#white mask branch

[mysteriouslotuscasebookreference]

[beloveds-embrace]

cw: bittersweet(?)

(a different take on the fae poly 141 x human reader au)

The throne was bathed in blood long before the flowers bloomed again.

John Price, once a Prince and now King of the Fae, had carved his crown from the heart of a curse- his mother’s heart, torn still-beating from her chest when she dared to threaten what he loved most. You.

The kingdom still whispered of that day beneath the great moon of ash and fire, when the late Queen shrieked her final decree into the world, a last act of vengeance and hatred. Her voice, furious and cruel, broke the sky itself with the bitterness of her spell:

"As long as you love her, she will wither."

And so you began to fade.

Not all at once. No- she would not grant you such mercy. This curse was crueler than death; it stole you slowly, like moss creeping up an old stone wall and time smudging the edges of a painting.

Now, the kingdom thrives. Blossoms fat with dew crown the high branches of the frostwillow trees, whose trunks shimmer like glass. Rivers run clear and sweet as honeyed wine, singing through emerald meadows. Human and fae laugh together in the sun-dappled courtyards, their wars forgotten, their wounds scarred over in gold.

All for you, you, you.

John made peace because you once dreamed of it- when your eyes still shimmered with dreams and not distant fog. He razed cities of dissent in your name and made widows and widowers of those who muttered against you. Laid their bones beneath the roots of your favorite garden, where the jasmine still grows white and wild.

But your smiles are rarer now.

You wander the palace like a half-formed spirit, your fingers trailing the walls as if they alone remember who you used to be. Servants bow and the tapestries shift for you. The flowers bend to greet you and the patient trees hum lullabies when your steps falter. And still, still you drift.

Today, the sky is ocean-blue and split with clouds like splashes of faint. You sit on a velvet bench beneath the shade of a weeping crystalvine. Its translucent leaves chime softly in the breeze, a lullaby only the Fae would understand yet even you find comfort in.

You don’t notice Johnny at first, warborn and thunder-hearted, his smile always one heartbeat away from laughter. He kneels beside you now, not as a knight or an advisor, but a friend.

“Hey, lass,” he says gently, brushing a leaf from your hair. “You wandered off again, aye? Thought I’d find ye here.”

You blink at him. It takes a moment longer than it should to recognize his face, his voice, the weight of his warmth. But then, you slowly nod.

“I like the sound the vines make,” you murmur. “Like bells. Like... snowflakes made of music.”

Johnnh smiles, though it’s not the playful one he gives to others. This one is softer- dimmed by grief.

“I ken. We planted them for you, remember? You said they reminded you of home.”

Home. You frowt; that word feels distant and slippery.

Behind him, the wind shifts. Simon, death-masked and silent- watches from the path, his shadow cast long over the garden’s edge. He says nothing, but you can feel his eyes on you. Not judgment, but mourning. A man who has watched too many fade.

From the east arch, Kyle approaches with a tray of your favorite tea. He brews it himself now, every morning. Infused with memory moss and dreampearl petals- ingredients forbidden to most but allowed for you, in the desperate hope they’ll keep you anchored.

He kneels to pour a cup, the steam curling with soft light. “You didn’t eat breakfast again,” he says, gentle but firm. “You have to try, love. Just a sip.”

You take it; You always do, because you want to be good for them. For him.

Because somewhere in this palace of carved moonstone and singing glass, your husband sits on a throne built from vengeance and devotion. John, crowned in starlight and soaked in blood, ruling not for power but for love.

You remember his voice best. When everything else fades, his voice cuts through the fog. When your compass no longer works, he is your North Star.

You can’t always recall the words, especially lately, but you remember how it felt. Like summer heat after a storm. Like hands pulling you up from drowning in the cold, icy depths.

He visits you each night without fail. Wraps you in silks and warmth and whispers of your old jokes. Sometimes you laugh, sometimes you don’t.

And every night, when you sleep, he holds you close, whispering ancient incantations, searching, begging- through spellbooks, through time, through fae and forbidden gods- for a way to break the curse.

You don’t know how long you’ve lived. Time has lost its shape. The stars shift differently here and the moons are always full.

But you know he still loves you, and you know that’s what’s killing you.

The crystalvines chime again as a breeze stirs the garden. They remain beside you- your ever-loyal wardens, your quiet protectors. Not jailers, never that, becayse they are the hands that catch you when you fall.

Somewhere, a throne pulses with magic, and a man who once killed his mother for you breathes your name like a prayer.

Would you want to be saved, if it meant he stopped loving you? You think- maybe, once, you would have said yes. Now… you don’t remember.

The garden hums with twilight, long after they leave you in the company of Thrain. Fireflies drift like fragments of fallen stars, weaving through the nightsky. The palace breathes around you, alive and watchful, its towers coiling like silver thorns into the indigo sky. Somewhere, music has started filtering from the halls- faint, wistful, played by an orchestra of wind spirits and fae-wood strings.

But here, now, in this secluded alcove, there is only him.

John.

He kneels before you like a knight before a goddess, though he wears a crown of blood-forged gold and starlight in his hair and beard. His hands cradle yours- calloused, warm, grounding. You feel small beneath his touch, like a flickering thing. A candle fighting wind, cupped between his palms.

“My heart,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Where did you go today?”

You blink slowly. Look at him through a haze that feels too heavy to speak through. The words are in you, but tangled. Frayed at the edges. You reach up instead, trembling fingers pressing against the curve of his cheek, and he leans into your touch like flowers bend for the sun, like the ocean waves reaching for the moon.

“You’re... still here.” You whisper, hushed and awed, and watch as his eyes close. A long, silent breath leaves him.

“Always.”

Your hand slips. He catches it, presses it to his lips like an oath. You smell the iron of magic on him- old, desperate, clinging to his skin. He has burned through centuries of fae history searching for an answer, and still he searches. Still he hopes.

You see the exhaustion in his face, etched into the lines of his mouth, hidden beneath the stern strength he shows the court. But here, with you, he allows the weight to show.

“I’d stop,” He says hoarsely, the way he does every night. “If I thought it would save you. I’d tear the love from my chest with my own hands. I’d become something cold. Something empty.”

“No.” You breathe, because even now, in the haze, you know that truth. You would not survive a world in which he stopped loving you.

He gathers you into his arms, pulling you into his lap as if you were made of mist. You fold against his chest, your ear close to the the beating of his heart. Familiar and steady and so, so comforting.

“Then we’ll find another way,” John says. Promises, like every night under the solemn moon’s witnessing. “Even if it takes a thousand more years. Even if I have to barter with stars and slit the throats of gods. I will not lose you, love.”

You close your eyes.

For a moment- just one brief, aching flicker- you remember: John’s laugh on your wedding day and way he looked at you when you first said his name, the quiet sound he made the first time you cried in his arms.

For now, for tonight, you are aware enough to hold him back just as tight, wrapped in magic and moonlight and love so deep it defies the curse.

Tomorrow, the fog will return. Tonight, you close your eyes and hold your hands over your ears, and let yourself be loved.

p2

[tittiesnhrtz]

ghostface!ellie x reader

minors & men dni , fingering, cunnilingus, knife play, nipple play, overstim

it's a chilly october night, the leaves are still vibrant with autumn hues outside your window. a crisp breeze weaves through the trees outside, sending a gentle rustle through the branches. the faint scent of vanilla, pumpkin spice and cinnamon hangs in the air inside your home, wrapping all the furniture and the trinkets like a shroud. you’re sitting on your sage couch, wrapped in a cozy crocheted sweater, wearing loose shorts and leg warmers to keep your feet warm on the cold tiles beneath you. your parents are away for a few days at your grandma's, with her health getting worse, it's been hard for her to take care of herself.

the glow from the TV feels distant now, the reporter’s voice filling the otherwise silent room. it’s the same grim news cycle: more bodies found, more gruesome and grotesque details of the dead bodies that should make your skin crawl and erupt with goosebumps. but honestly? you’re just tired. tired of the stories and the police coming up empty.

two of your friends from your friend group are dead, and what'd they have in common? you dated them both at some point. this detail shouldn't probably be necessary or even worth dwelling on, but considering how almost everyone who's either flirted with you or gone on a date with you has no doubt ended up dead—killed by the infamous ghostface himself.

yes, a him. that's what mostly everyone believes but you're somehow sure it's not a man. the way ghostface toys with his victims, the blackmail and emotional mind games—it all feels too calculated, too clever to be the work of a man. not that you think men are stupid, but something about this whole situation just feels... off.

the sound of the doorbell jolts you out of your thoughts. ellie, your best friend, is supposed to be here any minute. she's been your rock through the whole ghostface ordeal. and you think you might be catching feelings for her. her stupid puns and that goofy smile plastered on her face whenever she'd talk about space, dinosaurs, comic books or anything that interested her really, got to you at some point.

with a sigh, you push yourself off the cozy couch, and shuffle over to the door. but when you swing it open, what should've been ellie on the other side is just empty air. that’s strange. you step outside, scanning the porch and the yard, half-expecting to see some kids laughing at their ding-dong ditch prank. instead, you’re hit with a chill as a dark figure catches your eye. a ghostface mask. your heart drops. but before you can even process what you just saw, it vanishes into the shadows.

you stumble back inside and lock the door, but then you hear it—a crash from the kitchen. a china dish smashing to the floor. fuck, what if this is it? what if you’re ghostface’s next target? with a tentative breath, you step inside the kitchen, holding a lamp, ready to strike. except, it's not ghostface, it's just ellie, standing there with a sheepish smile on her face.

"fuck- i thought you were-" you start, your voice trailing off as the memory of the figure outside flashes in your mind.

"i'm sorry, jus' thought i'd surprise you and come in through the back." she explains, motioning toward the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar. "you should seriously learn to lock your doors."

her gaze then drops to the shards scattered across the kitchen floor, the delicate china dish now a jumbled mess of white and pastel blooms. "sorry 'bout that." she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.

you let out a breath, feeling a mix of relief and irritation. lowering the lamp, you speak. "next time, just ring the doorbell?”

ellie grins. "yeah, sorry."

"whatever, just help me clean this mess." you motion to the mess on the white and black kitchen tiles.

"yep."

you can't stay mad at ellie and it's not the first time she's done something stupid like this.

𓍯𓂃

after what felt like an eternity of cleaning up the mess, you and ellie finally collapse onto your bed, grateful for the distraction of a movie. the small TV on the cabinet across the room flickers to life, and the eerie sounds of SAW II fill the space. you can feel ellie’s presence beside you—she’s sitting awfully close, her warmth radiating against your side. you steal a glance at her, and to your surprise, you catch her gulping, almost instinctively, not once, but three times already. though you're not sure if it's because of the proximity or the gore-y scenes displaying on the screen.

“not a fan of gore movies?”

she chuckles nervously, her eyes glued to the screen. “not exactly in love with the idea of people torturing each other.”  a hint of laughter in her voice, but you can sense something else underneath. something you pass off as anxiety.

you turn your attention back to the movie, but it’s hard to concentrate when you can feel the heat radiating from her. the scene on the screen darkens, and the tension builds as the characters navigate their terrifying predicament. you can’t help but steal another glance at ellie, who’s now looking directly at you.

the characters on the screen scream in despair, but you hardly register it. instead, your focus is drawn to the way her tongue glides over her plump pink lips. and god you want to kiss her badly, to taste the sweetness of her lips.

you don't miss the way her eyes dart down to your lips or the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. you take a breath, steeling yourself, and decide to be bold. you lean in slightly, heart pounding as you gauge her reaction. the air is tense, and you can see her breath hitch, taking that as an invitation, you close the gap.

her lips are slightly cracked but surprisingly soft. she makes a noise against your lips, hands gliding up to rest against your hips, but then they slowly start to wander. under your sweater, from your hips to your waist. ellie can’t help how warm her hands feel against your skin, how smooth, there’s not even callouses on them like hers. the kiss is a bit hungry and impatient, her tongue licking the seam of your lips. your hands move from your lap to cup her face as you part your lips.

the unexpected warmth of her tongue against your cheek sends a shiver down your spine, silencing the whirlwind of thoughts that had been racing through your mind. it’s a ticklish sensation, one that catches you off guard. you let out a small gasp which is muffled into her mouth. ellie continues to explore, her tongue tracing the soft contours of your cheek as if she’s savoring every little bump and curve. there’s a clumsiness to it, an awkwardness that feels endearing rather than off-putting.

when you pull away, a delicate string of saliva connects your lips. your cheeks heat up as you notice the drool glistening in her chin, a sight that is enough to make your panties wet. you lean in and lick the drool off of her, and you can feel her tense up, her hands on your waist squeezing gently. the only source of light is from the TV, and it casts shadows over both of your bodies, the screen and the voices of the characters now completely forgotten. you can feel her hands move from your waist and she’s suddenly cupping your breasts over your bra.

“is this okay?” her thumb traces circles over the soft mounds, staring at you for an answer.

you nod in return and help her remove your sweater and your bra, tossing it somewhere in the darkness. her gaze flicks down to your breasts and for awhile, she just stares. and then a quiet curse follows. her hands move to knead your breasts, watching the skin closely. then, she takes a nipple between her fingers and gently pinches it, watching your every reaction. her mouth latches onto your other breast, her tongue darting out to swirl around it and suck the hardened nub as she pleases, the soft symphony of your quiet noises echoing in the night.

you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into her mouth. she alternates between both of them, giving them both equal attention. her mouth goes dry and she has to pull away with a pop, her green eyes searching your own.

“i wanna feel you.”

her breath hitches and before she knows it, your hands are on the waist band of her jeans, fingers looping into her brown belt. her eyes darken with desire as she looks at you.

“yeah, baby?” she exhales.

the nickname makes your cunt tighten around nothing and you're hastily unbuckling her belt and tossing it away. your fingers work to unbutton her jeans and you slip a hand inside. she lets out a gentle groan as your teeth bite into the flesh of her neck. you leave a series of bruising kisses in their wake as your palm comes into contact with her boxers. to your surprise, she's soaking wet. you almost want to tease her but your desire prevails over it and you're slipping your fingers into her boxers, tracing her slick folds. she's making the prettiest noises too, already falling apart under your touch. but little did you know, she's spent years dreaming of this moment. paintings and drawings of you hidden under her bed, along with the candid pictures that she oh so eagerly waits to get off to every night.

"say you want me."

her breathing is unsteady as she opens her mouth to speak. "fuck." she grunts softly and leans her head into your shoulder. "i want you, baby. please."

her pathetic begging and whines are enough for you to give in, her cunt throbbing as your fingers rub her slick along it. it greedily sucks in your digit as you slowly add it. she feels ecstatic because this isn't a dream anymore, it's real. you add another digit, eliciting a pornographic moan from her. it isn't long until your fingers are curling around her g-spot and her walls are squelching around them.

""m close..s-so close."

