, doing some landscaping because Hannah is allergic.

- Bad and Ant suggest testing? They can take Hannah to a place with a large concentration of Vines and see if they have any effect. 

- Hannah says she’s willing to try. Sam tells Hannah he can’t go down there again. They tell Bad and Ant -- Hannah will try it while Sam takes a trip to the Nether. Sam whispers to Hannah that while they’re gone, Sam is going to clear the rest of the Vines in secret.

- Bad and Antfrost admire the Vines in Hannah’s house. Even the dogs seem to like it. Hannah promptly kills the dogs to put them out of their misery.

- Bad and Antfrost take Hannah down to the Egg Room. Hannah puts down a rose to help, but they destroy it. They tell her that the Egg likes her.

- They make her a “seat” (box) of black concrete and say she should stay there for “exposure therapy.”  They convince her to put her items in an Ender Chest even as she’s having doubts, and leave her alone there. 

- Hannah thought she had no enemies on this server, but she may have made a mistake.

- Karl wakes up in his library. He hangs up the poster for “The Haunted Mansion” and writes the Tale down.

- He writes his next diary entry. He feels confused. He doesn’t know who to trust anymore. At least the Inbetween seems like a genuinely peaceful place, but there were those books warning him about it.

- He decides he needs to get into that portal the next time he visits the Inbetween.

- His memory is getting worse. He needs to tell his friends the stories, but worries he won’t have any at this rate.

- Bad and Sapnap arrive to Kinoko. Karl wants to get new members.

- Sapnap kills Bad, sending him back.

Bad: “What have I told you about playing with fire there, son?”

- Karl plans to spread out advertisements about Kinoko.

- Foolish and HBomb arrive.

- They go to the Holy Land to put up posters.

- George arrives and they all decide to put up a massive poster in front of the prison, where the mining fatigue will make the blocks harder to get rid of. Bad protests this as a prison guard.

- They do it anyway

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[aminiatureworld]

Leaden Dreams

Characters: Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,908

Warnings: Vague depictions of sleep paralysis

Premise: In which the reader experiences sleep paralysis

Author’s Note: First time writing Kazuha! I just finished his story quest today, so I hope that I have an okay grasp on him. Still working on his talking style a bit but I adore his personality.

Also though I experience the part of sleep paralysis where you’re awake but can’t move (can’t recommend the experience) it’s usually during the day so I don’t really experience dreams. As of such if this is inaccurate in any ways I’m very sorry.

Albedo

Albedo knew about sleep paralysis on a theoretically level, knew that it was a phenomenon that caused one’s brain to awaken when the body was still fast asleep. He’d never given the concept much thought, not any more than he might any other bit of science that remained shelved in his mind.

Now that was certainly not the case.

Albedo knew the telltale signs, the small spasms that revealed the battle between your mind and your body. Knowing that you were fighting to move your limbs, open your eyes, relax your jaw, he would always speak first, knowing that you might not immediately respond.

“It’s alright my dear, I’m here. I know it’s frightening, but I promise you’ll be able to move soon. Just focus on one thing, alright? Maybe your eyes this time, since last time you tried moving your tongue. That’s it, just one thing first. It’s always better to start small.”

He wouldn’t move from his sleeping position until you regained control of your body, afraid that a sudden touch might cause you even more distress. Keeping himself carefully pressed into the mattress he didn’t fare lift his head, for fear his face might melt into something frightening. Since he knew he was helpless, his goal became to stop things from getting worse.

The moment you began to move however the alchemist would jump into action. Turning lights on he would pick up the glass of water from his nightstand before gathering you up into his arms, positioning himself so you could listen to his heartbeat as you drank. The first time it had happened he had left the room to get the glass to soon, and the memory of you curled up desperately into the covers still tugged at him.

Albedo would then go through what you had half-dreamed with you, thoroughly debunking all the distortions of your normal life. That shadowed human outside the window was a combination of the balcony and the half opened curtains. The voices were partially his own, partially your brain trying to process your own breathing. The figure hiding behind the door of the hallway was because of the boxed piled along the other side of the wall. The people dancing on the ceiling could be fixed with a repaint. Over and over he would remind you of the fact that you were safe, that your amygdala was simply going into overdrive. Over and over he would thoroughly debunk your nightmares until once more things settled into place, piles of clothing becoming one more fabric, dressers no longer dancing as if possessed.

He would tell you to wake him up if he began falling back to sleep, determined that he should be watching over you to make sure an episode didn’t happen as you were falling back asleep.

In reality though you didn’t mind if he drifted off a little before you. His breathing was a soothing melody, his slow, steady heartbeat a rhythm with which you could anchor yourself. He was staid and sure, and that was something you grasped onto desperately, something you would never stop appreciating.

Soon enough his reasons would soothe your mind, and you’d fall once more asleep.

 Kazuha

The first thing Kazuha always did was pull the blankets over you. If the outside world was threatening you, then he’d simply block it out.

Making a cocoon around the two of you he would begin to tell stories. Fairy tales, things that had happened to him during his travels, anything that you brain might latch onto. The stories were always very short and self-contained, easy to understand, and through your panic addled brain you always seemed to find them.

Sometimes when things were particularly bad he’d softly cradled your hands, careful not to move to quickly or too suddenly in case the sensation caused you to panic even more.

“Our hands fit together so well, don’t you think? I could write a poem about them, or maybe about yours. Maybe you’ll help me with it after this is over? It will be soon dearest, I know it will.”

