#this may be crueler

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

Six Sentence Sunday

Tagged by @autumnalwalker!

Tagging (and don't feel obligated to do this only today/a Sunday btw): @elshells @elizaellwrites @rosellemoon @runner-owen @swordsoulwrites @arigalefantasynovels @duckingwriting

How it works:

Writers: post (approximately) six sentences from something you’re working on. If you aren’t ready to do that, add six sentences to your WIP.

Readers: challenge yourselves to leave a six sentence comment or give a writer a six sentence prompt. (or a total of six sentences for the day)

Fans and creators alike: reblog a fandom post and add some love in the tags. Aim for 6 posts - or 6 tags. Whatever you can manage!

From the newest part of the Apophenia redraft:

Content Notes: Food/hunger description

His stoicism came crashing down as soon as the smell hit him. Thick, rich beef stock. The heat of dried chiles stewed in it for hours, guajillo, ancho, pasilla. A note of sweetness from fresh grilled corn. His stomach grumbled and whined like a begging dog. Not the expected instruments of torture maybe, but they had broken him nevertheless.

[moltengoldveins]

hi for the first time in ten years today I went to a Public Structured Exercise Activity (taekwondo) and I feel incredible. I fought so hard for so long against my body and the whole time I thought it was my fault. I thought everyone was in just as much pain as I was and I just had a bad attitude. I have never been able to do something like that before. It didn’t hurt. It felt good. Moving in a body that works feels good.

I’m not even sure exactly how to comprehend what is happening to me. I have been told for a decade that my condition is permanent, that I am never going to be cured, that there is no way to treat this disease. Two days ago I thought to ask my new doctor, whom I’ve been working with for eight months, (not in so many words ofc) if that was true. It’s not. She didn’t even think to tell me because she assumed I already knew. It’s not mostly treatable or mitigate-able or reducible. It’s curable. Full stop. The damage is done but that is also fixable. The long-term genetic conditions can be treated with medication and support items. The disease? is curable. I was lied to for profit margins and insurance premiums. My entire life rotted out from beneath me for ten fucking years. I put myself in significant danger because I assumed there was nothing I could do about it and I needed to just move on, push through. I forced myself to function through seizures, I drove very soon after them which I know now is a huge no-no but at the time I didn’t give a shit. I assumed the doctors I grew up with were honest and trustworthy and they were not.

I can move and breathe and walk and fight and sleep and eat. I can do those things with very little pain, and the pain is lessening by the day. I am curing myself. Praise God, I am not relegated to healthier. I can actually be healthy.

Ten fucking years. Because insurance wouldn’t cover the treatment. And they lied to me.

[sskk-manifesto]

!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[raccoon-crown]

Mmm... If I where to create Maria in the Dream Land AU... Should I keep her alive this time around 👀???

[mars-ipan]

you guys ever think about the milgram shock experiments? i think about the milgram shock experiments a lot. they feel kinda relevant right now for some reason. hm

[sscarletvenus]

every day is crueler than the last and the nightmare continues another day. another life was the cost of flour.

fuck israel. fuck biden and his administration. fuck the untied states. may any individual who supports this endless cycle of murder suffer what they have inflicted on innumerable innocent.

may the martyred rest in paradise. glory to the resistance. the apartheid entity will fall before our very eyes, with its fellow colonial regimes.

[paperstarwriters]

to Hear, to Feel, to Know

Inspired by @muletia’s Obsessed Optimus fanfics—they just so so so so good!! The yearning, the ill-buried desire, Optimus chaining himself in place like some dog with a biting problem when all he wants to do is love you???? OUAGH so so good!!

Asdfghjkl I wanna try my own hand at a fic looking at Optimus’s tendency towards obsession in love, but for now, I’ve been thinking about Optimus as a bot who tends to listen….

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Reader

Warnings: n/a

Summary: Optimus is a bot who's exceptionally good at listening. What he likes listening to most of all though, is you.

Masterlist | Transformers Masterlist

Word count: 1,106

───♡-♥-♡-♥-♡-♥-♡───

There was no denying that Optimus had a keen eye, and an even keener attention. His ability to promptly decipher texts based on key words or phrases allowing him to understand the greater picture from his days as an archivist served to train him well in noticing patterns of behaviour if he focused his attention on it. The ongoing war certainly helped as well, forcing him to zero in on what would allow them to survive. Forcefully training his eye to fall to keep points in any battle field.

And yet as trained as his eyes were, Optimus was always keen to listen.

Or perhaps absorbing was a better comparison. How despite being a leader, despite giving commands, Optimus was almost always better suited to listening to the people around him. The information that they shared, the feelings they expressed. Ratchet always used to say he would make for a much kinder medic than he if he took a role in that field. Perhaps it could have served him even better as a leader, but there was little he could change through the tides of time.

It’s why he clings to these things, saving them in the event that one day they may save him. From another attack or another encounter with Megatron, to even a stretch of boredom or loneliness.

It is why he clings to your every word.

Why he loves it when you sit atop his shoulder. So close to his helm, it is as if you’re speaking directly into his processor, filling his thoughts with your words—your delights, your frustrations, your sorrows, your needs. A direct feed like some constant supply of energon into his lines.

Both, he supposed would make his spark stutter a bit.

Ah, just thinking about it brings to mind the many times you’ve pressed yourself against his audial, leaning against his helm or purposely cupping his audials as you whispered sweet words his way, words for him and him alone, a gift sweeter than any energon could ever be.

You didn’t even have to be saying something sweet. Scathing secrets and vicious critiques against some other’s back from the mistreatment you received in the hands of a cruel stranger or an even crueler co-worker, or even some coy remark against a teammate, the fact that you chose to whisper your words to him—to confide your secrets and burning emotions to his audials.

Even being chosen as a Prime was a lesser honour than this.