"i know. just cum for me, yeah?" you coo into her ear before nipping at the skin just below her ear. and she does exactly that, letting out a strangled sob as her body gets the release she's been chasing for. you take your fingers out of her boxers and suck them clean. ellie still has her eyes shut and her head against your shoulder but she can hear the way your mouth wraps around your fingers and sucks her juices off. she's pulling away and looking at you.

and then, she's guiding you down to lay on the bed, lifting your hips up to remove your shorts until you're splayed in just your cotton panties and leg warmers in front of her. she almost moans at the sight.

"you're so-" she starts, but cuts herself off. leaning down to hover over you and planting a kiss on your temple, on your cheek and one on your collarbone. one of her hands starts rubbing the inside of your thigh as she leans in and kisses you, sloppily. her hand comes to rub your clothed cunt and you feel her muffled moan inside your mouth, as you swallow the noise. she pulls back to look down at you.

"look how wet." she smirks and you almost regret not teasing her about her own drenched underwear.

you can only whimper and lift your hips up in return as her hands hook under the waistband of your underwear and pull it off of you.

"god, so gorgeous and so wet....all for me." she murmurs, more to herself than you. her pupils are blown wide, lips parted as she moves your legs up and pushes them apart. your hands find purchase on her ass beneath her flannel as she mouths at the skin of your neck like it's her hobby. as you squeeze her jeans-clothed ass, you swear you feel an outline of something resembling a... knife. in her back pocket. you take the object out and it's indeed a knife. ellie was in a daze to notice or feel what you were doing— to busy enjoying your skin after only having imagined what it must have felt like in her dreams. your voice, however, causes her to look up from your neck. you dangle the knife in front of her.

"..why do you have a knife?"

her eyes widen a fraction before she smirks and takes the knife from you. "protection. why else?" she answers like you were dumb to even ask the question in the first place. “don’t wanna risk getting killed with ghostface on the loose.”

a pause. "but...it could come handy for other things." she glides the knife down your clavicle to your breasts, the hitching of your breath only serving to encourage her. she presses it down against one of your nipples before moving it lower— where you're aching for her the most.

the cold blade presses against your puffy clit and you moan loudly. "ellie..."

"shh." she coos, grinning down at you, almost sinisterly. she pushes it further against the bundle of nerves, making you whimper. "i need-" she cuts you off by lining the knife along your delicate entrance, you let out a cry and your eyes widen in fear and shock. she seems to notice it and pulls the knife away, but not before gliding it up and down your folds.

"i'm not gonna hurt you, baby." the words roll of her tongue like honey and you feel bad for fearing her in the first place. she places the knife beside you on the sheets and moves to place herself in between your legs. a couple of kisses to your clit before she's greedily licking at your pussy. tongue moving at a relentless pace against your clit as her hands come up to grope your tits. moans fall out of your lips like a prayer and she pushes her tongue inside your cunt before pulling back and lapping away at your juices. you're awfully close and she knows it, she can sense it by the way you're arching your back and gripping the sheets, your knuckles almost white.

"cum on my face, pretty girl." her words vibrate against your clit, causing you to moan out her name.

that elicits a moan from ellie, herself. something stirs in her, hearing you moan her name out like that. and she inserts two fingers into your sopping cunt. curling them graciously against your g-spot, hitting it over and over again as her mouth does the same to your clit.

"ellie..i can't..fuck-" your final cry of pleasure, reverberates through her body. she removes her fingers but keeps lapping at your pussy even after you cum. your weak cries do nothing to pull her away. her grip on your thighs tighten and she pushes them apart from closing. you squirm and squeak due to the overstimulation, nudging her away with all your force, but it's too weak. she doesn't seem too keen on stopping, a hand pushing down on your stomach to stop you from squirming.

"s-stop." it isn't until that word comes out of your mouth that she stops and pulls away to look at your wrecked form. cheeks flush and hair tousled. you don't know how much it affects her. you never do.

"sorry, got too carried away." she murmurs. but she's anything but sorry. after helping you lay your head down on the pillow, she pulls the covers up your body. she can tell she's tired you out by the way your eyes are half lidded and your limbs look sore. she soothes you by wrapping her arms around you, intertwining your hands, and placing a kiss on your forehead. eventually, you drift asleep.

the longer she looks at you, the world outside fades further into obscurity. you, who's sleeping blissfully, completely unaware of the fact that the knife that was pressing against your clit a few minutes ago was the same knife that she used to brutally stab and dismember the body of a classmate who dared flirt with you. you, who's probably having sweet dreams while she has to go and take care of the unconscious body of the guy who rang your doorbell this very night.

this is my first time writing smut or anything close to a fan fic!! so if you see any mistakes js ignore it :3

[chaoticwriting]

Gotham's New Rouge 5

Part 4

-Watchtower-

The Justice League is having their weekly meeting today and as always, Batman is reading the reports for global events that the others already read but Batman says that he is sure some of them Barry and Hal don't.

So here they are, bored out of their minds when suddenly, an alarm went off. Not the 'Oh no the apocalypse is happening' alarm. More like ' Oh no something big is happening' alarm.

Cyborg clicks some buttons on his arm and a hologram appears on the table. The hologram shows a livestream with a kid wearing a half mask that has a big red creepy smile on it plus his weirdly glowing green eyes. Both Barry and Hal shudder when they see the eyes of the kid. Suddenly, the kid starts to laugh while greetthe viewers.

Trickster: Hello, everyone! Today, I have a very special livestream. I am doing an interview!

The kid turns the camera into a view of 2 men in white suits being hung from the ceiling staring intensely at the kid.

Trickster: Presenting our guests for today. Would you like to introduce yourselves?

Agent P: Fuck you! You ghost scum. Just you wait until I get out of these restraints.

Agent Q: Release me you bastard! You wouldn't get away with this!

Trickster: Oh yikes. Our guests today are quite violent aren't they? Anyway, let me introduce them. Over here are Agent P and Agent Q or Simon Hawk and Larry Rose. They are members of the now infamous Ghost Investigation Ward, a secret government branch that focuses on "researching" and "developing" weapons against ghosts.

Agent Q: We develop them to fight against scum like you. You evil scheming bastard.

Trickster: Now, that we talk about it. Here is their research conclusion. *Pulls out a stack of paper* *Takes out a pair of glasses and wears them* Ehem Ehem. Ghost or ecto entities are defined as creatures that are made of or heavily contaminated by ectoplasm. Ecto entities are non sentient nor sapient. They take on the form of our loved one to deceive us and kill us. They are evil and must be destroyed.

After Trickster finishes reading the document out loud, he takes off the glasses and puts down the document.

Trickster: Anyway, I'm pretty sure I am sapient and sentient because I have been thinking real hard on what is the next prank is going to be. And I'm also pretty sure that I am not a ghost, at least not fully since I don't know who I am supposed to impersonate except myself.

Agent P: Shut up! We all know that you ghost scum all tell lies. Deception is in your nature from the moment you are born.

Trickster: Racist much? Heh, if I am capable of lies then, I am sentient and sapient but if I am not sentient nor sapient, I shouldn't be able to lie. Make it make sense people.

Agent P: You liar! I've seen what your kind has done before this. That Phantom scum is lucky we didn't catch him or else we would have cut him open and torture him to death.

Suddenly, Trickster stalls at the words. The viewers can see frost starts to form around the room as ice slowly crept up the two agents' legs. An alarm suddenly turns on and Trickster suddenly wakes up from his budding rage.

Trickster: Well well well. It seems we have visitors. Off you go.

Picking up the two agents, Trickster throws them into a portal that he opens as Nightwing and Batman appears on the scene.

Batman: Where did you take them?

Trickster: Sorry, but I ain't gonna tell you. I have a special game for this type of person.

Nightwing: Wait! Trickster, I know you are a good kid. We can talk about it. You can still stop before you do something you might regret.

Trickster: You know, Nightwing. I used to have so much mercy. I let them live. Time and time again. No matter what they did. I forgave them. I let them go. I believe in the preciousness of human lives. But I am not 14 anymore. I can't stay positive and expect them to one day turn to the good side. Not when they don't learn anything from their wrong doing. And I will teach them that every action has consequences.

Nightwing: Wait!

Batman throws a batarang at Trickster but he easily blocks it with a wall of ice. Nightwing tries to rush after Trickster but the portal has already closed before he manages to catch up to Trickster.

The two of them stare in silence as the only thing left of Trickster is the camera that he used to livestream.

Part 6

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

Dani as one of the bats.

Bruce finds a white haired girl floating above Gotham, talks to her, realizes she doesn’t have a home, and decides to take her in temporarily when she accidentally admits that a government branch is after her. And quickly realizes that she is half human.

By the time that Bruce takes down the GIW, hes attached, and decides to officially adopted Danielle Fenton- now Danielle Martha Wayne. The headlines reads ‘BRUCE WAYNE ADOPTS ORPHANED GIRL’. A rumored new hero called the Green Ghoul hit the streets, and Gotham has never been safer.

When Dani turned 13, he took her to Haley’s Circus and they came back with Dick Grayson. Robin enters the chat. Batgirl follows soon after.

Jason was brought to the manor when Dani was 21 and Dick was 16. Dick was not pleased. Dani was. Jason reminded her of Jazz. And new Robin dons the mask and Bludhaven gets their very own hero. When Jason died Dani she went to the Infinite Realms to look for him. She didn’t find him. Jason was alive.

Dani was 24 when Bruce gets another Robin. She’s very supportive of Tim, he reminds her of Tucker. She’s not mad about Robin, she knows Jason’s alive.

Dani convinces Steph to train with them, and Spoiler suddenly has new high tech equipment.

Barbara gets paralyzed when Dani is 26. The Joker is never seen again. No one can prove it was her, but they all know.

Dani is 27 when Jason returned, and his reintegration into the family is smooth with weekly health checks with Frostbite and ghost therapy.

Cass follows soon after, and Dani gets another sister. Soon Black Bat is Gothams most feared vigilante

She’s 28 when Damian joins the colony, all mighty and proud. Dick is desperate to have a good relationship with him. Dick is not the one who takes the cowl. Dani is.

Bruce returns and Dani all but throws the cowl at her. Green Ghoul is back on the streets.

Duke joins and Signal is grappling from rooftops. When his powers form, Dani is the one training him.

Just Dani as the eldest bat :))

Bonus!

Dani so 30 when a five year old Danny stumbles into her apartment. Rouge GIW agents have gotten ahold of him. Soon, the papers are printing ‘ELDEST WAYNE GIRL HIDES SON FOR FIVE YEARS’

If you use this idea plz tag me and comment :)))

[kurogxrix]

Fallin’ For Ya

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

IN WHICH Bucky finds himself standing in front of your door with a bouquet of roses, wondering when he’s ever allowed his stone-cold mafia heart to fall in love with you .

WC: 2k

Warnings: FLUFF, suggestive innuendos, mentions of violence, nervous Bucky.

Being part of the mafia had led Bucky to abandon things a younger version of himself had once dreamt of. Nothing was easy about the violence and constant crashing that was now a normal part of his daily routine, which was why now, it had Bucky wondering why and when had he ever allowed things to get this way.

By the time he’d fully emerged himself in this type of lifestyle, he’d sworn that he’d never get affiliated with any women. To keep himself and them safe, he’d said. The only women he’d had during these years had been there solely to satisfy needs, romance never really had a place in his relations. Now, as he stood right in front of your front door, feet tucked neatly in the perimeters of your ‘welcome’ mat, he knew that he was done for. 

He’d met you months ago in some fancy restaurant downtown, somehow hanging in one that wasn’t in his own branch of businesses. You’d been a waitress there, the only one amongst the endless list of waiters. Just to your luck, you’d been assigned the table in the VIP lounge, and to your horror, you were met face-to-face with the city’s renowned mob. You wondered what he’d been doing here when he probably owned half of the business in the city. For all you knew, this restaurant wasn’t one of his branches, but it could as well be if he’d wished for it. 

Trying to pretend like you weren’t about to shit yourself shitless, you’d entered the room with a masked confidence that had Bucky grinning behind his glass of whisky. He’d approached you that night, pretended to be interested in the cocktail you’d been assembling for one of his mates behind the bar, wondering why you were doing all of this when all you were was a simple waitress.

You couldn’t tell what had taken you that night, and why you’d decided to strike a conversation with New York's most dicey mafia boss, but you had nevertheless. You’d told him how they practically had you doing everything here whilst the rest of the crew just lazed around, how your pay was just quite enough to afford some shitty apartment a few blocks from here despite’s the restaurants reputation. 

Conversation flowed easily from there on, and anyone with eyes could see that Bucky had taken a liking to you instantly, even going as far as offering you a spot as a worker of his own. You’d work in one of his bars, or one of his own restaurants and you’d get paid above what he believed was a decent amount. You’d refused at first, afraid of what consequences could evolve from linking yourself with the mafia.

He didn’t let that discourage him, and before you even knew it, the mob boss had become one of your favourite visitors at the restaurant, even when it was just him coming to meet you in the alley beside the establishment after your shift. You’d grown fond of the man, despite his reputation, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see some romantic undertone to your newfound friendship.

Back at your door, Bucky looked like he did most of the time, clad in his dark suit with his hair neatly slicked back with an unhealthy amount of gel that he somehow always managed to pull off. Minus the few days where he’d be drenched in blood, crimson droplets ruining the crisp white fabric of his shirt just as it tainted his hands. The occasional bruises and black eyes were also kept at bay, much to Bucky’s relief.

He couldn’t quite stand still, unlike the calm and reserved man that’d be present even in the most  disastrous situations. Bucky never had any issues putting a front on before, so why the fuck was it so hard to do so now? 

He had a feeling that it had something to do with the fact that he had rung your doorbell about a minute ago, and the shuffling that he could hear inside was getting louder and louder by the second. Perhaps it was because of that comical large bouquet that he so happened to have laying in his arms. It was so big that he had had a few issues squeezing it past the tight corridors of your apartment complex, but nothing to worry about.

Bucky was suddenly hit with an unexpected

feeling of discomfiture, still unaware of why his palms felt so sweaty. It was nearly 1 in the morning as the dim lights of the corridors attempted to illuminate him pathetically. The mob boss shuffled nervously on his feet, wondering if he should make a run for it while he still had time. 

‘Yes, run like a coward’ a strange voice resounded in the back of his mind, and the thought had him sucking in his breath and planting his feet back firmly on the mat. The door suddenly bustling open left him short of time for anymore unwanted thoughts to resurface, and instead, he snapped his eyes towards the opening of the apartment, where in return he met your own gaze. 

It didn’t take a genius for him to notice that something was different with you, only by looking at your eyes. Your eyelashes were laying lower, lighter and absent of the pigmented paste you’d always have coating them. Then his eyes drifted further down your face, noting the confused look you had plastered on. Your bare face greeted him, free of the makeup he’d always see you in when you were outside of the comfort of your little home. 

Your home, if he could even call it that. It looked like a studio at best, and he’d be damned trying to understand how you were able to live in such a cramped place. The concept of money wasn't necessarily something that boys who grew up rich understood, especially not when he harboured a mansion in a nice neighbourhood with body guards patrolling his house day and night. 