Sometimes he would sing little songs that he’d picked up. Usually sea shanties, their rhythm helped you, less complex than poetry, more lyrical than the jagged fear that screamed at you.

Kazuha wouldn’t ask you to share immediately. When you finally moved he would first squeeze your hands gently, kissing them before your forehead, asking if it was too hot beneath the blankets, then making sure a light was on if you needed a little fresh air.

He never acknowledged what had happened before you did, but he wouldn’t pretend like it didn’t happen either. Instead he would ask if you wanted to listen to a story or tell one. Whichever you chose he would keep holding your hands, making sure that even when he gave you space there was still something that grounded you.

Sometimes when you cried he would tell a very specific story.

“There once was a warrior, brave of heart. So brave were they that shadows tried to chase them. Someone this noble cannot exist! They cried out. The warrior must be false. We will find their weakness. However no matter how hard they tried this weakness was never found. For the warrior was truly brave in heart and soul.”

Normally you might consider such a story overdone, but in those liminal moments between fear and sleep the story format helped. This was simply a harrowing part of a story, but there would surely be a better end.

 Scaramouche

Scaramouche never thought that he’d ever sleep next to you.

Humans were loud and irritating, and that only became more true when the Harbinger was trying to get a few precious hours of sleep.

However after a particularly bad week he decided that the only solution to your terrible lack of attention was to deal with the matter himself.

He wasn’t necessarily nice about it, grumbling about your poor sleeping habits, saying that this was an awful waste of time. However the moment that panic consumed you, the moment that things started to twist around you, you felt a sudden hand on your arm.

“These idiotic phantoms are nothing. Come on, I know you’re strong enough. How could you ever let something so puny win against you.”

Though you certainly didn’t agree with him about that you had to admit it helped somewhat. Though your initial panic never disappeared, it became easier to climb out of your dreams, to see a light at the end of the endless tunnel of fear.

Every time you jerked once more awake Scaramouche let himself admit some sort of relieved satisfaction.

“You’ve done it again. As you always have. I don’t know why I bother sleeping here when you’re competent enough on your own.”

Nevertheless Scaramouche would always let you embrace him, not commenting on the tears that often accompanied you. Loosely resting his arms on your back he let out exaggerated breaths.

“Will you sleep now?”

It didn’t matter if you said no. Scaramouche would simply mutter something about bad sleep habits, but he would nevertheless stay awake.

He would always fall asleep last, even when his eyes burned slightly and his body called out for rest.

If he was going through all this trouble after all, he might as well see it through to the end.

 Xiao

Xiao saw dreams as extensions of human karma, of human wants and needs and wishes.

If a human dreamt a good wish, it was a revelation of their hearts desire. If they tossed and turned with nightmares it was their fears and shames manifesting. A dream was never just a dream, a shuffle of random events and names and faces. Dreams were alive; dreams had their own wills, all connected to the will of the human they were attached too.

Xiao loathed to see you haunted by your dreams. How could someone so wonderful as your be chased by something so awful? The little that you told your partner caused a distant sort of dread. He could never understand your fear of falling asleep, but he surely felt the dread of whether or not you might be allowed peace.

The threads that surrounded you, that surrounded all humans, always tensed when you were entering an episode. Careful not to leave your side too much Xiao would light a few candles, not too much to be jarring to your eyes, not too little to add to your nightmares. If you could only open your eyes then Xiao would pay even more attention, making sure that the dim lighting didn’t add to your distress, shifting the candles or blowing them out if need be.

Xiao didn’t talk much normally, but he would keep up a steady stream of questions in these moments, even if you couldn’t answer them. Whether you were aware of his presence, whether the window being open was a problem or not, whether you needed more light or less. He would keep these questions in the back of his mind for you to answer once you could again, not only so he could do better next time, but in case the nightmares we too close to be spoken about.

Usually Xiao would ask about them again in the morning, and sometimes you would discuss it then. Though the yaksha knew that nightmares were often the fears that humans accumulated, the curses that attached themselves to unsuspecting victims, he never talked about that aspect with you, indeed when he talked about it at all. Most of the time he would just listen, tracing soft circles along your back and down your arms.

Right after an episode Xiao would make his way over to you. Most of the time he would stay in one place while the episode was happening, near the candles or by the window, making sure he didn’t startle you anymore. Now though he might move every once in a while, or turn your head softly towards him if your eyes became fixated on one spot in the room. Always he’d go to open the window, and the familiarity of the routine became something that lulled you back into a sense of piece.

Not sleeping himself Xiao never told you that you need more rest, that you should go back to sleep. If you needed to stay up the rest of the night so be it, he would be there with you. If you were too tired and found yourself drifting off to sleep he would promise to protect you, to fight off any demons that might be lurking.

Sometimes Xiao feared that his burden of curses exacerbated your sleep paralysis. Those evenings he would wait for you to sleep before slipping away. Always he would leave his sleeve and his mask, making sure that if you woke up you would still have something of his presence to comfort or protect yourself with. Those nights he would stare out into Liyue and think about all the things that he carried with him, all the things that you did too.

Regardless of those nights he would be there in the morning.

“Did you sleep well afterwards?” He would always ask. Regardless of your answer, which he would surely pay attention to after his second question, he would stare into your eyes.

“Do you think things would be easier without my presence?”

Always you said no.