But perhaps the thing he enjoys listening to most, though your every word delights him and your laughter makes his spark feel so light it might burst from his chest, the sound Optimus likes best it’s the soft thud of your heartbeat and the whisper of your breath.

He recalls when he first heard the sound, mass displaced at your request as you showed to him your beating heart after he showed you his whirring spark.

There is meaning to the action, to show one’s spark to the other, but Optimus felt he need not explain it to you, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to return the gesture.

And yet somehow you did.

Even if you could not pull back the viscera from your chest the way he did the plates of his chassis, you brought his helm to your chest, pressed his audial against you, and implored him to listen.

And he did.

In the caverns of your chest, Optimus heard as air filled your lungs, swelling with every breath you took, and for a moment he mistook that steady beat for an abnormal twitch, until you began to explain.

“That’s my heart.” You had told him. “The ‘thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud’.”

And pressing just a bit harder, Optimus stilled his fans to listen to the faint beat.

And he heard it.

Loud against his audial the drum of your heart pounded against your chest like an insistent knock, or the demands of a captive begging to be freed.

Though perhaps that’s just wistful thinking.

He hears it in his full form sometimes, when you lean your back against his helm or when you cling to his audial in a moment of fear or excitement. A gentle faint rhythm, that sings that you’re alive.

He wishes some days that it would accompany him in his berth, as he lies under the midnight silence hounded by the whispers and wails of the dead of the living he must fight, of the humans he’d never know. They all rattle and sob frying his processor as he starves himself of a proper recharge, but then, some days he hears something this in the base. Perhaps it’s his own movement, perhaps something falls—once even it was the rumble and stroke of thunder and lightning overhead. All the same, it brings to his mind the thump of your heartbeat, and like a spring being unwound, he replays your words in his head. Every praise, every sweet word, every secret you’d give him. Your smile your laughter, your delight and glee he’d play them all over and over in his processor, lingering on the compliments you’d direct his way, every smile you’d make when your eyes met his.

All with the background theme of your heart singing its little song of life, your every breath an instrument to the symphony.

You were here, you were alive, you were with him.

Ah, but sometimes those moments stung worse than the wailing dead.

You were not here with him now, and all he had was the echo of your heartbeat. If he could hum its melody he would, but the sound doesn't comply with his voice box. Still he taps it out with a digit sometimes or a pede even, a little reminder of a precious tune.

He hasn’t had the chance to listen to your heart again. To mass displace and press his head against your chest, to listen to that sound, and maybe listen to you speak as he follows the gentle beat. He hopes one day he might get the chance. He hopes one day to tell you what it means when one shows the other their spark.

One day, he dreams, he’d tell you what it meant, and you’d smile, perhaps in rapt delight, perhaps shyly, but you’d open your arms to him and allow him to listen once more, let him listen as he lets you watch his glowing spark.

Until then, he basks in what he can get, faint as it is against his full form, listening to the soft beat of your heart, feeling you warm and pressed against him, resting assured in the knowledge that you were here, you were alive.

[faultfatale]

maintenance tags!

*˖ ⊹  christie    ⋅   out of character    ╲  i don't even have my own attention. *˖ ⊹  promo    ⋅   out of character    ╲  another name goes up in lights. *˖ ⊹  inbox    ⋅   out of character    ╲  do you ever wonder what happens to the words that we send?

*˖ ⊹  universe    ⋅   undecided    ╲ we know what we are but know not what we may be. *˖ ⊹  universe    ⋅   genshin impact    ╲  the stars in the sky will always have a place for you. *˖ ⊹  universe    ⋅   marvel    ╲  the measure of a hero is how well they succeed at being who they are. *˖ ⊹  universe    ⋅   my hero academia    ╲  there is nothing crueler than letting a dream end midway. *˖ ⊹  universe    ⋅   danganronpa    ╲  what's the point of living if you're just waiting to die?

[selfshippinglover2222]

Hazbin Boys And The Stage Of Grief They’re Stuck In

If their partner died…

Denial

Lucifer would be stuck in denial. He’s folding your clothes, washing your dishes. He’s cleaning your house and waiting for you to get home. He smiles as he does so, humming a tune. He refuses to aknowledge that you might be gone forever. No, you may be gone but you’ll reconstruct. You’ll come home, you have to. You promised you’d never leave him, never abandon him. And he trusts you won’t. So instead he cleans your things, tidies your house and waits to hear your sweet voice telling him your home.

Anger

Valentino would be stuck in anger. His floor of the tower covered in the blood of workers who happened to cross his path, the poor things torn limb from limb or shot up. He has a rage for the world now, for taking away his only light. He becomes even crueler, his work becoming more and more violent and snuff like as he descends deeper into rage. He gets into really violent bdsms with his workers, and is quick to give them a painful death. Without you he sees no reason for happiness.

Husk is also stuck in anger, his personality becoming more and more bitter as he snaps at anyone who tries to help him. He says cruel things and slaps any comforting touch away. He drowns himself in liquor and hopes maybe then he will forget your face. He hates the world for taking you from him, and it shows. He yells and screams, sometimes at his friends, other times at the memory of you. He’s always drunk off his ass now, never wanting to face the cruelness of hell without you by his side.

Bargaining

Alastor is stuck in bargaining, hoping if he kills enough people, if he sacrifices enough souls, then maybe you’ll be brought back to him. He uses all he can in order to try and bring back your soul, using his voodoo in order to try and bring you home. Sacrificing everything he can, his contracts, his own body, anything to bring you back. But you don’t come back, and he doesn’t know what else to do. If he kills enough people in your name, surely you’ll come home? Surely the heavens, or even another demon, will bring you home.

Vox is also stuck in bargaining. He throws himself into his work, into his plans to take over hell. If he wins, if he does control hell, then he can bring you back. If he does a good enough job, if he shows his strength then there will be no choice. You’ll be brought back to him, right? If he’s in charge, he can order it to be so. So he goes days without sleeping, days without eating and just fixates on his plans. He isolates himself from the other Vees, focused entirely on you, on footage, on recordings. If he tries hard enough…you’ll come home to him won’t you?