“James? Can I help you?” the sound of your voice, as angelic as he found it, had been drowned somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind as he took you in fully. The huge assortment of flowers shifted in his arms as he did so on his feet, eyes roaming the way your hair was down and unkept, large and baggy sweatpants adorning the legs he’d usually see solely in short pencil skirts while you worked the day and evening off. 

Your arms were spread out, hands holding each side of the door frame as you leaned your

body weight onto them, waiting for an answer from the seemingly baffled mob boss. Baby blue eyes drifted down to your torso, where your usually blouse-clad chest was now wrapped solely in a thin tank top that served you as a sleep shirt. The straps were tiny, and the sight of your bare shoulders made him feel like a man in the Victorian era catching sight of an ankle for the first time. 

Against his own will, his eyes remained trained on your chest for longer than he’d liked to admit. You’d probably kick him in disgust if you knew of the sinful images that were running wildly through Bucky’s mind at the moment, and all that took was you in an excuse of a top, and a little bit of untamed imagination on his part. It was hard to keep on pretending like he didn’t feel for you in the way he’d been trying to keep at bay, especially now that he was face to face with you, and his mind would not

give him a break. 

Admisdt everything, Bucky had the sudden realisation that seeing you so comfortable and out of your work customary attire raised an unwanted feeling of domesticity inside of him that brewed and threatened to explode. He didn’t mind seeing you bare faced, clad in oversized garments that most likely did little justice to the body you hid beneath. 

In fact he knew he was screwed by the way his heart raced with the need to see you in such a way more often, like something he’d crave for at the end of each gruelling day of work. He knew he couldn’t afford to wish for it, yet his heart ached at the lack.  

“Hey, are you okay?” The concern in your voice had Bucky snapping back to reality, a shudder running down his back at the ungodly thoughts he’d just had of you. Suddenly aware of how idiotic he looked standing there idly with a humorous bouquet in his hands, he knew he had to justify his presence before you freaked out and just closed the door on him. 

“Just passing by, checking how you were.” he shrugged, acting as nonchalant as he could with his heart beating so fast at the simple sight of you. Bucky still felt tense, awkward as he stood in the cramped hallway, wishing he’d thought twice before going to the florist and heading here with no second thought. 

You’d seemed to have noticed his discomfort, stepping away from the door slightly as you nodded softly towards the opening behind you. “Come in, we can talk there.” you offered, ever so the kind being. 

Bucky had noticed the way your eyes had been switching from the array of roses in his hands and back to his gaze as you spoke to him, trying to act like you weren’t dying to know if he’d gotten them for you. 

He gathered the courage that he never guessed he should have to as the man that he was, before extending an arm to you. It took him all but a solid minute to gather up the courage he didn’t know he’d have to gather, before extending an arm to you, the beautiful arrangement of flowers standing now right before your face. 

“I’ve uhm…i’ve brought these for you.” he muttered.

Words couldn’t start to express the way Bucky felt the second he saw that smile raise up on your lips, one that you reserved for shy moments like these. He couldn’t help the way the corner of his own tilted up into a grin, your joy was infectious. He felt the air getting stuck in his airway as you tilted your head slightly to the side, muttering a shy ‘thank you’ before grabbing the bouquet with both hands. 

Bucky rejoiced in the way the bouquet dwarfed you, looking absolutely silly beside the arrangement that most likely measured thrice the size of your head. He’d wondered now that he was standing before your home, of how and where you’d even store the flowers, but that didn’t matter. He’d buy you a whole mansion now if you’d asked him, even if it was just to fit the flowers. 

Bucky watched as you started walking back in, but not without turning your head back and signalling him to enter after you. Then, you’d made your way inside without a second look at the flustered man at your doorstep. 

He wasn’t sure how the night was going to go, if he’d wake up tomorrow to his suit scattered across the wooden flooring of your home, or if the night would end young and he’d see himself driving back home in just a few hours. Either way, the mafia boss just couldn’t quite seem to care, because as long as he’d get to spend the moment with you, he’d be rejoiced.

You, the woman who’d managed to incrust herself in the tiny crevices of his hardened heart without having to do much but be herself. He’d realised then, making his way into your home as he shrugged his suit jacket off of his now relaxed shoulders, that he was truly, falling for you. 

-

short and sweet just like me. lol. Anyways hope y’all liked it😚

[reality-detective]

THIS IS THE STORM — OPERATION LIBERTY SHIELD UNLEASHED

The silence has shattered. The war is no longer hidden. On May 10, 2025, the full force of Trump’s restored military alliance launched Operation Liberty Shield — a classified global takedown targeting the heart of an elite child trafficking and human experimentation network that spans continents, corporations, and crowned bloodlines. This is not a sting. This is an extinction-level purge. Over 20,000 elite forces — SEALs, Marines, Delta, and global white hats — are storming underground strongholds once believed untouchable. The goal is simple: annihilate the infrastructure of enslavement, expose the handlers, and rescue every last stolen soul.

Nevada. Alaska. Rome. Antarctica. Tunnels that were once Cold War secrets are now battlegrounds. SEAL units uncovered thousands of children locked in cages beneath camouflaged mining sites and AI-operated labs. Evidence of MK-Ultra abuse, hormonal harvesting, and genetic weaponization has been retrieved — all tied to biotech firms, fake NGOs, and even Area 51. These were not experiments. These were rituals. Each child was a data point in a demonic system designed to feed the beast and blackmail the world. From the Vatican to Silicon Valley, the currency was always the same: human lives.

Digital forensics teams under Space Force command have decrypted petabytes of dark web data — exposing blockchain-funded trafficking routes masked as "development grants." Names once praised as philanthropists are now exposed as financiers of evil. Zuckerberg, Bezos, and Gates are directly tied to AI-managed procurement contracts and smart-chain auctions. Military raids on media hubs have confirmed "Operation Obscura" — a coordinated propaganda system created to bury these operations, discredit Trump, and destroy whistleblowers before truth could reach the surface.

Now it’s all unraveling. Gitmo is overflowing. Military tribunals are active. Blackmail files once used to enslave nations are being burned. Trump’s alliance is not just winning — it is rewriting history.

The storm is no longer a warning. It is here. It is righteous. And it will be remembered forever. Stay alert. Stay grounded. The final act has begun.

I can't make you understand or believe me, but this whole thing has been about saving the children and then to clean up the top three branches of the government. This is happening in every country NOT just in the United States. You Decide 🤔

[synity]

So I have been thinking about seungcheol, wonwoo,mingyu,r masked u know , probably any horror masked characters and they like chase u before catching u know and doing it after(smut , threesome),like maybe it's like Halloween night simply or just a random chilly night,u can choose what characters they can be,I don't mind,anywaysss thank youuu once again,I have been really enjoying your worksss.

I don't write smut but i hope that you will still like this one.

“The Masked Three”

*dark, horror, spooky*

It was a chilly October night, the kind that whispered through trees and scraped cold fingers down your spine. The town’s annual Halloween scavenger hunt was in full swing, lights twinkling, pumpkins glowing, and laughter echoing through the streets. You clutched your flashlight and clue sheet, already two tasks in.

This year, they added a twist: "Beware of the masked three," the flyer read. "Catch them before they catch you." You thought it was a marketing gimmick. Fun, harmless. Until it wasn’t.

Your heart was still pounding from earlier—someone had been following you through the corn maze. You could’ve sworn you saw a figure in a skull mask between the stalks. Then he disappeared like smoke. You hadn’t told anyone, not wanting to seem paranoid.

Now, you were alone in the woods behind the town square, looking for the next clue.

A twig snapped.

You turned.

Nothing.

Just wind.

Until you saw it a tall figure emerging from behind a tree, wearing a sharp black cloak and a white fox mask. You froze. His footsteps were calm, deliberate. You backed up slowly.

Then, another appeared to your left this one in a horned devil mask, crimson and expressionless. Your breath hitched.

From behind you, the third emerged wearing a classic phantom mask, half-white, half-shadowed. He said nothing, just stepped forward, trapping you in a slow circle.

“Okay,” you breathed, trying to stay calm. “Very funny, guys. You got me.”

No response.

Suddenly, the masked devil lunged and you shrieked, bolting into the woods, your flashlight beam jittering over roots and fallen branches. You didn’t look back.

You ran until your lungs burned.

Until you hit a clearing.

And there they were. Already waiting.

“How?” you gasped.

Then the phantom stepped closer, lifting his mask just slightly.

“Caught you,” Seungcheol smirked, cheeks flushed from the cold.

You blinked. “Cheol?”

The fox removed his, Wonwoo, hair mussed and eyes twinkling.

The devil’s mask came off last—Mingyu, grinning. “You scream like a movie final girl.”

You hit his arm. “That was you in the corn maze!”

“Guilty,” Wonwoo murmured. “You were fun to follow.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I was terrified!”

“We wanted to give you the full experience,” Seungcheol said, taking a step closer, eyes softening. “You okay?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just… adrenaline.”

Mingyu handed you a water bottle. “You handled it like a champ.”

“You really had us running in circles,” Wonwoo added, amused. “We actually lost you twice.”

Your nerves started to settle, warmth rising as they surrounded you—not in a threatening way now, but protective. Familiar.

“Can’t believe you three planned this,” you muttered.

“Better than any haunted house, right?” Mingyu wiggled his brows.

Seungcheol gave you his jacket. “Let’s walk you back.”

The four of you strolled through the woods under the moonlight. Their teasing toned down into soft conversation. You told them about your night, they told you how they rigged the game. It felt surreal. Like a dream.

As you reached the edge of town, Seungcheol paused.

“I wasn’t kidding earlier, you know,” he said, voice low. “We did want to catch you.”

You looked up at him.

“And now that we did,” Wonwoo added, stepping beside him, “we’re not sure we want to let go.”

Your breath caught.

Mingyu leaned in, teasing but earnest. “So… trick or treat?”

You laughed nervously. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

Seungcheol took your hand.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

And somehow, the night didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

[manlysun]

A Thanksgiving Story

Arrogant, ignorant, and stupid, no three words could better describe my dad. I didn't always see him like that, though. Growing up, we were best buds—I admired and looked up to him as a role model. I truly felt like I could tell him anything, I could trust him. So, you could imagine my shock when after coming out as gay to him, he turned on me. He ignited into a homophobic rage, disowning me as his son. He couldn't stand the sight of me. The unpleasant feeling was mutual and I moved out as quickly as possible.

For almost a decade, there was nothing but radio silence between us. Until one day, I randomly got an email from him, inviting me to a one-on-one Thanksgiving. I read it over and over, completely stunned. As mad and hurt as I still felt, I knew I'd regret not accepting his olive branch. So, I accepted.

A few days later, in the early afternoon of Thanksgiving, I drove over to my dad's place, my childhood home. As nervous as I was, driving up the old driveway and parking in my old spot felt good. As I stepped out of my car, I was reminded of how sweltering it was for November, even for Florida. As much as dressing up sounded fun, wearing a white tank top, dark tan loose shorts, and flip-flops only made sense. My balls would have melted in a pair of underwear, so I freeballed.

My heart was racing, as I flip-flopped to the front door. I was expecting the worst but hoping for the best. I could smell the turkey cooking through the front door as I knocked, its mouth-watering scent calming me slightly. A few seconds later, my dad opened the door. Unsurprisingly, he was exactly as I had left him: bulky beyond belief, obviously my leaving had no effect on his serious workout routine. Then again, maybe he exercised to escape the pain, I know I did that. He was wearing nearly the same thing, the only difference being his loose shorts were black. His pit stains were just as bad as mine—like father, like son, I guess. To my relief, his nervous expression pleasantly told me he was just as anxious as I was.

Stepping inside, I got a good whiff of him as I passed him, that oh-so-familiar scent of cologne failing to mask the intense pit reek. The house, like my father's manly stench, was exactly how I'd remembered it, nothing had changed—it was nice. As my dad led me to the kitchen, with his back to me, I gave my hairy sweaty pits a sniff. They reeked, even worse than my dad's. Unlike him, I'd forgotten to put on deodorant or cologne. We both stunk, in slightly different ways, but that similarity was comforting—like father, like son.

I was expecting things to be insanely awkward, but it was like the good old days. We sat out on the porch, drinking beer and shooting the shit as we waited for the turkey to finish cooking on the barbecue. I forgot how much I loved talking with him, for an arrogant douch bag, he sure could make me laugh. Neither of us had brought up my leaving yet, I assume to not break the good flow we had going. In truth, I didn't want to bring it up. It felt good to pretend everything was as it was in the old days.

When the turkey was done, we brought it inside and gobbled it down like too starving beasts. Obviously, our nerves had calmed down quite a bit. Everything was fantastic, I forgot how good of a cook my dad is. We didn't say much to each other while eating, too distracted by our hunger to converse—like father, like son. Before we dove into dessert, he offered me another beer. As much as the pumpkin pie was calling my name, I couldn't decline.

Instead of the usual beer we were drinking, he brought a brand I'd never seen before, "Obedience." I didn't question why he only brought out a single can, I was too distracted by the pumpkin pie to care. I cracked it open and swigged it down, anxious to get to the pie. However, after I finished, I felt funny. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt different. I silently stared at my dad, watching an evil grin form across his face.

My dad spoke, dropping his nice-guy demeanor. "Now listen up, boy. It's time we finally get to the point of our happy reunion." My heart was racing, I knew something terrible was about to happen. Flashbacks of before I left flooded my mind. Strangely, as much as I wanted to move, I couldn't. My body was frozen like it was waiting for something. "Take another swig of your beer, down every last drop." What happened next shocked me to my core, my body moved on its own! It was like I was a bystander in my own body, only able to watch. I robotically brought the can up to my mouth and downed every last drop, doing exactly what he commanded. At that moment, I horrifily knew exactly why it was called, "Obedience," and why he only brought out a single can of it.

"Belch, boy. Like a man." My dad arrogantly commanded, knowing I'd helplessly comply.

"bbbbbbBBBBUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppppp!!!" Just as he commanded, the biggest manliest belch came out of me. I hated how good it felt to obey him, an obvious effect of the beer.

"Belch again, boy. Except this time, additionally, let out all that stress and worry. Also, uncross your legs and manspread! Sit like a man!" He commanded.

I wanted to resist but was helpless to his commands. "bbbbBBBBBBBuuuUUUUUUrrrPPPPPPPPPpppppp!!!" Like he commanded, all stress and worry had left my body. I then uncrossed my legs and manspreaded, just like my dad. Sitting that way felt so much better.

My dad laughed, like a cocky bastard. "Such a good and obedient son I have." I wanted to get up, scream, anything but just sit there. Except I couldn't move. No matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn't move. "Now, let's get to the good stuff," My dad excitedly proclaimed, unnerving me even more. "Let out all the useless liberalism! Become a rigid conservative, just like dear old dad! Like father, like son! Belch, boy!"

I tried as hard as I could to keep it down, but it was useless. "BBBBBBUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppp!!!! With that, all liberalism and open-mindedness had left me. My mind was assaulted and reprogrammed to believe all sorts of small-minded conservative ideas and beliefs. It was overwhelming, yet electrifying. With conservatism comes stupidity, so my mind had become completely moldable, exactly what he wanted.