Depression

Angeldust is stuck in depression. When you die he finds he just can’t get out of bed, he can’t move. The world stills for him, and he doesn’t even find the will to eat. The only thing getting him out of bed is Fat Nuggets, and he doesn’t even find it to feed him. He finds himself to sad to even cry, just staring blankly at the ceiling for hours. He finds he had no hope with you gone. What’s the point now? What’s redemption without you by his side? His hands twitch with the need for a relapse, but your disappointed face keeps him away from it. But, really, what’s the point now?

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.5k / 20 / post-apocalypse au, part 1

...

You're injured but moving as fast as you can with your bow slung over your back. Soap is close behind you, giving chase, shouting your name as he does. Doesn't he learn? Doesn't he know you'll pull your bow on him again if he corners you?

He must know, but he's too stubborn to give up the chase. You don’t understand it.

He pushes on, just as graceful and twice as effective as you. You slip through the thick trees and their branches trailing whips of brambles. He shoves past them. You’re injured. He’s not. He's gaining, boots heavy in the soil.

"Watch yourself--!"

Your boot lands on leaf litter that falls out from under you--a pit trap. You’re moving barely fast enough for your momentum to save you from falling in. Your waist hits the edge of the pit. You brace yourself by your elbows, fingers digging into the dirt. The soft underside of your arms drag against something sharp underneath.

Soap grabs you by your coat and pulls you up out of the trap and to your feet before you can scramble out yourself. You're neither surprised nor mollified by his careful handling of you.

"Let me go!"

"Na. You're hurt. Stay still."

"Soap, I swear to God--"

"Shut up. I'm taking a look."

He holds your arm firmly with one large hand and, with the other, pulls your sleeve away from the bleeding gash. You grab his wrist with a pained curse. Whatever caught your arms—the rough wood and metal at the trap's edge—tore you bloody. Soap glares at the gash and then at you. He's close.

You could reach for your bow or for the dagger on your hip. But you know for a fact he's armed. With guns. A sniper rifle on his back and two sidearms at his belt. He knows how to use them, too. If you fight, he wins. But you know better than to back down quickly. The world is crueler than it used to be ever since things went to shit. People who show weakness don’t survive.

"Why are you following me?" you growl, your grip on his wrist tightening.

His grip on you loosens in turn when you speak. "You know why. I'm lookin' out for ya."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"Aye, but you still needed it."

"You're not a soldier anymore, Soap," you retort, trying to pull your wrist away. "It's every person for themselves. Stop following me."

"That's no way to live. The world may be a shithole, but there are still folk around who'll lend you a hand even though they don't need to. Soldier or no'."

You can't get out of his grip when he's determined to keep you there, and he is. As much as you'd like to give him a matching wound for being so goddamn stubborn, the rational part of your brain--the part that makes sure you survive--knows better than to expend energy struggling when it's not strictly necessary.

"Nobody lends a hand unless they want something in return," you mutter, glaring down at your wound as he bandages it. "Even if they're pretending otherwise."

He knows you speak from experience. You're a woman, and that means you're nothing but a resource to the worst of whoever’s left. He can't blame you for being guarded. Then again, you wouldn't be making such heated statements to his face if you really thought he intended to hurt you. You're just... defensive. Hiding under all that anger. That's what he tells himself. So he ignores your grumbled protests.

"That's how you'd look at it," he finally replies as he finishes dressing the wound. "Seein' as you've not met the right people. But some of us don't expect anything back."

"You don't expect it because you think you're better than asking. But you still want it."

"Might be so." His voice is soft, gravelly, but you can hear the steel in it. "But am not asking, now am I? So stop your fussin'. You're safe. Nae need to worry." He releases your bandaged arm.

"You run your hand along the wrapping, checking it. "Fine. But I'm... I'm not coming back with you."

"Can't promise you'll be safe out there. Where do ye plan to go?"

"I don't know. Wouldn't tell you if I did."

"Aye." He rubs his jaw, examining you with flint in his blue eyes. Pressing you for an answer would be pointless. Not that you seem to be lying—but you're not telling the whole truth. The short history you share with him is just enough that he can tell. But he also knows trying to change your mind would be pointless. If you won't listen, he'd have better luck bashing his head against one of these huge, mutated oaks.

"Am nae stoppin' ya. But these woods are full of treacherous paths. If ye run into trouble—when ye run into trouble--my boys and I, we know these woods well enough to dust you off and send you in the right direction. Cannae promise to find you before somethin’ else does, though."

You're fairly sure he's not lying. His boys, as he calls them—his old squad, you think—they've made their home in these woods. It's perilous living—bears, wolves, muties, and terrain just as hazardous as the wildlife. And still those men are the most dangerous things in here.

The offer is tempting. You consider it for longer than you should, looking down at your bandaged arm again. But then you step back, shaking your head slowly. "No, thanks. I have to get going."

It tears him up inside. You're making the wrong choice. If he lets you walk away, he's letting you walk to your death.

He looks at you for a moment. You can tell he's got something more to say. But he changes his mind, stepping back as well. He pulls something from his belt and holds it out. A handgun, scuffed and black, grip held toward you. You stare at it for a second before looking back up at him. He's serious?

"I'm not gonna take that--"

"You're damn well gonna take it." His voice is low and insistent. "You think I don't know you'll run into trouble out here? Don't be a fool. I have spare. Take it."

Your one rule is don't owe anybody anything. How the fuck are you about to owe this man twice?

Fine. Whatever. It's not like you have to use it. Could just barter it. Not like you’re going to see him again. You take the gun, biting back a retort.