"Real men vote red, don't they, boy?" My dad asked, every word dripping with superiority.

"Sir, yes, Sir! Real men Vote-BBBBBBBbbbuuurrrrPPPPPPPPpppp!!!" Before I could finish, another manly burp escaped from me, making my dad bust out laughing. I couldn't help but laugh too, being more stupider now. It felt good to make my dad laugh. I felt like… a good son.

"Now, before we continue, I want to make sure you have no remaining resistance. So, let it all out! Give yourself to me completely! Belch, boy!" My dad commanded.

"BbbbbuuuuuuuUUUUUURRRRPPPPppppppp!" I did as he commanded, like a good son. It felt good, right, to obey him. Why would I want to resist him? He's my dad! He made me, I must obey him!

My dad was grinning like a king, as he should. "Belch again, boy! Belch as loud as you can!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" I was more than happy to obey.

"Fuck yeah, son! You sound just like your old man!" My dad enthusiastically congratulated me.

Having him praise me felt good, so fucking good. More, I wanted so much more!

My dad then got serious, obviously, this next one would be important. "Belch, boy, and erase all gayness from yourself. Become the straight man I've always wanted you to be! No man wants a faggot for a son! Blech, boy! Belch and become straight!!!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" Like a good son, I obeyed. "BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" And just like that, all my gayness was gone. I'm now as straight as a freshly bought nail. I like women, only women, like a normal man. Who'd want to be fag, anyway? Fags are sick freaks!! Thank god I'm not one of them anymore. Thank god I'm straight, just like my dad! Like father, like son!

We celebrated my much-needed transformation over two massive slices of pumpkin pie. Afterward, we returned to the porch and smoked cigars, some of his finest. I feel so much better now that I'm following in my dad's footsteps. I want to be exactly like him, in every single way. I want to be completely interchangeable with him. He gave me a matching pair of sunglasses and a red cap, to protect me from the blistering sun. I obviously wore my cap backward to match him. I'm so thankful for my dad. Without him, I'd be lost.

[mysteriouslotuscasebookreference]

[carn4g3]

hear me out:

Yandere Toby being given a target who's in college and ends up fronting as a students

Meets reader, who's actually patient with Toby and doesn't fault him or make fun of his tics

Decides to prolong his "stay" and then finding out Reader had a partner

But he's just got to have them

(⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Journalistic Intent | Yandere Ticci Toby x GN Reader

Summary: A school reporting gone sideways. Toby is simply tasked to collect an impromptu Slenderman candid. Instead, he finds himself more interested in the photographer, you. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to take you with him instead, would it?

TWs: Descriptions of yandere behavior (manipulation and obsession), delusional thinking (by no means an accurate representation of real mental illness), explicit violence, verbal arguments, some details of gore and blood, & reader is a bit of a people pleaser

Word Count: 7.5k

A/N: I tend to write things from the reader's perspective a bit more, but I tried to go from Toby's instead. So, theres a little bit (who am I kidding, a lot bit) of unreliable narration here hehe.

The large sets of double doors at the back of the room screeched and groaned at infuriating intervals as students trickled into the echoing lecture hall. The seats creaked in an equally shrill manner as each of those students inevitably found a seat in the room. Though the people themselves were mostly silent, a few quiet conversations peaked out here and there and only further grated on Toby's ears.

"Fuckin' stupid..." He muttered under his breath.

This wasn't even supposed to be his assignment. Hoodie was usually the one who headed missions that went into the city like this given he had a little bit more charisma than any of the other proxies. But, apparently even that wouldn't be enough for him to pass under the radar as a generic college student. Inexplicably, in his opinion, that managed to fall on Toby. Adorned in a university branded pullover and a generic disposable mask, he found himself seated in the middle rows of some 100-person lecture.

Seated in the row before him was the target. Having gone on an adventure to the woods just a handful of miles away, you had managed to snag a photo of Slender. It wasn't the most damning evidence of the creature Toby had ever seen; its featureless white face peeking out between the branches of some background foliage, only a keen observer would be able to notice the dark shape that resembled the rest of its body. Nevertheless, you had stupidly chosen to hand the photo off to be published in some sort of school magazine. The article seemed to be hardly noteworthy beyond the handful of conspiracy theorists who managed to get their hands on it, but Slender was a creature of principle. It needed the original photo in order to properly wipe it from existence, so that was Toby's goal-- acquire that photo by any means.

Toby despised missions like these. The lack of clear parameters set his thoughts ablaze, and he was even worse at remaining below the radar. He could already feel the judgmental glares of the people beginning to crowd the room as his body jerked against his will. Tapping his nail against the desk space in front of him, his eyes wandered to those prying eyes. Heads turning to acknowledge the freak in the room, he swore he saw two girls begin to laugh about him from the front row. God, why couldn't he just gouge out their eyes-

"Alright folks, looks like it's 12 o'clock, so I'll go ahead and get started." A man spoke from the front of the room.

His voice abruptly cut through all the chatter and silenced it almost instantly. Given that the man was standing confidently at the front of the room, Toby could only guess that this was the teacher. He hardly cared to listen to what the man was droning on about as he clicked through the slides of some sort of introductory presentation. Casting his focus downwards, Toby took note of you once more. He could only see the back of your head from the seat he had chosen, but he had already studied your appearance carefully beforehand. You looked like what Toby imagined a college student would-- not to mention, you were undeniably attractive.

Toby's first task was to find a way into your apartment where the photo (likely) was hiding. Living in some sort of high-rise, he couldn't simply break in through the window. Your building also appeared to have slightly more security than average: cameras, alarm systems, and even actual security personnel at night. Without the usual means of easy escape, he would need to execute a break-in relatively undetected. Hoodie suggested he simply try to steal your keys and slip into your apartment while you're still away at class. It was certainly the easiest way, but Toby hated that he was even considering following the other man's suggestion.

"Why don't you all turn to someone around you and introduce yourself. Name, major, why you're taking this class, all the usual stuff," The teacher's voice surfaced once more, "Try to talk to someone you don't know, preferably."

With the instructions cutting through Toby’s pensive thoughts, he finally managed to look around the space he was occupying. No one had sat near him, though he wasn’t surprised. The closest student was about three seats away and already had their attention turned towards the person next to them. He scoffed, the situation reminding him too much of high school. Shifting towards you, he wondered who had managed to catch your interest, maybe even curious about gaining some additional information on you. Instead, your features were pointed at him, a gentle smile falling over your face as you said your name.

"My major is journalism, and I guess I'm really only taking this class for the university requirement." You went through the introduction pointers the teacher had given, "What about you?"

Toby's eyes widened as you kept speaking. Your gaze was soft and laced with curiosity, and you were talking to him. Unsure if the moment was even real, Toby had to blink a few times before he finally produced a response.

"I'm T-Toby-- shit!" Of course, reality came crashing back to him as his fist unwillingly pounded against his chest and an equally involuntary swear followed after.

The chatter around the two of you seemed to quiet at that. Soon enough, the hush conversation returned like a swarm. The words weren't clear, but Toby knew they must be talking about him. It was just like when he was a kid. People constantly laughed and pointed at him like they were subtle, but they weren't-- not in the slightest. Catching the sideways glance of someone else in the room, Toby had to clench his fists tight to stop himself from rushing over and punching that stupid look of superiority off their face.

"Hey, you're all good, take your time if you need to." Your words cut through his spiraling senses almost instantly.

Looking down at you, Toby expected to see the look of disgusted judgement or pity he always received. Instead, you looked just as you had before. Smile reaching your eyes, you seemed so understanding, so welcoming. He barely noticed the way his fists grew slack until he was speaking again.

"I um... don't h-have a major," He tried to echo the response you had given him, keeping details vague as he was taught to, "and I'm he-here for the same-- fuck-- same reason."

You nodded along to his words, "Is this your first year here or are you still just trying to figure all the major stuff out?"

"Uh... first year." He answered with uncertainty.

"Oh nice! I've been here for a few years now, so I'm almost at the end of my degree. I just have to get these annoying gen requirements out of the way," You replied, "Believe me, don't do what I did. Just get all of these your way your first few years."

Nodding as you gave your piece of advice, Toby's focus strayed to your lips as you spoke. Watching the way they moved as you spoke, you seemed very knowledgeable. Admittedly, he knew next to nothing about college and would never need to, but the way you talked to him and gave him advice regardless. Why wasn't everyone just like you?

To his disappointment, your attention was quickly drawn back to the professor as he called the class together once more. He wasn't all too happy that his only sight of you was the back of your head, but the quieting chatter around him finally let the thoughts flow through his brain evenly. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to linger around a bit longer.

The days Toby got to see you next were too few and far between. Only three days a week for 90 minutes, that was hardly enough time to spend with you. Especially as the teacher droned on and on at the front of the room, Toby could only wait anxiously in the seat behind you for the next time you would turn to him-- the room fading around you two fading into obscurity.

He was never the most punctual when he was last in a school setting: frequently showing up late or outright skipping classes he didn't want to be in. But here, he was always the first through those creaky double doors. Waiting anxiously, he could feel his heart pound against his chest as each new person entered the room. Some nights, Toby could hardly sleep with the way the anticipation killed him.

"How did you do on the quiz?" Your voice swelled melodically to his ears.

"Quiz..." Toby echoed.

He vaguely remembered the professor mentioning something about an online quiz. It had practically gone in one ear and out the other since he wasn't actually a student.

"Not g-great." He muttered, almost sadly.

A sympathetic look crossed your features at that response, "Aw, I'm sorry. It was definitely a bit of a rougher one."

Toby knew those words were just a lie to make him feel better about his supposed failure. You seemed to pay steadfast attention to the content of the class. He would watch as you took delicate notes on each concept-- keeping up with the teacher's fast talking pace far better than he could. You probably aced the test without a second thought about it.

"Do you have any good study strategies or anything like that?" You asked next.

Toby shrugged, "Just... not g-good at i-it."

You sighed once more, a look of pity crossing your features. Toby would have despised it from anyone else, but he almost felt a swell of pride seeing you direct such a feeling at him.

"It took me a while to get into some good study habits too," You added, "Hey, why don't we study together for the next quiz?"

The man perked up at the offer. Were you offering to spend time with him? You watched him expectantly, waiting for an answer to your question. He couldn't possibly say no.

"Ye- shit! Yeah, th-that'd be great." He hated the way he struggled out the response, but it hardly mattered when you appeared so unbothered by it.

You beamed at him, "Great! Here, let's exchange numbers so we can plan it when it gets closer."

Without another word, you turned around to grab your phone. Your thumbs moving swiftly across the pop-up keyboard, Toby had half a mind to remember that he didn't even know his own phone number.

"Can y-you just-- fuck-- write it?" Toby asked.

Your motions halted quickly at the request, "Oh yeah, sure."

Turning around once more, he had to lean forward slightly to watch as your pencil scrawled across the paper in the form of your phone number. Tearing off the small scrap, you swiveled back around and held it out towards Toby. He was almost nervous to reach out for it, hand jittery as he slowly extended it from his body. Trying to reign in his nerves, he did his best to repress any of the bubbling sensations of a tic looking to seize his arm. Finally grasping the small slip of paper, he simply couldn't stop himself from letting his fingers graze against your own slightly just to see what it was like.

"Just let me know it's you whenever you text." You chuckled.

"Yeah..." He trailed off, attention turned entirely to the tiny piece of paper.

Thumbs smoothing out the curling corners, Toby's eyes followed the soft trail your pencil had left, swooping and curling around each number. You had written down your name as well. He wanted to run his fingers over the graphite, as though he could feel your touch through it, but he knew the sweat beading at his hands would smear your perfect writing. Turning his gaze back to you, his words caught in his throat as he noticed your attention had turned back to the front of the room. The teacher had been talking for who knows how long now, completely stealing your attention.

The words of the man at the front of room had become a dull droning to his ears quickly. He could barely sit still as he waited for the teacher to finally shut up. Eyes darting between you, your number on the paper, and the clock, his leg bounced almost furiously as the seconds ticked closer and closer to the usual end time. It took far too long before the shuffling of backpacks hit his ears, other students beginning to stand and exit the room just as hastily as he would have if it weren't for you.

Standing abruptly, Toby took the opportunity to talk to you, "D-do you study a.. a lot?"

It took you a moment to turn to him as you gathered your things, "Oh um... I guess. Maybe not as much as I should."

"It pro-probably does-- doesn't matter for you-- shit! Anyways," He muttered, picking at his fingers absentmindedly, "You're real- really smart."

A smile spread over your face at the compliment, "You're sweet, Toby. Thank you."

Heat rushed to his ears like a wildfire, heart hammering against the inside of his chest once more. God, he could hear you say his name like a mantra, over and over and over...

"You should give yourself more credit, though," You continued speaking, "You're smart as well."

Toby's eyes widened as he quickly shook his head, "N-no-- fuck! I'm not... really."

"You are!" You insisted, "Doing good or bad on a test in just one subject-- hell, even several-- hardly says anything about what you actually know."

The words didn't particularly ring too important to Toby, his brain still lingering on the way you called him smart. If you said it to him, it must be true. It conjured memories of the things his fellow proxies would call him. How Hoodie spoke to him like he was an idiotic child, or the way Masky outright called him a dumbass. Everything he had called Toby over the years, he wondered what the other man would think if he heard the way you talked about him. He wished he could take you with him, present you to that bastard himself and show him how wrong he is.

"Tha-anks." Toby muttered bashfully.

"Of course." You smiled at him once more, the look sending shocks straight to his heart.

Toby hadn't even realized the two of you had left the classroom, too enraptured by your words. As a sudden cool air seeped through the fabric of his sweater, he took note that he was outside now. He normally didn't feel much about such changes in temperature, but the breeze felt pleasantly cool against his skin. That usually meant he was overheating without having noticed it. A bit of panic edged its way into his consciousness, he hoped you hadn't noticed.

"It's getting so cold out lately." You stuffed your hands into your pockets.

"Yeah, i-it's..." The words fizzled out in his throat as his eyes fell on a familiar figure.

Tan jacket and a coil of smoke, why was he here? He rarely ever saw Tim without a mask, but this was most obviously a situation that called for it. Eyes raising from the ground, they met Toby's. Tossing the cigarette on the pavement, he stubbed it out under his work boot and shoved his hands into his pockets. The gesture was clear, he wanted to talk.

"Everything alright?" Your voice piped up.

"I'm fine." He answered sharply.

"Ok..." You trailed off, "I'll see you next class."

Casting him an almost pitiful look, you walked away. Toby's gut twisted unpleasantly as he recognized that look. You were better than that. You didn't think of him like that, not until Masky showed up, at least. He just had to ruin everything for Toby, didn't he? Moving briskly towards the older man, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

"What do yo-you want." Toby practically growled the words

"You're taking your time." Tim matched the other man's tone.

"It's not my j-j... job, I can take however-- shit-- long I'd like." Toby countered

"No, you can't," His words were stern, the no-nonsense tone that Toby hated, "You have your own assignments you need to take care of."

"Maybe you sh-- shouldn't have handed this... shit off to-- fuck! Me," He hissed, "Start d-doing your own sh... shit for once."

"I didn't ask for your opinion." Masky's face twisted in contempt.

He didn't give Toby a chance to reply before continuing, "Get your mind out of your dick and finish the job. I'm not gonna fuckin ask again."

"Is that all you ca-came to do?" Toby spat, "Bi-bitch about the job you-- fuck! couldn't fig-figu... figure out for yourself?"

"Shut the hell up," Tim muttered with barely concealed rage, "I'll kill that bitch myself if you don't get to it."

"Fuck you!" Toby's raised tone caught the gaze of some passing students.

He shot a glare of his own at the few eyes that accidentally met his. He had no patience for their judgmental stares, not when Masky grated on his nerves so much. Much to his further irritation, the older man simply shook his head at the threat, leaving after wordlessly having deemed the conversation complete. It took all of Toby's restraint to not follow after him, even if it would have been so easy to just cave his skull in from the back. He could do it with his own fists if he really wanted to. Eventually, he found himself calming down. Releasing the pressure from his hands, he had left crescent indents in his palms, but it wasn't like he could feel the sting of them anyways.

He would show Tim. You would show Tim.

Toby's eyes lingered over the text bubble on the screen, "Hey, this is Toby." The greeting was simplistic, but, after mulling over it for about 10 minutes, he finally gathered the courage to let his thumb fall onto the send button. He was almost getting impatient staring at the cracked screen, tapping it periodically so it wouldn't go dark. As expected, though, you pulled through-- those three dots popping up from the other side of the screen.

"Hey, Toby," Your text read, "How was your day?"

His heart fluttered at the question, "good," he resisted the urge to type that he missed you, "how was yours?"

"Not too bad, I wish all my classes were as easy as the one we have." You answered.

Toby read over the message a few times, lingering on one word repeatedly: we. He wished everything of yours could be shared. Too busy thinking, he must have taken long enough that you decided to send another text.

"Were you still interested in studying together?" The message asked.

"Yes." He wasted no time in typing and sending the response.

"I was looking at the next quiz and it's coming up way sooner than I thought," It took a moment for you to type the sentence, "I'm free after 10 next Thursday if that works?"

"I am." Toby remained just as eager.

"Ok great! Would the library work for you?" You asked

Toby's thumbs had readied another frantic response of approval, wishing nothing more than to just get to see you already, but they soon stopped short of the screen. He was willing to meet you anywhere for anything, but should he? Masky's words echoed in his head and sent another course of pure anger through his veins. The tree across from him had still yet to recover, wood spent and splintered from the way he had slammed his hatchet into it so viciously. As much as he hated it, the man didn't make his threats meaningless. He would intervene if Toby took too long, and the thought of Masky's disgusting hands on you made his own skin crawl.

"Not the library," He answered instead, "Too many people."

He worried his bottom lip as you took longer to respond than previous, but your message eventually appeared, "That's all good. How about we meet at my apartment instead."

"That's perfect." Toby hardly thought it through before sending the agreement.

You had to have known exactly what he wanted, giving him an answer so perfect like that. Not only would he get to spend time with you, (alone, at that) but he could also acquire that damn photo that brought him here in the first place.

"Ok great! How about we meet at 11, I'll send you the address when it gets closer." Your final text read.

He poured over your texts repeatedly, your address becoming a fixture in his memory once you sent it to him. Toby hardly noticed the way the time passed until he was there, sitting in the lobby space of your apartment building. Not really checking the time before he arrived here, he was undoubtedly early. People passed in and out quite frequently, entering through the door, exiting through the elevators, some checking their mailbox, others wandering to areas out of Toby's sight. It seemed like a nice place, probably expensive, but you had probably worked hard to acquire it.

Scrolling through your texts once more, Toby's eyes flitted upwards as he noticed someone new approach the exterior door. Pushing into the building's glass door, he immediately recognized you. Seeming focused on heading towards the elevators, Toby shot up out of his seat before you could miss him.

"Oh, Toby," You greeted, a bit of surprise in your voice, "You're early."

"Yeah..." He trailed off, sensing you didn't seem quite as thrilled to see him as he was you, "I ca-can wait if you-- shit! Need."

"No, no, it's fine, no point in going all the way up just to come back down, right?" You shook your head.

Continuing your previous path, you led Toby with you this time, "Here, I live on the 4th floor, so we'll take one of the elevators up."

"I-it's really nice," Toby commented, "The building."

"Compared to some of the other places around here, yeah," You nodded in agreement, "It's not cheap at all, though, but it's a lot better than the university apartments. What about you? Are you living in the dorms right now or somewhere else?"

"Somewhere e-else." He kept his reply short, hoping you would keep talking.

"Nice, like with your parents or are you renting around here?" You pressed.

Toby shifted uncomfortably at the mention of parents, your questions getting on his nerves a little more than he would like, "Just somewhere else."

"Oh ok," You trailed off, "Sorry for prying."

Just as the words of apology left your lips, the bell of the arriving elevator cut through the tense atmosphere. Doors sliding open, you stepped in wordlessly, pressed the button marked for floor 4, and settled into a spot in the small space. With no one else entering, Toby was left with you as the door slid shut. He felt unsettled for a moment in the small, enclosed space, but it quickly faded as his spiraling mind took note of you. Has he ever been able to linger this close to you before? The air felt warmed from your breaths, the pleasant smell of your clothes intermixing as he shifted closer to you. You looked too dejected standing there silently, watching the numbers count up on the screen above the door.

"It's f-fine," Toby responded to your earlier apology, "How l-l... long have you lived he-here?"

"This is only my 2nd year here, but I'll probably move out once I graduate." You answered, perking up once more.

"Where are you moving?" He asked quickly.

"We're still planning it a bit. I'm hoping to get into this internship program my mentor works with, so it would be a bit far from here and in a way bigger city." You continued to ramble on about the internship opportunity until the elevator reached your floor.

Doors sliding open, Toby was greeted by a long, carpeted hallways. Various doors staggered across each side with unit numbers fixated around the upper middle. He wasn't too focused on it all, following after you as he let his thoughts linger on your words. This town was already pretty far out of his usual scope, but it wasn't impossible to reach if he really wanted to see you again. If you left, though, he certainly wouldn't be able to locate you there. Especially with Masky's micromanaging, he would hardly make it to finding your new address before the other man stopped him.

"Toby?" His name on your lips catching his interest once more.

"Y-yeah?" He looked at you expectantly.

"I just asked if you brought anything to study with. You didn't leave anything in the lobby, right?" You asked.

"I didn't..." He trailed off, realizing his mistake, "I do bet- better without them."

"Ok, that's fine! We can just use my textbook and stuff," You nodded, "Anyways, welcome in! Sorry for the mess, I was hoping to clean a little bit beforehand, but it's alright."

A variety of decorations and other personal effects were strewn about the place in what seemed to be an intentional manner. It looked lived in, much cozier than anywhere Toby stayed. Only retiring to his allotted cabin in the woods to crash for a few hours, he never really thought of making it look nice. Toby wondered how you might decorate his cabin, where you would put your things. What would you do with the few items he did have? He felt a rise of anticipation thinking about your possessions intermixed.

"Why don't you just wait on the couch while I get a few things, ok?" You offered, tossing your bag onto the aforementioned couch.

"Can I see?" He asked.

"Like the rest of the apartment?" He nodded in confirmation, "Um... yeah, it's a bit messy as well, but as long as you don't mind."

"It's a lot-- shit! Cleaner than my pl-lace." Toby attempted to ease your apprehension.

You chuckled, "Yeah, well... we try our best."

Walking expertly through the apartment, you headed down a short hallway-- ending up in what looked to be an office space. As expected, it wasn't as messy as you claimed it to be. Decorations seemed to be in designated places with important work in the others. The last time Toby had any type of desk must have been in his childhood. Even though much time had passed, he hardly knew what the desk looked like then, using its surface as a glorified junk drawer. Looking over the items you chose to place in the space, he took note of a few photos. There were some with you as the focus, but they were mostly a mix of people that Toby didn't recognize-- those must be your friends. He wasn't surprised to see you had several. Trailing up further, he saw it: a digital camera.

"Do you t-take photos?" He snatched the device off the desk to observe it.

"Oh... Yeah, I do. Just um... be careful with that." You approached him as he powered it on.

Seeing the logo flash on the screen, it didn't take long for the screen to turn from a dark void to a recognizable interface. He managed to pick up on it quickly, despite the many years it had been since he so much as glanced at a modern digital camera. The photos weren't anything too interesting, none of them were of you. Depicting mostly the school buildings or the city outside it, he flicked through them quickly until he hit the important ones. Changing starkly from the prior pictures of outdoor art pieces, Toby recognized the trees instantly. He practically grew up in those woods you had merely visited for a few chance photos, yet you managed to capture it perfectly.

"Wh-what were-- fuck! These for?" Toby looked at you briefly.

"It's just some nature shots of the woods a few miles North," You answered, hovering close to him, "for a journalistic photography class. Why don't we head back to the living room now?"

Toby disregarded your words, briefly scanning photo after photo until he found the one. He didn't look at the target photo all too much when Hoodie had shown him initially. Looking at it from your view, he noted the way the light shone through the dew-covered leaves so beautifully that even he almost missed the stark white face of his boss peaking through them. Toby really had to wonder why he presented himself to you. No obsessions with the morbid aspects of life, you seemed a bit more normal than even the tamest individuals who received the privilege of spotting Slender. Not to mention, you hadn't even cemented yourself as worrisome enough to be deemed a target. As far as Toby was concerned, Slenderman didn't make mistakes. He didn't just let some random human snag a picture for the hell of it. Your ability to capture this photo alone was proof enough that you were special in some way, even Slender had to agree.

"Wh-what's this?" He asked, placing a finger on the screen just underneath Slender's face.

"Oh, it was probably a weird camera glitch or something. This thing is getting old." Slipping your hand around Toby's, he let you take the camera out of his hands.

Turning it off, you placed it back where he had found it, "Come on, let's try to get some studying done."

He didn't like your dismissal of his question, eager to pry you on it further. What if you did know about Slender's existence? If you were just a normal person, he wouldn't want you to get wrapped in the cruelty of his fellow proxies or the less restrained violence of the other members. But, you clearly knew something was going on. Were you trying to shield Toby from it? Did you care for him? With those thoughts swirling around his mind, he followed you silently to the living room.

Once he could focus on actually studying, it turned out to be a bit more satisfying than Toby last remembered it. It was frustrating at first as you asked question after question that he didn't know the answer to. He didn't actually care to listen to the professor, as you called the man at the front of the room. However, it was made up for by the way you gently explained each topic, the words sticking in his mind better than they ever had before. An almost euphoric joy would fill him every time you smiled at his correct answers and explanations-- no matter how much he stuttered through them.

"I think we've covered a lot today, right?" You asked.

Toby nodded eagerly, "Is there any...more?"

"Well, we've gone over pretty much all the content now for the upcoming quiz and the last one too," You answered, "I'm not sure there's anything else to work on."

"Can we g-go over it-- shit-- one more time?" Toby asked.

"You're doing pretty good, Toby. I think you'll do well on the quiz based on what we've done so far." You replied.

Toby felt a bit disappointed by your rejection, but he wasn't going to let it sour him too much, "Just a lit-- little bit more?"

Your lips pursed together as you thought over the request for a moment, but you eventually gave a desirable response, "Ok, we'll just go over the newest things a bit more. That sound good?'

"Yes," He answered, "That's perfect."

"Just a heads up, my--" You began to speak, but your words lost Toby's attention as he heard a sound from the front door behind him.

Shooting up from his seat, he stared at the barrier as a muffled clicking sound reverberated through it. Someone was unlocking the door, but who? Was it Masky? Toby's gut twisted at the thought. It had been about a week since he last saw the man. More importantly, since he had threatened to kill you. The time difference was a bit longer than the punctual bastard would usually like, but it wasn't like he had nothing to show for it. Was he here to follow through on that threat? Could the asshole really not handle someone liking-- no, loving-- Toby for once? As the door opened, he waited with bated breath for that black and white mask and the shimmer of a handgun.

However, none of that happened.

"Oh, hey there. You must be Toby, right?" The person greeted him.

"Sorry Toby, I didn't think we would still be working this late, but I was just about to let you know," You spoke up after them, "This is my partner..."

Toby didn't listen to the rest of the introduction, the words "partner" ringing through his head like a bout of tinnitus. The stranger standing before him was your partner. He couldn't help but critique them from just their stance alone. You hadn't even mentioned a partner before now, and you and Toby were close too. Did you not actually care about this person? Surely, if you did, you would be jumping to talk about them.

"Yeah... I'm just going to get out of your guys' way. It's nice to meet you, Toby." Your partner nodded at him before heading off.

"I'm just going to go plug my phone in real quick, so just wait here for a moment." You followed suit, leaving him alone in the living room.

He didn't like how quickly you had left him. You were fine sitting mere feet away from him just minutes ago. Now, you were practically running to keep your distance. Something had to be wrong. Still stunned, it took him a minute before he finally decided to creep down the hallway. The sound of hushed voices was clear, despite the clear attempts to keep the conversations hidden behind a closed door. Creeping closer, Toby managed to find a position where he could best make out the words.

"I can tell him to leave if you want." Your partner's words were first.

"No, you don't have to. I'm just worried about coming off as mean." Your response followed.

"Well you two were supposed to be done like hours ago. It's not unreasonable to kick this creep out of your own home." Those words caused a prickle of anger to hit Toby.

He had no doubt this supposed partner of yours was referring to himself. It was far from the first time he had been called a creep; he hardly flinched at the "insult" anymore. But to think you felt the same? He waited almost anxiously for your response.

"Don't call him that. He's just... a bit awkward" You sighed, "Look, it's partially my fault for not setting a clear time we needed to be done."

Of course, you wouldn't believe such things about him. You were perfect, a saint even, he doubted you even thought of him so negatively until this stranger suggested it.

"I can handle it myself, ok? You don't need to worry about it." You added after a moment.

"I trust you," They replied "but if you need my help, I'll be right here."

Silence fell over the room for a few moments. He listened closely, hoping to gather something-- the shuffle of clothes, the press of lips-- but he was hopeless to discern anything. With the way his blood was practically pounding in his ears, he couldn't even think. You liked him, didn't you? You didn't want to kick him out, right? It must have been your partner who convinced you that it was the right decision. The thought of that stranger being so close to you right now, touching you, grated his nerves further. You deserved better than that. You deserved him.

"Oh Toby! Is everything alright?" Your voice appeared much louder than before.

In fact, you were standing right in front of him. Eyes wide, you looked shocked-- maybe even scared to be looking at him. Realizing he was a bit too close to justify a casual run in, he thought quick on his feet.

"The bathroom," He answered, "Couldn't fi-find it."

"I'm sorry, I meant to show you earlier. It's just that room, right there." You pointed in it's direction.