He nods his approval. The steely look in his eyes softens, though he still looks dismayed. "Mind where you point that. And when you pull it. Biters'll hear it for a mile and come running. Survivors, too. The curious ones." He glances at your bandaged arm one more time. Then he adjusts the bag over his shoulder and turns his back, walking away from you. Back to camp. "Am expectin' you to keep yourself alive with that," he growls. "Or else it's a lot of good time and material I wasted on ya."

"I didn't ask you to waste your breath," you retort, practically snarling at his retreating back in your irritation. You watch him go until he's disappeared into the trees. You need to make sure he doesn't plan on doubling back and following you.

Then you set off on your own. You take a winding path to throw off any trackers. Never can be too cautious. The gun in your pocket is heavy against your thigh, and you try not to think of it as a comforting security.

You came here to get Roach back, and you don’t care how long you have to wander this Godforsaken forest. You’re not leaving without him.

…

Soap feels your eyes on him until you disappear.

He wants to divorce himself from this, but he’s on edge. People who strike out on their own here come to a nasty end. But he’s not going to take away your agency by deciding what's best for you. You were right about him not being a soldier, after all. He doesn’t have the authority to herd you back to his squad’s campsite. Your life is in your own hands.

He just hopes you live to do better than he believes you will.

That night, he sleeps restlessly. Which is why, when he hears a cluster of gunshots in the distance, he wakes up instantly. It's you. In trouble.

The night watch—Gaz tonight—is already there, tossing Soap's gun to him. "You were right," Gaz says.

"Course I was," Soap says with a lopsided grin. "Owe me a ten-piece in the next poker game, aye?"

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3

more Soap / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[arcanarix]

yandere satosugu + darling. you the darling don’t even acknowledge either of the two by their names in your head. at least at the beginning.

instead it’s more like: Menace 1 and Menace 2. Tweedledee and Tweedledum. However you see label the duo, there’s one certainty: they are practically indistinguishable due to the fact that they enable each other’s worse habits. throw darling into the mix. and darling isn’t sure who to be more wary of the entire time.

geto may be calmer, but he’s crueler, even if he prioritizes you in bed. it doesn’t mean he’s kind about it. gojo is sloppy, gojo has no concept of personal space, gojo is the one always—always—all over you. wherever you are, he can’t keep his hands off of you. fondling your tits while you’re lounging. playing with your cunt too.

and geto just joins. encourages it. if gojo’s at it with your tits, geto’s got your ass and pussy. then they switch. make you come. switch again. make you come. again and again.

the one thing you do take note of is that they rarely prioritize their own pleasures—seemingly getting you riled up and used is more than enough.

but of course between them, gojo is the selfish one. gojo takes and takes from you while geto just watches, amused. sometimes even guiding him along while he gets himself off alone.

sometimes gojo keeps his cock inside for hours while you’re in his lap, fingering your pussy and clit until you can’t take it anymore, begging to be fucked.

sometimes, geto takes the other hole. and you’re so full for hours, and they never stop for eons.

sometimes you find yourself not minding it anymore. because they don’t make it awful, even if they make it clear you can never leave them. even if they make it clear you’ve lost any and all agency. maybe you’re a little okay with being their little doll.

all things considered, they don’t treat you that bad. they just like having fun with you.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - unbalanced power dynamics, prolonged imprisonment, wrongful imprisonment.

You’d gotten a key to his office, somehow.

For as much freedom as Wriothesley tried to allow the prisoners Fortress of Meropide, he couldn’t help but wonder how you pulled that little trick off. There were only two copies, one of which he wore at his waist at all hours of the day while the other remained inside a sealed vault, locked behind a code only he knew. He couldn’t begin to imagine how you’d done it, and yet, there you were, emerging at the top of the staircase that led into his only private space, toying with a small bronze key and smiling too brightly for any part of your flawless expression to be genuine. The dubiously-acquired key was slid into one of the pockets of your cover-alls, your smile gifted the company of a breathy laugh, and then, any distance he might’ve been able to keep between the two of you was closed as you clambered onto his desk, stealing what little concentration he still had away. With a sigh, he pushed his chair back, giving you his full attention. This was a familiar routine, one he didn’t have the energy to fight. It wasn’t as if his resistance had ever done much good, not when it came to you.

You spoke first, predictably. He’d never really been the instigating type. “Good morning, your grace.”

“My cigarettes,” he said, nodding towards the corner of his desk where a red-striped paper box had sat a few seconds ago. “If you’re desperate enough to steal, you would’ve tried asking nicely first.”

Rolling your eyes, you produced his missing vice and handed it back to him, but not without snagging one for yourself and stowing it away for later use. It was a minor infraction, though – nothing he couldn’t write off as the price of your visit. “You know,” he went on, leaning back in his seat. “That kind of thing can add time onto your sentence. Not all the guards are going to be as forgiving as me.”

“None of the other guards have anything worth stealing.” Your tone was light, your answer given easily. Sometimes, he tried to picture what you’d look like frowning, yelling, or worse, with pursed lips, clenched fists, tears running down your cheeks as you tried to maintain what little dignity you had left, but he always came up empty. You were good at that – knowing just how much you could show without giving yourself away entirely. If Wriothesley was a crueler man, he may have been tempted to try and take you apart himself. “And even if they did, I’d still come to you first.” His response came in the form of an unimpressed scowl, and you chuckled. “C’mon! Even your heart can’t be cold enough not to find that at least a little bit touching, boss.”

Another sigh, this one somehow more drained than the last. “It’d mean more to me if your rehabilitation seriously,” and then, tapping his leg, “But, my treasured possessions aren’t all you’re here for, right?”