"Thanks." He muttered.

Shuffling past you, he let his shoulder brush against your own. Would you like his touch more than that awful partner of yours? He might not be as warm or soft. His tics got in the way sometimes, but you clearly didn't mind. Entering the bathroom, he shut and locked the door behind him. Toby considered snooping around the room for a moment but quickly discovered it lacked any of the personal flair the other rooms did. This must be a guest bathroom of sorts, disappointingly.

Turning on the faucet to believably pass the time, he couldn't help but think of the look you had given him just moments ago. You were scared. He usually enjoyed that expression when it was directed at him, but he didn't like it on you. It wasn't possible you were scared of him. Toby was hardly covered in any of the intimidating accessories he normally wore to elicit such a response-- not even a speck of blood. Could you be scared of your partner? That had to be it. You were a strong and smart person as far as Toby had gathered, so they must have hit you somewhere weak to agree to drive him away. You wouldn't need to worry for long, Toby thought, he would save you.

Deciding he had spent enough time here, he shut the faucet off. Returning to the living room, he found you sitting almost rigidly on the couch. Your partner was nowhere to be seen, probably a norm for you. Looking towards him sharply, you gave him a false smile-- the joy not quite reaching your eyes like he normally preferred.

"Hey Toby, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot my partner and I have dinner reservations not too long from now," You said, "Is it alright if we call it today? I can totally study with you some other time if you need."

He knew it was a lie, but Toby wouldn't fault you for that. He knew it wasn't your decision.

"Yeah it's--fuck! Fine." He nodded, "I'll s-see you."

You stood from the couch, a real smile lighting up your features this time, "Yeah, let me know how the test goes for you to! Do you need me to walk you out or do you remember the way back?"

"I got it." Toby replied plainly, fists curling in his pockets.

Temperature didn't usually mean much to Toby, but the almost cold chill he felt when greeted with the exterior hallway was the closest he had come to it. Stepping out the door-- no-- Leaving you felt uninviting, like he would be entering a world he had never navigated before. As much as it pained him, he would have to wait to see you again. Letting his hand fall from his pocket, his fingers tips brushed against the back of your hand as he passed by the door. He relished in smoothness against his rough fingertips, the warmth of your hands. Toby would have you soon. He knew it.

"Goodbye." He spoke as he stepped out.

"Bye." The door was shut quick after your short response, leaving him alone.

Turning in the direction you two had come from not so long ago, Toby's hand returned to his pocket. Curling comfortably once more, he felt the cool, jagged metal press into the palm of his hand. He's sure you'd hardly notice the absence of your house keys.

It must have been a loud sound you weren't used to, despite your usually noisy neighbors. But, with your brain too wrapped in sleep, you could hardly remember what it was that had woken you up now. Rolling over, you were greeted with the freezing hug of the sheets your body heat hadn't touched in hours. Checking the clock, it was 3AM to your dismay. Far too early to be up, you wondered if you would even be able to go back to sleep before your classes tomorrow or if you would just toss and turn restlessly. Turning to see if your partner had been startled by the noise as well, you found the bedside to be empty-- sheets thrown back.

Your eyes begged to pull shut once more, but you resisted the urge in favor of locating your partner. Sitting up revealed that the bathroom connected to your shared bedroom was dark, they weren't in there. Turning to the bedroom door instead, you found it left slightly ajar. That must have been the way they went.

Waiting for a few moments, you failed to hear any of the usual sounds of the building: the shuffling of steps in your apartment, creaking of your upstairs neighbors, or especially loud traffic from the road. It was almost eerily quiet. Unsettled enough, you decided to investigate for yourself. Embracing the cold air, you tossed your blankets off of your form. Shifting to stand, it took you a moment longer than usual to adjust to the sensation of the floor under the soles of your feet. Nevertheless, you moved forward, gently pushing the door open to reveal your hallway.

It was dark, but never too dark as the city lights shined through the exterior windows in your living room. Following the path they illuminated, you headed towards your kitchen-- hoping to find your partner there. With a cursory glance of the open-concept space, they were nowhere to be found. Maybe they had chosen to go to your shared office for some reason? While the thought popped into your mind, you weren't quite done in the kitchen.

Stepping a bit further in, you noticed an out of place dark mark on the counter. Leaning close to it, you tried to discern the weird mess of thick lines that had befallen the granite's edge. It was too dark for you to properly tell the color, but you guessed it was just a small spot you had missed when cleaning up after dinner. Maybe your partner had accidentally left it when getting a midnight snack, or they were intending to return to clean it. Not too worried by it, you straightened up and readied to head to the office.

That was when you saw it.

Not just a mark of color, but a puddle of it like vomit on the sidewalk. It splattered on the fridge, some specks peaking onto the wall from behind the center island. In between it all sat a severed forearm, your partner's darkened and sticky hair splayed out not far behind it. The rest of their body was hidden from you, and the gore you could see was hardly something your brain could comprehend. You had seen human innards in biology and anatomy diagrams, not tangibly in front of you on your kitchen floor. Your blood ran cold, a sweat breaking out across your skin, and a guttural scream bubbled in your diaphragm. Before it could be released, something cupped your mouth harshly, pulling your body back into another clothed being.

"I'm s-sorry," The pressure of their hold tightened as they stuttered, "I di-didn't want... you to see that."

Your scream fell into a strangled sort of sound at the appearance of an unknown assailant. Hands darting up to fight the force restraining you, you wanted to scream louder and thrash like there was no tomorrow. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest as reality finally presented itself to you. You were going to die.

"Sh- sh... shut up!" They hissed.

The words cut through your thoughts like a hot knife. Despite your intuition, you managed to keep quiet with the exception of your muffled, gasping breaths. Seeming satisfied with that, the assailant easily turned your body so that you were no longer facing the bloody kitchen scene.

"I di-did what you-- fuck! Wanted." They spoke once more.

Even through the fog of disassociation, you didn't miss the striking details of the currently faceless murderer behind you. The swearing, the twitches, the tone of voice, it all pointed to one person.

"Toby..." The name on your mouth was muffled under his hold, but he recognized it regardless.

"Yes!" He exclaimed, "You kn-knew I was coming f-- fuck! For you, didn't you? That I was go-going to save you?"

The moment of clarity was quickly lost as he continued to speak. He must be delusional. His words certainly suggested as much, but it was something beyond that. Your partner was dead in the kitchen. No one with any standard mental illness would just do that. This was something beyond a socially awkward freshman taking a strange interest in you. The realization of it all crashing down upon you brought attention to the tears beginning to fall down your face.

"No, no, no, no, don't cr-cry." He cooed, his other hand coming up to sloppily wipe at your cheek.

"I kn-know you're-- shit! Happy, but w-we still got to get... get out of here." Toby continued, "Y-you'll be e-even happier where... where we're going."

Maybe you wouldn't die. But, you could only sob harder at what you were presented with instead.

[aneertawrites]

Alien!Caleb x Fem!Reader

Orbiting You

inspired by the clecanian series ! i really recommend these books!! the mmc’s are to die for

i’d also like to add that i’m discontinuing my xavier ff for now :( sorry!!

Chapter 1

Bursting through the doors of the holding facility without so much as a look over your shoulder, leaving the disgustingly sterile smell that had caused — at the very least — ten headaches over the last few weeks, you scoped the eerily familiar yet feverish scenery.

A forest.

Wait… can it even be considered a forest?

You took in the purple hue of the leaves — the swirls of bright teal and pink on the yellow bark, and the neon mossy ground, which, back on Earth, would’ve been long grass.

You let out a growl of frustration, hearing the yells of the girls behind you — who also miraculously managed to escape with the help of some alien man — before you tore your hands through your hair, making a beeline straight for the forest.

“Wait!” the girls all screamed in unison, seemingly genuinely concerned for your safety.

Must’ve been the trauma bond, you thought to yourself.

You didn’t stop.

Your boots crunched against the squelchy moss, which released a faint bioluminescent mist with every step. It lit up in pulses, like it was breathing — alive in a way that made your skin crawl. You pushed past low-hanging branches that shimmered with a strange, wet light, each one releasing a faint chiming sound when disturbed. The whole forest felt like it was watching you, sizing you up.

Branches snapped behind you. The girls weren’t far.

“We don’t know what’s out here!” one of them shouted — Kael, maybe? Or Vree? Their voices had started to blur together in your mind, warped by captivity and adrenaline.

You didn’t slow down until a sharp clicking echoed through the trees ahead. You froze. It wasn’t natural — not like the rustling, humming background noise of the forest. This was rhythmic. Intentional.

Another click. Closer.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as the forest suddenly quieted, like it had agreed to hold its breath. Even the moss stopped pulsing. You turned slowly, eyes scanning the neon-drenched underbrush, but all you could see were jagged shadows cast by oversized plants and bark that shimmered like oil slicks.

Then — a flash of movement.

Low to the ground, fast, and not human.

You barely had time to react before something streaked toward you from the trees — a blur of glinting metal and sinew, four limbs and no eyes. You dove to the side, hitting the ground hard, the moss cushioning your fall but not your ribs. Pain bloomed across your chest.

The thing skidded to a stop, silent, and turned with that same alien grace, limbs twitching, head cocked.

Behind you, the girls screamed.

You scrambled backward just as a voice — low, guttural, and distinctly not human — rang out from the shadows behind the creature.

“In’zek lara. It is not ready for the hunt.”

The creature froze.

You turned, heart hammering, toward the source of the voice. Your eyes widened as you took in the shimmering white markings that traversed the alien’s skin — looking similar to a sort of tribal tattoo back on Earth.

You didn’t know. You weren’t exactly a tattoo connoisseur.

The girls screamed once more from behind you, fleeing. Before you even understood what was happening — another figure, this time taller, broader, pounced on the alien infront of you.

Animalistic grunting and shrieks surrounded you, and you took this as an opportunity to flee, cutting through the dense nature — ignoring the small nips and bites at your ankles, too scared to look down in case you’d see some sort of monster-ish creature at your feet.

Based on what little you recalled from high school exploration and survival classes, you clumsily covered your tracks — running to God knows where in the forest. You darted between trunks that twisted like coiled wire, brushed branches behind you to mask your path, and kicked up patches of glowing moss to distort your footprints. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t even smart, necessarily. But panic made you resourceful, and desperation gave you speed.

You didn’t stop moving, even when the forest seemed to press in tighter around you. Leaves whispered in a language you couldn’t understand, the neon flora dimming and flaring as though reacting to your presence. Somewhere in the distance, something screamed — not human, but not entirely alien either. A sound that felt like it reached into your bones and told you run faster.

So you did.

Minutes bled together, until you were sure you had put miles between you and whatever had erupted back at the edge of the holding facility. Your lungs burned, your legs ached, and your throat was raw from the cold, chemically-scented air that passed for oxygen on this planet.

You slowed only when your body forced you to — stumbling into a low ridge of roots that formed a sort of natural alcove.

Collapsing to your knees, you pressed your back against the twisted bark, letting yourself finally breathe. For a moment, there was only the pounding of your heart and the strange, almost melodic hum that radiated from the trees. It sounded like the forest was singing to itself — a low, layered rhythm that pulsed through the ground and settled in your chest like a second heartbeat.

You risked a glance around.

No movement.

No sign of the girls. Or the creatures. Or the alien man with his glowing tattoos and cryptic words.

You were alone.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, that didn’t feel terrifying.

It felt like freedom.

You leaned your head back against the tree, closing your eyes. The surface was warm. Not bark, exactly — something softer, more like skin than wood. It pulsed gently, like the forest was alive in more ways than one. But you were too tired to care. Too tired to do anything but exist.

And as the adrenaline bled from your system, replaced with a creeping exhaustion, your thoughts finally slowed enough to catch up to themselves.

You’d escaped.

You weren’t safe, not by a long shot. But you were away from the sterile facility, from the screaming, from the collar they’d clamped around your neck like a leash.

And maybe… maybe that was enough for now.

You’d survive this.

You had to.

Curling deeper into the root-formed alcove, you pulled your jacket tighter around your body, feeling the hum of the planet settle into your bones. The forest kept singing its strange lullaby — low, eerie, and alive.

You let it.

You let the tears fall, desperately trying to understand why it had to be you that was abducted.

The question had haunted you since the night everything changed — lingering in the back of your mind like smoke, thick and bitter and impossible to clear. You hadn’t been anyone important. You weren’t rich. Weren’t powerful.

Just walking home late, earbuds in, jacket zipped up to your chin, keys between your fingers like they taught you in every self-defense thread on the internet.

You’d never even heard it coming.

One second you were passing that broken streetlight outside your apartment complex — the one that always buzzed — and the next, your body had gone weightless. Like gravity had snapped. The world tilted. The sky twisted in on itself, folding and unfolding in impossible angles. You’d tried to scream, but something had wrapped around your throat, soft like silk but heavy like steel. Everything went black.

You woke up days later — maybe weeks, maybe minutes, time had no meaning in the metallic white room they held you in — and were greeted by a voice that didn’t match the creature it came from.

“We apologize for the discomfort. The transition between atmospheres is often disorienting.”

The words echoed in perfect English, though you saw the thing’s mouth move in ways that made your stomach turn. Later, you learned it wasn’t really English at all — just your brain interpreting it, thanks to the translator chip they’d embedded in your skull. You didn’t remember them doing it. But the scar behind your left ear made it clear they had.

“You are on Zyrephar,” they had said. “You have been chosen.”

Chosen. As if that word meant anything besides stolen.

You and eleven other women, taken from Earth under the cover of darkness. Each of you from different cities, different lives, but all with the same biology. “Fertile,” they whispered. “Compatible.” Words that made your blood run cold every time they were spoken.

Their species had once thrived on balance — an equal split of male and female. But something had shifted in their genetic code generations ago, a slow extinction creeping in like a virus. Now, less than one percent of Zyrepharian births were female. Desperation had pushed them to Earth — to you.

They experimented in ways they told you were “non-invasive,” but you knew better. The headaches. The nosebleeds. The weird dreams. Some days you’d wake up with handprints that didn’t belong to anyone in your cell. The others stopped asking questions after the first girl disappeared.

They said you were hope.

You knew better. You were property.

A lab rat with a pulse.

And now you were out. Alone, yes — lost, terrified — but free.

The forest was still humming when you opened your eyes.

It wasn’t sunlight that woke you — Zyrephar didn’t seem to have anything like a sun, not one you could see anyway. The sky above the trees just… glowed. A faint lavender hue pulsed gently through the clouds, enough light to see by, but no real warmth to speak of. Your body was stiff, crumpled from the night spent curled awkwardly in the root-woven alcove. Your neck ached. Your back throbbed. Your stomach snarled.

Right. Hunger.

The last time you’d eaten was… what, two days ago? Maybe more. The facility had rations, if you could call them that — bland nutrient paste pressed into gray squares, barely edible but enough to keep you upright. You’d choked them down because you didn’t want to give your captors the satisfaction of seeing you weaken. Now, you’d have killed for one.