It was your turn to play exasperated, now, to groan and let your head lull to the side as you lowered yourself off of the desk and onto his lap, straddling his thigh and wrapping your arms around his neck. This was part of your routine, too – his favorite part, as loathed as he’d be to ever say that out loud. Try as he might, he had yet to find anything that could compare to the way your weight rested against his, to how your body head warmed just a touch of the chill that’d seeped under his skin and settled years ago. Not many things were able to live in the fortress, not for very long, and yet, here you were, just as radiant as the day the gardes brought you in. If he’d had a more scientific mind, he might’ve thought you were worth studying.

“How long?” Your voice drew him out of his thoughts. He hummed and you repeated yourself, as well-trained as you were rebellious. “How long do I have left before I’m free to go?”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, resting his hands on your hips. “You can’t expect me to know something like that off the top of my head, love.”

“Yes, I can.” He felt you slump against him, your fingertips brush against the nape of his neck. “When it comes to me, I can.”

He let his eyes fall shut. “I requested another six months be added to your sentence last week,” he admitted, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into your throat “Since you had yet to show any signs of lasting rehabilitation. The Iudex approved it yesterday.”

You were so soft, too – uncalloused despite the pressure of the world above, the brutality of what waited for you below. He’d let you steal as many keys as you wanted to, so long as you never hardened. “This is the third extension you’ve asked for.”

“The longest, too.” He’d let you take anything from him, so long as it meant you never left his little world. “I doubt he even revisited your case. People in the overworld don’t tend to pay attention to the finer details of what does on down here, so long as I keep the factories running.”

For a second, he could’ve sworn he felt you stiffen, could’ve sworn he felt your grin waver where it was pressed into the dip of your shoulder.

Then, you were pulling away, your smile as bright as the sun’s light where it caught on the rising tide and twice as beautiful. “You’re never going to let me go, are you?”

This time, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Not if I can help it.”

[onyxmilk]

Twilight x f!Reader; "Missing"

notes; i <3 angst writing!!! tw; angst, pregnancy, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, loid went to get milk without even realizing wc; 1.5k

[YourName] stood there, uncharacteristically caught off guard. She knew there would be missions where Twilight couldn’t say where he was going or how long he’d be, but right now? When she had the biggest news of their lives to share? That simply was crueler than just cruel.

The woman looked down, nodding toward The Handler. “Uhm, okay, well, thank you.” [YourName] said, swallowing thickly before going to turn around. “I know you’re with child, (AgentName).” The Handler said making [YourName] halt in her foot steps, “I-I may be.” [YourName] replied.

“That’s wonderful news. Do you want me to send a message to Twilight?” The Handler asks, and as much as [YourName] wanted her husband to know- she shook her head. “No, I’ll let him know whenever he gets back. Even if it’s years later.” [YourName] said before heading back home.

Once home and the doors were locked, windows drawn to a close too, [YourName] finally broke down. She wasn’t ready to be a single mother, but from the way The Handler wanted to hand such a useless message to Twilight, [YourName] knew it was going to be quite a long time before [YourName] gets to feel Twilight’s lips against her own.

[YourName] curled into a ball on the couch, finally finished crying her eyes out. Afterwards she took a shower, made a dinner she’d share with her baby, and then headed to bed for the night. [YourName] didn’t dream that night, she just blinked and it morning.

She called out of work for the month, only returning to the office when she was five months pregnant, or around that time period. She didn’t expect to open the door and confetti be popped around her, but it happened. She should have expected something like this.

“Congratulations! We heard you were pregnant!” A co-worker said excitedly, [YourName] simply nodded with a bittersweet smile. “Oh, yeah, five months along.” [YourName] says, gently placing a hand on her forming bump. There was a small office baby shower for [YourName] which she had no choice but to accept.

For the next five months, [YourName] was pampered around the office, not that she asked for it- it seemed to just happen. [YourName] found out about the mission her husband had been sent on, and all she could summarize from it was that he played therapist and dad for another family.

The day someone accidentally spoiled what Twilight was doing, [YourName] excused herself to the bathroom where she cried out everything she had held back. She wanted Twilight to play father for the family they had made together. She would exit her bathroom, that’s when her water finally broke.

Her co-worker rushed her to the nearest hospital, which happened to be the one Twilight played Loid Forger at. [YourName] sat in her room, holding her arms, alone. She never in a million years thought she’d be alone in this situation, shes read many books where women have been, but she swore she’d never be alone in labor.

[YourName] munched on ice chips between tears, that’s when a familiar face had knocked on the door and entered, “Nightfall-“ [YourName] said clearing her throat, wiping her face, and setting the cup of ice chips down. “Twilight is simply across the building, we just have to tell him that [AgentName] is in the bit thing unit, he’d come.” Nightfall explained to [YourName], it just made the pregnant woman scoff.

“It’s not fair to distract him from his work, he has a wife and daughter to act out with.” [YourName] says, looking away from Twilight’s co-worker. “Yes, true, but you’re his real wife and you’re giving birth to his first born.” Nightfall says as she attempted to convince the woman to tell Twilight about her situation, “I made my decision, maybe he should’ve tried to reach out through The Handler.” [YourName] says.

Oh. Yeah. Nightfall was suppose to give those check in messages to The Handler. Oops. Nightfall sighed, “Your secret is safe with me.” she promised before exiting the room.

[YourName] sighed, and before she knew it, she was giving birth. The whole pushing and breathing thing was so much harder than she expected. She swore she almost fainted, but she shot right back into consciousness when she heard the cry of her baby. “It’s a girl!” The doctor said, gently setting the baby on [YourName]’s chest.

[YourName] cried happy tears for the first time her entire pregnancy. Instantly, baby girl stopped crying and cuddled into her mom’s chest. It melted [YourName]’s heart, she never wanted to let go of such a tiny thing before. Eventually, the nurses had to take the baby girl to wash her up and place her in a warm blanket and hat.

With the help of a co-worker, [YourName] got home with her daughter three days later. Lotte, meaning ‘free’ in German, settled in nicely. How [YourName] wished she had Twilight with her on some nights to cheer her up and explain how he’ll get Lotte so that she could get rest instead. But [YourName] pushed through, not letting herself get too down in the dumps due to it.