You sat up slowly, careful not to draw attention — though to what, you weren’t sure. You hadn’t heard anything all night, no pursuit, no voices. Just the gentle rustle of strange leaves and the occasional distant howl. Still, something about the forest made you feel like you were never truly alone.

You began walking, hoping movement might distract you from the gnawing pit in your gut. The forest floor was springy beneath your boots, a carpet of moss that pulsed softly underfoot. The more you moved, the more you noticed how alive everything felt. Plants leaned subtly in your direction, reacting to your heat. You passed flowers that blinked shut as you neared, vines that quivered away from your reach.

Eventually, you came across a small stream cutting through the terrain, its water glowing faintly blue — not neon, but soft and inviting. It was the first natural feature you’d seen that didn’t fill you with immediate unease.

You crouched beside it, checking for movement. Nothing strange. No fish, no obvious threats. You dipped your fingers in. The water was cool. Clean, maybe.

Still — your gut told you not to drink it yet.

You grabbed the emergency foil blanket from your facility-issued jacket and, with a bit of improvisation, shaped it into a crude bowl. After a few failed attempts using heated stones to boil the water, you remembered something from a survival video you watched back on Earth — hot rocks can purify water, but not if they’re fresh from the fire. Let them sit, then drop them in.

The second try worked better.

You boiled small batches at a time, watching the strange blue steam rise in spirals. You let the water cool before sipping, and while the taste was still alien — faintly metallic with an odd sweetness — you didn’t feel sick after drinking it. That was enough for now.

Next was food.

You combed the forest floor carefully, wary of touching anything too vibrant or unusual — which didn’t leave you much to work with. Eventually, you found a cluster of dull orange bulbs growing beneath the shade of a wide-leafed plant. They looked a little like Earth potatoes, but slick and sticky to the touch. You sliced one open with a jagged rock, inspecting the inside. Pale, fibrous. It didn’t smell like poison. But then again, you weren’t exactly a xenobotanist.

You roasted one over a makeshift fire — dry bark, torn threads from your jacket as tinder, a flint shard from the rocks near the stream. It took a while, and you wasted two of the bulbs trying to get the flames right, but eventually the fire caught. The bulb blackened on the outside. When you bit into it, the inside was mushy, bitter, but vaguely edible.

You ate slowly, waiting after each bite. No immediate nausea. Your head didn’t spin. Your vision didn’t blur.

It was a win.

Afterward, you leaned back against a fallen log, exhaustion settling in like a heavy cloak. You’d been on edge so long that the stillness now felt… wrong. Like you were forgetting to do something important. But your limbs were leaden. Your muscles trembled with every movement. The adrenaline had worn off hours ago, leaving only the bruises and the bone-deep weariness in its place.

You let your eyes drift closed for a moment.

Just a moment.

When you opened them again, the lavender sky had deepened to violet. The forest was shifting into its nighttime rhythm. The humming grew softer, the bioluminescence dimming in some places and flaring to life in others. Plants curled into themselves like sleeping animals. You felt the temperature dip — not cold enough to kill, but enough to bite through your jacket and stir a new shiver in your spine.

You moved quickly, stacking stones around the small fire to trap heat and building a crude shelter from broken branches and the wide waxy leaves you’d seen earlier. The structure wouldn’t withstand much, but it would at least give you something between you and the open sky.

Sitting by the fire, you let your mind wander.

You thought about Earth. Your apartment. The streetlight. The half-finished paper on your laptop. The dented kettle on your stove. Things that felt centuries away now. You wondered if anyone had noticed you were gone. If anyone had connected the dots between the missing girls. But deep down, you knew they hadn’t. You were just another lost face in a world too busy to care.

Here, on Zyrephar, you were something else entirely.

Not just lost.

Not just alone.

Taken.

By the sixth day in the forest, your body didn’t feel like your own anymore.

It had become a tool — aching, sore, dirty, stretched to its limits, and still somehow pushing forward because there was no other choice. You had no mirror, but you didn’t need one. You could feel how much weight you’d lost in less than a week. Your clothes hung differently, your cheeks felt hollow. Your limbs were thinner, leaner. Your stomach, despite the constant ache, had stopped growling. It had given up the protest somewhere around day four and now just curled inward with every step, like it was conserving what little energy you had left.

Your boots — if they could still be called that — were torn open at the seams. Moss had found its way in through the gaps, clinging to your socks and skin like a parasite. Every step rubbed the fabric raw against your heel. You stopped trying to clean the wounds days ago. All you could do now was wrap them in strips of cloth and pray infection didn’t set in.

Still, you walked.

Each morning, you forced yourself to get up before the sky could fully change color, before the twilight-pink glow of Zyrephar’s false sunrise painted the trees with their haunting hue. You moved camp every day — a habit born of paranoia, maybe, but you weren’t about to risk being tracked. Not after what you’d escaped.

The plants around you had become more familiar — not friendly, but known. You’d mapped them in your mind. The round blue stalks with the soft, almost rubbery heads were safe to touch. The thick, wide leaves with the fine yellow fuzz made good coverings, but gave you hives if they brushed your skin for too long. And the glowing red vines? You didn’t go near those anymore. You’d seen one snatch a lizard-like creature out of the air mid-leap. The thing hadn’t even made a sound — just vanished into a pulsing coil of death.

For food, you lived off the same orange bulbs you’d discovered your first day. They grew in clusters near water and left a metallic aftertaste, but they hadn’t made you sick. That counted for something. You’d tried to roast a few other foraged items once — some green pods that oozed when sliced — but the bitter stench and immediate stomach cramps cured you of that mistake fast.

Boiling water had become second nature. You rotated between two fire sites, never letting yourself fall into a rhythm. You didn’t know if your captors had the ability to track thermal signatures, but it felt safer to assume they did. You imagined them scanning the surface of Zyrephar, looking for a flicker of unnatural heat, a flash of movement. You imagined them circling.

And so you kept moving.

But the movement was slowing.

Your legs trembled beneath you even when you stood still. You leaned on trees without realizing it. Your breath came shallow more often than not. The forest had grown colder at night — the kind of cold that sunk into your joints and made everything hurt in the morning. You curled tighter into yourself each night, wrapped in your emergency blanket and leaves that stuck stubbornly to your sweat-damp skin.

You couldn’t remember the last time you slept without waking up gasping. Dreams plagued you — flashes of the holding cell, the sound of metal doors grinding open, the sting of needles beneath your skin. Sometimes you heard the girls screaming. Sometimes you woke up with your hands clenched so tight your nails left blood in your palms.

You were falling apart.

But you were still free.

And that had to be enough.

That evening, you made camp earlier than usual.

Your body wouldn’t carry you any further. You’d found a small hollow beneath a fallen tree, covered in a wide curtain of leafy vines that you carefully pulled across the opening. It wasn’t perfect. The space was cramped and damp, the ground uneven and riddled with roots. But it was something. Shelter.

You chewed on one of the roasted bulbs with numb determination, barely tasting it. You drank your now-routine two cups of boiled stream water, then set the stones aside, curling into your sleeping position. Your limbs ached in that deep, bone-level way that meant you needed more rest than your situation would allow. Your eyelids drooped, heavier than they’d ever felt, and even as you told yourself to stay alert — to keep watch — your body decided otherwise.

Sleep took you hard and fast.

You weren’t sure what woke you.

There was no sound. No movement. No shift in the humming rhythm of the forest.

Just a feeling.

Something off.

The air around you had changed — not colder, not warmer, just… closer. You could feel it on your skin, as if the atmosphere itself was pressing down with expectation. Your body tensed before your mind fully caught up, and you remained still, heart pounding in your ears, afraid to even breathe too deeply.

Your eyes opened a crack.

The fire had gone out. Only the soft afterglow of Zyrephar’s sky lit the interior of your little shelter — the dim violet hue barely filtering through the leafy veil you’d drawn closed.

And then you saw it.

A silhouette.

Kneeling beside you.

Close. Too close.

It didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, as far as you could tell. Just hovered over you, silent, its face inches from yours.

Smelling you.

Your heart flipped in your chest — your entire body jolting upright as a scream tore out of your throat, ragged and raw from days of silence. You scrambled back against the log, kicking over your makeshift bowl and scattering embers from the night’s dead fire. Your fingers closed instinctively around the jagged rock you’d been using as a knife — the closest thing you had to a weapon — and you raised it with trembling hands.

“Who the hell are you?!” you barked, voice hoarse, jagged like gravel. “What the hell were you doing?!”

masterlist

Taglist : @etsuniiru @kyokoyya @i-messed-up-big-time @firefly1103 @gracekerzzz @mcdepressed290 @sylusgirlie7 @plzdonutpercieveme @m00nchildwrites

[adyathemoongoddess]

Czech customs taken out of context:

•Calling family and friends to kill a pig and eat it in an almost ritualistic nature

•Setting a flame and drowning an effigy of a winter goddess in an actual ritualistic nature

•Driving around a drunk ram in a decorated cart

•Guarding a shaved tree decorated with colorfull ribbons

•Chasing girls with a willow branch whip

•Carnival, but instead of dressing up as your favourite anime character, you wear funky tall hats with colorfull pom pomps glued on it, a hay costume and a bear mask, sometimes you see two dudes dressed up as a bride and a groom

•Dressing a young boy in a girl costume and pretending hes a king running away from Hungary in disguise

•Dressing up as Chort (Čert) to scare children

•Dressing up as white creatures with long beaks called "Lucky" to scare children but also adult men

•Divining future by throwing a shoe against the door, looking inside a frozen river, cutting open an apple or making a nut shell boats just to see if anyone dies or gets married next year

•Burning witches...that's it

•When drinking a toast, never cross hands with anyone, and make eye contact

•Tapping a glass of beer on a table before you drink it

• And if youre driving a car and see a village sign decorated in colorfull roses and ribbons, you're not getting out of the village any time soon

[girl-lostconnection]

Snow is soft under his hooves, quiet creaking of it disturbing otherwise peaceful night when König shifts his weight from one leg to another.

It’s a good night. A proper night.

One that gets darker and darker with each hour, stars shining in the sky, not even moon strong enough to disperse the darkness.

He’s been waiting for some time now to get her back in his hands.

Again his, again with him.

Yeah, it’s a good night. One when he can hold her again.

König can see the glimmer of lights down in the valley, sounds of singing groups going from house to house — people are celebrating.

König knows it’s not his territory. These are not his mountains.

Even if they were — he is not working tonight. It’s her time.

Her holiday.

Melody pours in the air, clear as a tear, paper mache stars turning and turning, being carried from house to house by laughing groups of teens and children.

This night is magic.

Malanka comes just after Christmas, bringing carols and rituals, bringing signs and omens.

Giggly and girlish, she’s every girl that asks to see her future spouse in a dream, she’s every mother feeding her family, she’s every child caroling.

Malanka is so much younger than he is but somehow so much stronger. Buzzing with excitement and full to the brim with wonder, she is pure magic.

Or maybe he’s just not used to being away from his Alps.

König hums the melody of recurring carol, tree branches moving with wind above him.

Rare person might see the way his horns touch the branches. Most would just look away, blame what they saw on the play of shadows and their own imagination.

They don’t know him here. They don’t believe in him here.

He’s tall and burly, wrapped in a coat made out of goat’s hide, wooden mask of a horrific grimace on his face, horns curling.

Anywhere else he’d stood out like a sore thumb. But here?

Here are dozens dressed just like him.

König shifts his weight, rolling his shoulders and crouches down, watching passer-biers.

Even crouching he’d be taller than these teens that fool out in the snow without a care in the world.

König is big.

Big omen. Big god. Big warning.

König huffs out air, vapour escaping his nose — white hot and ephemeral — child on the other side of the road gasping at the sight of him.

Yeah, children see him better than everyone else.

He comes for them after all. He is their god.

The kid is young, wrapped up in thick winter coat, bear’s mask tugs to the side of her face, scarf red and obviously made by someone who loves her — König can sense care in every hook of it.

She grins at him before scurrying off. It’s too cold outside for someone this small. Too dark.

König breathes in and out, tasting air — magic sweet on his tongue, coating it like sugary treat.

Not a naughty child.

She behaved well this year. Good.

König stands back up, stretching in his full height — throws a coin up in the air and watches it disappear with thin ding.

Maybe the kid will find it in her tiny boot in the morning. Maybe.

After all these are not his mountains and not his people. Who knows if it will work.

Night stretches out, dances around him like a velvet ribbon, crystal charms-snowflakes of it dingling in the air.

He knows it’s not his mountains.

He also knows that Malanka is willing to share.

You on the other hand know that until 6th of January he’s in full power.

It may be not his place, but it is his time.

Melody of the carol weaves itself through the air — clear and beautiful, voices getting louder.

König can practically taste it in the wind, can feel it coating him along with snow, soaking him in cheer.

He doesn’t know the words but he knows the meaning. It’s always the same no matter how many decades pass.

It’s always hope for the better.

Night is young, darkness pooling around him, his coat heavy with goat’s hides, and it’s almost peaceful. Almost good enough for him to fall asleep.

Voices boom louder, snapping him out of trance, making him shake snow off his coat, turning his head around.

But there are no one outside.

The streets are empty.

Carol gets louder and louder looming seemingly out of everywhere, melody filled with power and joy, until it goes down to just one voice.

Languages mix, words ever changing, magic thickening.

For a moment he can almost understand it.

For a moment he’s part of it.

But it slips through his fingers and out of his mind, leaving him grasping for more, foreign magic imprinting on the tips of his claws.

Steps right behind him making snow creak.

König doesn’t turn around staying just where he is. There is no one else who’d be able to come this close.

König will let her have her fun.

There’s dingling of the bells, carol circling around him, cheerful giggling getting closer.

She’s never in a rush, drunk on cherry liquor and her people’s love.

A well-fed god is a powerful god.

Her ribbons wrap around his arms and throat, get tangled in his furs, pull him back deeper in the woods. Lead him.

He lets her.

It’s her night after all.

“Вийди-вийди господарю,

Подивися на кошару”

The voice fills his ears, snow falling and falling, his coat more white than the usual dark — dusted with silver, frost painting incredible patterns over him.

“В тебе товар весь хороший

Будеш мати мірку грошей”, is now even closer, breath of winter sending shivers down his spine, everything in him thrilling — old magic feeding him.

She is feeding him.

“Хоч не гроші, то полова

В тебе жінка чорноброва“

Your hands wrap around his shoulders, bells at the tips of your goat horns swaying with the wind that’s picking up.

König doesn’t understand what it is you just breathed out, but whatever it was you seem awfully pleased.

Eyes shining and warm when you look at him, your ribbons soft on his skin.

You are different every time — tall and tiny, goat-headed and human, monstrous and impossibly beautiful.

You are winter and cheer, you are endings and hope.

You are the start of the start.

“Having fun, Schatz?”, König breathes out, head tilting so you can pull off his mask, runes on your face shining.

You are shining.

“Christmas is here, I’m bringing good cheer”, you muse practically in a sing-song, your eyes crinkling when he pulls you closer, perching on his forearm.