Months would pass, Lotte was finally almost ten months old. Lotte watched as her mother scattered around the room, going in and out of the kitchen, cleaning. It started to bother the baby that she wasn’t getting the attention she wanted, so she began to get fussy, which her mom simply put off as ‘hating the boppy’.

Fussy turned into crying, and [YourName] was right there. She held her daughter in her arms, gently rocking her, trying everything in her power to calm her down. “M..” baby Lotte mumbled “Mama..” she cried. Despite the crying, it was clear as day who Lotte was crying for and it warmed every ounce of [YourName]’s broken heart.

It had been over a year and some things had changed since Twilight had gone on his mission. It had been over an entire year, and since there were still no messages from him- [YourName] didn’t send any to him either. It broke her heart that she had to play single mom when she was legally married to Twilight.

It just proved to herself that she could do this alone, sure she had a bit of help from co-workers, but it was mostly her doing all the work! The thought of possibly divorcing him had floated through her head, but she loved Twilight way too damn much to go through with it.

Another year would pass and Lotte was walking now, sure she had a little wobble to her walk- but she was walking! It was one of those nice days where she was sure nothing could’ve gone bad, so [YourName] decided to take Lotte out for a little treat. Over the last two years, [YourName] realized her daughter loved those soft cake pops from a local café. So her daughter would get a cake pop and [YourName] would get something to drink.

As [YourName] entered into the café with Lotte in her arms, she hardly noticed Franky and a pink haired child sitting together. By the time the mother did notice, Franky had noticed her fully first. [YourName] set Lotte on the chair and unwrapped her cake pop before breaking it into fours and taking the stick away, she then sat down next to her daughter.

That is when Franky had approached her, now she knew who he was- he was the closest thing Twilight had as a friend. “[AgentName]?” The short man asked, out of habit [YourName] turned around slightly to face whoever called her name. “Oh.. Franky..!” [YourName] said, blinking a few times to try and see better.

“Oh my god, it is you!” Franky said, dropping the child’s hand. “Where have you been? Who’s this?” He asked, referring to Lotte. Lotte was too busy stuffing her face to notice a stranger doting over her. [YourName] sighed, “I’ll tell you who she is if you tell me who she is.” she said making Franky nod.

With some hesitation, [YourName] would finally tell Franky; “This is Lotte, she’s Twi’s and I’s daughter.” she announced. Franky practically blew up as he malfunctioned, he covered the pink haired girl’s ears before he spoke, “Thats not possible. Twilight has been on his mission for two years.” Franky defended, “And I was pregnant before he left, now who is she?” [YourName] replied, gesturing to the child Franky had with him.

The pink haired girl pushed Franky’s hands off her ears. “I’m Anya Forger! Loid and Yor Forger’s daughter!” Anya introduced, but then it kicked in for Anya that THIS woman was Loid’s REAL wife. “Your baby is pretty.” Anya said, trying to break tension.

“I’ve got to go.” [YourName] scoffed, cleaning up her and Lotte’s area before getting up and picking her daughter up and going to leave. “He didn’t want to leave, [AgentName],” Franky said across the café. “Yet, he did and hasn’t sent a message since.” [YourName] says before exiting the café.

Franky had a lot of information to pass to Twilight this afternoon.

[yandere-romanticaa]

❦ smooth operator.

❝ his eyes are like angels, his heart is cold. ❞

yandere! dazai osamu x gn! reader.

a/n: this fic has no plot or direction, I gave birth to it in under 5 minutes while I was preparing for a quiz I have tomorrow, take it or leave it plebs.

In this world, there were plenty of people who believed in God, fate or just any unexplainable being which lived high up in the heavens, hidden away from the shackles and filth of humanity, as that same being also liked to get its kicks from mocking the poor, defenseless humans.

As you stand on the streets of Yokohama, the hustle and bustle around you became quieter with each breath you took, those striking brown eyes never once leaving your figure.

Perhaps Dazai was that mysterious creature people prayed to, you reckoned. It would make sense, given how he always seemed to have the answer to every question posed to him, the solution to every riddle anyone could ever come up with and then some. He most certainly had the charisma and beauty of an ethereal creature - his slender figure became a common occurrence in your dreams, his beautiful brown hair made you want to run your fingers through it for an eternity and his carefree laughter always made your heart skip a bit. Yes, the man known as Dazai Osamu was as beautiful as any angel.

But, he could be crueler than the devil himself.

With a smug smirk, Dazai crippled the love letter in his left hand, the other casually resting on his hip. His gaze was no better than a dark void - cold, empty, terrifying.

You wanted to cry.

Literally anything would be better than this. Let the ground swallow you whole, let a random car hit you and split your head in two, let some random mugger stab you in the gut and leave you bleeding on the ground - anything would be better than to deal with the humiliation of Dazai's rejection.

You wanted to be coy, perhaps even cute. The thought of giving the man of your dreams a love letter felt like the perfect way to confess your ever growing feelings for him and even if he said no, at least your good colleague Dazai could just laugh it all away, never to be brought up again.

And you would have been okay with that, truly, well, sort of...

Dazai says nothing for a good minute, his face giving no hints as to what he may or may not feel. Even if his gaze was schooled into that of stone cold, perfect nonchalance, his heart and soul were anything but.

Against your knowledge and better judgement, you played right into his hand.

For months, Dazai had been carefully orchestrating meet ups, hang outs and even random times when you would see him on the street. He was no better than a spider, a creature of pure and utter patience. He had woven his web of lies, charm and deceit and you ate up absolutely every single little crumb he had left for you.

Perfect.

In order for you to truly become perfect in his eyes, Dazai had to mold you at first. You posed too many questions at times, which he found to be bothersome.

He does not like dealing with any form of bothersome, especially if it's someone so damn cute.

In order for him to finally hold you how you wanted to be held (well, he sort of tricked you into feeling that way... But, that detail doesn't matter!), a crucial step was for him to break you in, to delete anything he did not fancy and just... Replace it. Make it better, nicer, safer for him.

And what better way to do so than by breaking your poor little heart in two?

It was cruel, yes, he was aware. It was all going to work out in the long run though, he knew so. Dazai was never wrong when it came to these things, never.

And by giving him this silly love letter, you gave him the ability to control you to the utmost extent. How delightful.

[chaedomi]

i'm currently thinking about men who are dangerous. i'm talking about men who are capable of instilling fear in the hearts of many with a simple mention of their name. men who are utterly vile and straight-up diabolical. men who have a terrifying reputation… where people are baffled when they see how soft and putty they become in the presence of their cute, sweet wife. (cw: yandere, implied violence) / mlist.

LANTE is known to be beyond merciless. It does not matter the age, gender, etc… once you are deemed unfit and unworthy of his time and effort, he will simply discard you like a piece of garbage without second thoughts. He claims to be foreign to the concept of love, but, as of now, he has morphed into a stuttering and sweaty mess under the presence of his wife, who stood in the background with her arms folded and a displeased pout plastered on her face. He very well knew how much she disapproved of his methods, and god, was it a sight to see such a powerful man’s visage crumble in seconds flat. He debates with himself, whether to usher you off and have you wait for him, or leave with you. However, he quickly chooses the second option when he catches the smallest teardrops at the corner of your eyes, rushing to your side. He is aware that your tears are fake. Damn, he couldn't bear it at all, wanting to get rid of your 'grief' whether it may be slow-dancing with you in the privacy of your room, or drowning you in riches. And with a lovestruck smile, an expression he has not given to anyone else, he left the dungeons beside you, leaving the formerly tortured prisoner dumbfounded and in awe.

Many tend to walk eggshells around DION as a result of his fearsome personality. They have heard of the gruesome things he does to his victims and without much effort too, as though it were some everyday activity to him. Dion was also known to be crueler and more sadistic than his father, so, it was even worse if he was already in a bad mood, where anything could set him off in the wrong manner. However, it was just beyond impossible for him to remain upset, especially when his wife would happily approach him, clinging onto him and squishing her cheek against his arm. Everyone saw it, how much Dion adored you. To him, you were this beautiful possession made for him, and him alone. Dion was mostly emotionless and indifferent. While his face doesn’t often display emotions, the rare sparkle of light in his eyes whenever he was around you was hard to miss. Gently caress his cheek, brush back his hair when he falls asleep in his chair, embrace him when he returns from a mission, do it all to him, he is a sucker for it, for you. People admit it’s sweet, even the enemies he made. But, as soon as the light dims in his eyes when he turns to glare at them, they are falling over as they try to run away…

©chaedomi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

[yuurei20]

Good morning/evening! Would you consider comparing the personalities of the twst guys in the novels to their personalities in the game at some point in the future? I’ve heard that the guys are depicted as crueler or more villainous with the extra space the novels give. Thank you!

Hello hello! Thank you for this question!

This answer is very long m(_ _)m (thank you for this opportunity to share novel 2 fan art 🦁)

Riddle (novel 1): I do not believe there were too many changes made to Riddle in the first novel? A lot of things may come down to personal feeling/subjective interpretation (re: Riddle’s desperation for his mother’s affection maybe put across more effectively in the novel? etc.).

Riddle (novel 2): Riddle’s admiration of Leona is new! And not requiring conjecture or reading between the lines, as Riddle outright says that he has always respected Leona. (Ref: Riddle on Leona: The Housewarden Meeting / Riddle’s Confession)

Riddle is also described as being envious of how Malleus is so adored by his dorm’s students, saying that he doesn’t think Malleus is a good Housewarden but there must be something he can learn from him, as he is so respected. (ref: Riddle on Malleus)

Trey/Cater (novel 1): Both Trey and Cater seem very similar to their game counterparts.

Trey (novel 2): Trey does not appear very much in novel 2, seeming very similar to his game counterpart.

Cater (novel 2): This may be a subjective interpretation, but it seemed a little as though Cater was more protective of Riddle in the 2nd novel than in Book 2 of the game, with his grudge against Leona possibly inspired more so against Leona’s insult of Riddle than his physical thrashing in the mock spelldrive match. (Ref: Spelldrive Practice Match (pt5) / Trusting Riddle )

There is also emphasis in narration of Cater’s loyalty to those around him (Ref: Cater and Yuuya).

Ace (novel 1): I wonder if maybe Ace is where the “crueler or more villainous” rumors are coming from? 👀 Ace is certainly rude to Yuuya in the first novel, calling him a bore and repeatedly yelling at him to say what is on his mind.

But unlike Game-Ace, he also apologies to Yuuya for being so aggressive (Ref: Ace Apologizes).

There is a lot more depth to Ace’s character overall, with his motivations and personality really shining! He is a great character in the game, of course, and maybe even greater in the novelization. (Ref: Yuuya and Ace / Yuuya Apologizes)

Ace (novel 2): Ace refuses outright to help Yuuya interview people about the injured students. He explains that he does not have anything else to do but he still will not be helping, and Yuuya goes to Pomefiore alone as a result.

Carried over from the first novel there is a theme of both Ace and Deuce not being able to trust Riddle and speaking disparagingly about him throughout the story.

This culminates at the end when Riddle cheers for them in the exhibition match, and it is hinted that, one day, Riddle may be accepted by the students of his dorm. (ref: Trusting Riddle)

Deuce (novels 1&2): We get to see more of Deuce’s efforts to be an honor student in the novel, such as when he sits with the lonely Yuuya at lunch (ref: Yuuya and Deuce).

He consistently tries to defend Riddle to Ace, not out of affection or respect so much as wanting to overcome his own past self. His resilience wanes as Ace’s belittling of Riddle continues throughout the two novels and he does not have much ground to stand on to defend him. (Ref: About Riddle (pt1))

Leona (novel 1): The rewriting of Leona’s introduction is maybe one of my favorite things about the first novel (ref: Meeting Leona). Rather than threatening to harm the prefect as in the game Leona goes to Yuuya’s rescue, saving both Yuuya and Deuce from the bullies that break the eggs they bought for the chestnut tart.

Leona (novel 2): There is much more to novel-Leona than was in the game, with Riddle reflecting on his dazzling confidence (ref: Riddle on Leona).

On the "more villainous" side, it is insinuated that he intentionally injures Cater during their mock spelldrive match (ref: Spelldrive Practice Match (pt3))

In the game Leona laughs in response to Lilia driving him to overblot but in the novel he loses all emotion, which Yuuya reflects on later as being far more terrifying than his rage. (Ref: The Transformation / Cheka (pt3)).

We also get much more detail about his unique magic: while we know from the game that he does not need to touch things to turn them to sand, in the novel he has the ability to kinetically manipulate the sand that he creates.

There is an amazing description of insects falling, dead, out of the sky, having been reduced to dried-out husks in mid-flight, combined with what is maybe the only description we ever receive of Leona looking afraid.

And what he is frightened of is not Riddle, Lilia or his enemies, but the adoring members of his own dorm, whom he is terrified of failing. (Ref: Leona’s Unique Magic (pt1) / Leona’s Unique Magic (pt2))

Leona’s relationship to his dormmates itself may have been rewritten for the novel, but nothing in the game seems to refute it, so it is not difficult to imagine the same situation playing out behind the scenes in the game as well.

Leona himself says in the game that he is fighting for the futures of his dorm mates, but he is always so sarcastic that it is easy to dismiss this as an excuse he is making to Jack, when he may have just been telling the truth.

Unlike in the game Leona interacts directly with the phantom that is born of his own despair and he is described as crying tears of blot. (Ref: The Overblot Battle)

I was a little more organized with the release of the second novel than the first, and have a small collection of fan art by others who illustrated the before-and-after-novel of their impressions of Leona!

(↑ How the situation at Savanaclaw appears to be vs. how it is from Leona’s point of view)

(↑ Cheka’s game scene vs. Cheka's novel scene)

Leona’s post-overblot flashback is also fleshed out very much in the novel, with added details about how hard working and isolated he had been until the birth of Cheka, which led him to giving up, and how much he hates himself. (Ref: Leona and Falena / The Flashback Monologue)

(↑ Leona’s phantom is described as nuzzling against him in the novel)

The monologue also explains a lot of his inner turmoil, how frightened he is and how he actually doesn’t have the strength to give up on his hopes and dreams, despite everyone around him talking as though he already has.

(↑ Artist’s rendition of game-Falena vs. novel-Falena)

We also receive more details about the Spelldrive match, showcasing Leona’s non-UM magical power and athleticism, and how the students of Savanaclaw still trust in him even after his mental break, in contrast to the students of Heartslabyul and Riddle. (Ref: The Exhibition Match (pt3))

Ruggie (novel 2): There is some wonderful detail added to Ruggie in the second novel, including an interesting new dimension to his relationship with Leona.

(↑ Artist’s interpretation of their impression of Ruggie and Leona’s dynamic before reading the novel vs. after reading the novel)

In the Botanical Garden scene Ruggie reflects in narration on how Leona would surely throw him away if he ever tried to stand up for himself, and how captivated he is by Leona’s ambitions (ref: The Botanical Garden Scene).

In the scene where Ruggie offers to “take care of” the troublesome Jack, we receive a look into how it is Ruggie is walking on eggshells around Leona, for his own safety. (Ref: Leona and Jack (pt3))

The scene of Ruggie running away in Book 2 also had added details, with Ruggie briefly losing his apathetic mask and revealing a hint of the trauma of his upbringing. (Ref: Ruggie Escape (pt5))

There is much more detail into Ruggie’s inner turmoil as well, and particularly in the scene where Leona confronts him for being nearly caught out by Riddle and the others. (Ref: Savanaclaw Dorm (pt2)). He reflects on Leona’s arrogance, his struggles back home, and the desperation of his situation. 

Their interaction during Leona’s overblot was also expanded upon, with an overblotting Leona threatening Ruggie with his life if he does not agree to give up on his dreams, and Ruggie refusing to do so (Ref: Leona and Ruggie, to overblot (pt2))

Jack (novel 2): We receive a little more detail in Jack’s admiration for Leona, and how Leona’s words actually do resonate with Jack, though he may try and pretend to be unfazed. (Ref:  Leona and Jack (pt1)) / Leona and Jack (pt2)) 

(↑Jack remembering how moved he was watching Leona lose to Malleus in his second year)

There is added detail to Jack’s relationships with Ace, Deuce and Yuuya, as he seeks them out intentionally before the spelldrive match. (Ref: Jack and Yuuya) 

Also unique to the novel Ruggie overtakes Jack’s body to take down Leona’s phantom, while Jack come close to refusing to participate in the spelldrive tournament and Yuuya steps in to reveal how much Jack respects Leona to Leona himself. (Ref: The Overblot Battle / Jack and Leona (pt4))

We also see Leona and Jack working together during the exhibition match, just as Jack had always dreamed. (Ref: The Exhibition Match (pt2))

(↑ Also there is Azul’s introduction to Yuuya, Ace, Deuce and Grim, added to Novel 2 while it did not happen in Game-Book 2. Ref: Meeting Azul (pt1) / Meeting Azul (pt2))

This went very much off-topic from the original question 💦 But while I do agree that there is increased villainousness in the novels, there is also an increase in depth, feeling and detail overall! ^^ Highly recommended!