Your coat is big and warm, fur of it long and white, tickling his face a little. It was a beautiful goat before you started wearing it.

“Have you been good this year, meine Liebe?”, König is dusted with snow and heavy with furs, uncovered cheeks now pink from winter winds.

Instead of answering you kiss both of his cheeks, grin widening when he rumbles softy, tilting his head from side to side so you can do this again.

You are his favourite night.

You are his loveliest holiday.

“You look good”, praise slips off your tongue easily, vowels rolling with the remnants of your people’s language, carrying the memory of carols. Your carols.

“You feed me well”, he’s never this soft with anyone but you. Always with you.

König’s horns are heavy, that’s what he tells himself as he leans his head closer to yours, silently asking for another kiss.

Your lips press it to his forehead, smile warm against his skin.

It’s blissful for a fraction of a moment — perfect and sweet.

Then his whole body gets rocked with a shiver, warm foreign runes bleeding off your face onto him, wrapping around his horns.

A blessing.

“Merry Christmas, happy New Year and happy holidays”, you breath out — eyes shining and laughter bubbling.

Cheeky little thing. Filling him up, making him comfortable, making him stronger.

König presses his nose to your cheek for a moment, before he huffs air out — vapor hotter, his whole body uncurling, his horns (all three pairs) longer and hooves heavier — he’s taller now. Big enough to cover miles with a single step.

“Ready to go, Göttin?”

You grin, perched comfortably on his shoulder, bells on your horns singing in the air.

“Yeah, I’m done. We can go home”

König hums, turning around, shadows wrapping around his ankles, your ribbons tickling his cheeks.

It’s time to bring his pretty wife home. It’s time to celebrate properly.

“Then off we go, Schatz”

[magicpaint]

TWST Indie Perfume Recs

While browsing, I've noticed a lot of fragrances reminding me of TWST characters. All characters have five fragrances, while each dorm is given one general fragrance. 22 named students of NRC, Ramshackle, the staff, RSA, Book 7 characters, and event characters have been included.

Fragrance notes are taken from their respective websites.

Heartslabyul —

Alice (Crow & Pebble) — Bakewell tarts and black tea, white roses painted red, a distant whiff of black pepper and orange marmalade.

Riddle Rosehearts

High Tea (Possets) — A very true to tea blend. Infused with lemon, sugar, milk, and that indescribable scent of the best starched linens.

Rosewater Lemonade (Hexennacht) — Tart, sweet lemonade infused with fresh, heady rose petals.

Dormouse (Wild Hybrid) — Tea-soaked fur, caramel cakes with a thin smear of butter, toast crumbs and pink pepper

Last Breath (Deep Midnight) — A sweet goodbye as an organ pipes a haunting hymn. Main notes of red roses, lily of the valley, and white tea waft in as the lid closes…

Jabberwocky (Pierrot Perfumery) — An interesting blend of labdanum resin, charred oak, amber musk, and blood.

Ace Trappola

Cherry Fizzy (Death & Floral) — Classic dark cherry soda with small hints of cocoa beans and strong carbonation

The Red Hare (Stone & Wit) — Fresh ginger, fig preserves, cherry, almonds, suede

Black Cherry Bomb (Death & Floral) — Melted black cherry popsicle juice, ginger ale cream soda, salty and hot summer skin, honeydew, golden caramelized amber

Sucker Punch (Sugar & Spite) — Red, shiny lollies, lemon hard candies, and fluffy pink cotton candy

Knave of Hearts (BPAL) — Crushed roses and blackcurrant tarts.

Deuce Spade

0 The Fool (Wild Hybrid) — The dust of a road travelled, davana, tea rose, sunflower, honey myrtle, pink pepper, rhododendron leaf, angel's trumpet, orange and crystalline musk.

Misspent Youth (Death & Floral) — Iced cold root beer, the glowing hum of a 7-11 parking lot, peppered vanilla, blood orange & ginger candy, fuzzy grey amber

White Rabbit (Siren Song Elixirs) — White musk, Coconut, Narcissus flower, Lime verbena, Amber, Double Vanilla

Clowning Around (Luvmilk) — Fresh, buttered, caramel popcorn, salty peanuts, tufts of blue cotton candy, and taffy apples.

Storm Chaser (Fyrinnae) — Misty, salty onshore winds, wet sand and soil, storm surge, broken branches, and gasoline.

Trey Clover

Violet Pound Cake (CocoaPink) — Fresh baked pound cake squares sprinkled with wild candied violet petals then softly dusted with confectioners’ sugar.

Flourite (Hexennacht) — lavender, chamomile, lemon balm, spearmint, a faint wafting of violets.

Coco Violette (Deep Midnight) — Reminiscent of old fashioned violet candies and sweet childhood memories. Old fashioned violet, milk chocolate, and a hint of creamy vanilla.

Dead of Night (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of lavender, white pepper, dryer sheets, detergent, warm cotton, and vanilla musk.

Lab Partner (Nui Cobalt) — Unripe mandarin, chilly grey cashmere, green peppercorn, flushed skin, and toasted oats.

Cater Diamond

Raining Diamonds (Nui Cobalt) — A glistening air of wonder and enchantment. Chilled white grapefruit, ambrette seed, stellar musk, forget-me-not blossom, sheer vanilla, and honeyed almond.

Tell It to the Moon (Sugar & Spite) — Precious woods, cashmere vanilla, resin, spice, and a swirl of bright mandarin.

The Aquarius (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of pear, ginger, nutmeg, salty popcorn, tart lime, sugared citrus, sea salt, lotus, calendula, and cedarwood.

Festival Nights (Luvmilk) — Melon kakigori, dango drizzled with mizuame, wataame, and fireworks in the distance.

Everything Is More Beautiful Because We Are Doomed (Death & Floral) — Rich gourmet vanilla blended with benzoin and black woodsmoke

Savanaclaw —

Dantalion (Fantome) — Creamy chai tea, obscuring mists, sandalwood, a plaster mask, clarifying ginger, carnations, dandelions, & a melted beeswax candle.

Leona Kingscholar

Afterglow (Alkemia) — A softly glowing veil of golden musk, Madagascar vanilla beans, woodsmoked black amber, chai tea, spiced rum, and incense woods.

Lion (BPAL) — The dry, glorious warmth of the Savannah. A golden, spiced amber, proud, regal and ferocious.

Untamable (Imaginary Authors) — Leather Saddle, Tonka Resin, Saguaro Blossom, Texas Yellowstar, Cumin, Tumbleweed, Paso Fino

Badlands (Solstice Scents) — Dry woods, worn leather, dusty fossils, sandalwood, palo santo, hot resins, juniper wood, ponderosa pine cone, parched grasses and desert plants, oud, spices.

Villain Origin Story (Nui Cobalt) — Jaded by the world’s ills, a heart is ignited not by hope, but by fury. Sinister patchouli, spiced mulberry wine, smoldering musk, deep mahogany, and a sliver of peach skin.

Jack Howl

White Fir (Pineward) — orange, ginger, white fir, clove, anise, pine, musk, vetiver, oakmoss.

Turquoise (Hexennacht) — Wild blueberry, white amber, prickly pear, apricot, artemisia, green tea, honey sage, ghost flower, lemon verbena, lavender, lemon balm, cactus flower, dry grass.

Bitter Cold (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of freezing air, cedarwood, balsam fir, pine needles, and a delicate touch of mint.

Werewolf (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of patchouli, black spruce, juniper, amyris resin, rosemary, clove, and clary sage.

The Cactus Where Your Heart Once Was (Death & Floral) — Prickly pear cactus accord and orange flower absolute

Ruggie Bucchi

First Dandelion (Alkemia) — A bright meadow of sunny dandelion flowers, green dandelion leaves, and warm dirt.

Laundromat (Hexennacht) — Laundry soap, fabric softener, ozone, and coin-op washing machines.

Maplemallow Doughnut (Hexennacht) — Fresh doughnuts, topped with sticky maple frosting, and tooth-achingly sweet marshmallow fluff.

Laundry Day (Cirrus Parfum) — Clean white laundry musk, lavender, vanilla, earl grey tea, and New Caledonia sandalwood

Blood and Donuts (Deep Midnight) — Dark Egyptian amber and gaharu wood, well blended and served with creamy vanilla, cinnamon spice, rich chocolate, and a splash of turkish coffee. It's.... to die for.

Octavinelle —

Black Pearl (Wild Hybrid) — The scent of deep sea life and vanilla

Azul Ashengrotto

Voice of the Sea (Alkemia) — An olfactory musing from the underside of a wooden dock—salinaceous seabreezes, sun bleached driftwood, crushed seashells, a twist of Meyers lemon peel, barnacles, mineralistic sand, and seasoaked timbers.

Breakwater (Wylde Ivy) — Mist soaked and sun scorched basalt, bergamot, dried black tea leaves, and white sandalwood

Small Comforts (Stone & Wit) — Black tea, tamarind, clove, anise, cinnamon, white musks

Poison Pen (Death & Floral) — Black musk, mahogany wood, balsam accord, old paper, ink, red sandalwood, ylang, lapsang souchong, and a tiny touch of cinnamon bark

With the Fishes and the Dead (Death & Floral) — Black squid ink and mile long oceans. Black ambergris, black labdanum absolute, salty ocean water, and black pits of stretched out emptiness.

Jade Leech

Koschei the Deathless (Fantome) — Forest mushrooms, turmeric, myrrh, treemoss, dry bones, sea kelp, dark patchouli, creamy ylang.

Ghost Whale (Crow & Pebble) — Stormy sea air, clary sage, black pepper, jasmine green tea, ambergris, cedar and agarwood.

FROGS! (Death & Floral) — Grounding and warm woods, Virginia cedar, cold-pressed yuzu, overgrown moss, forest mushrooms, wet humid frog skin

Leviathan (Hexennacht) — ambergris accord, soil, ozone, marine accord, seaweed accord, mitti attar, geosmin, matsutake mushroom, algae.

The Lighthouse (Mythpunk Olfactive) — The cozy aftermath of a seaside storm - maritime pine, ozone, heather, bloodmoss, rocky wet sand, black tea, wet wool drying by the fire

Floyd Leech

Scenic Route (Hexennacht) — California sagebrush, narrow-leaf eucalyptus, purple sage, pink peppercorn, driftwood, ocean air, orange blossom, sandalwood, cypress, palo santo, patchouli.

Why Would You Make This!? (Stone & Wit) — Lime, bergamot, Sichuan pepper, paprika, apples, raisins, salt, watermelon

OYSTER! (Poesie) — Grey musk, ocean brine, bitter cucumber, a twist of lemon, elemi resin, and angelica

Siren (Wild Hybrid) — Salty ocean water, barnacle covered rocks, wet ship wood, beeswax, sailor's pipe tobacco and spiced rum and the tang of blood to be spilt.

1991 (Sunsphere Scents) — Saltwater, grapefruit, an old boardwalk

Scarabia —

Eternal Sunshine (Hexennacht) — Coconut water, pineapple, apricot, papaya, banana, sunscreen, pool water, sandalwood, seaweed accord, sea salt, driftwood, mysore accord, sun-warmed sand, pool toys, choya nakh.

Kalim Al-Asim

Eight Minutes of Light and Heat Left When the Sun Dies (Death & Floral) — Pulpy coconut water and sweet Thai tea, blended with soft orange blossoms and a scorching desert thunderstorm looming in the distance.

Tempest (Siren Song Elixirs) — Dragon fruit, Lychee, Dahlia, Black Vanilla, Creamy Vanilla

Awakening Desert (Alkemia) — Rainstorm across desert. Cracked earth drinks deeply, softening into moist clay. Desert springs refill and replenish. An elemental scent of awakening... dry warm earth, parched grasses, dried wood, and mineralistic clay drenched in rainwater.

Beautiful, But Annihilating (Sorce) — Fresh coconut, jasmine sambac, tonka bean, salty skin

Cardigan (Death & Floral) — Bergamot and spiced cardamom blended with Egyptian musk superior and sandalwood

Jamil Viper

Serpentine (Sorce) — Ripe figs, fig leaf, cardamom, caramelized honey, vanilla, Peru balsam, Cedar, Iso E Super

Moonstone (Hexennacht) — argent ambre, night-blooming jasmine, evening air accord, lunar musk.

Whisper Your Bitter Things (Poesie) — Pressed coffee beans, dried clove bud, cassia bark, jasmine and neroli blossoms, and roasted vanilla pods

The Snake (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of black narcissus, night blooming jasmine, honey, toffee, and black musk.

Violent Moon (Sugar & Spite) — Candied clove, incense, elemi, palo santo, raspberry leaf, sanguine musk, litchi, moss, sandalwood and patchouli.

Pomefiore —

Champagne Supernova (Black Hearted Tart) — Fizzy pink champagne is elevated with frozen mangoes and a sweet red berry accord. Freesia petals, baby powder, and cashmere musk add a flirty feel.

Vil Schoenheit

Smells Like Teen Slayer (Pierrot Perfumery) — A blend of stone fruits, sandalwood, amber, and white florals.

Thigh Highs (Luvmilk) — Juicy mango, creamy papaya blossom, a touch of resin coated vanilla, hints of jasmine and violet on a woody, earthy base.

Fluffy Pink Murder Robe (Fable & Canon) — Delicate blushed florals, Madagascar vanilla, soft fuzzy peach skin, and a spilled glass of champagne.

Proud Queen (CocoaPink) — She rules all that is strange and dangerous, poisonous and beautiful. Foxgloves, opium poppies, bitter nightshade, green roses of hellebore, oleander's apricot notes, and innocent orange blossom, with a breath of raspberries, white chocolate, marshmallow, and warm white musk.

Evil (BPAL) — Smouldering opium tar, tobacco absolute, green tea, black plum, kush, ambergris accord, ambrette seed, and costus root.

Epel Felmier

Bad Apple (Redwood Alchemy) — Apple, Leather, White Musk & Civet

Blue Jay Orchards (Birch & Besom) — Apple cider donuts, gently smoked honey, orchard soil, cedar, ripe gourds

Riverside Hayride (Solstice Scents) — Moist Dirt, White Carnations, Fallen Leaves, Bare Branches, Hay & a Hint of Pressed Apples

November (CocoaPink) — The unmistakable scent in the air the moment winter arrives. Pale snowflakes, bitter, cold air, dry vanilla, snow dusted trees, agar-wood, baked apple pie and smokey swirls of crackling tobacco.

Bite the Apple (Black Hearted Tart) — Honeycrisp red apples are plunged into a cauldron of creamy caramel and rolled in pieces of toffee and crushed walnut.

Rook Hunt

Crossbow of Vengeance (Fyrinnae) — Dried tobacco, freshly crushed black pepper, and the almost undetectable sweet scent of your poison-dipped bolts.

Balcony Tryst (Fyrinnae) — Tangerine blossoms! Sweet tangerines mixed with the heavier scent of their flowers, grounded by a bit of ginger lily, soft leather, and benzoin.

Ranger (BPAL) — Untamed wilderness: buckskin accord with Terebinth pine, Russian birch, black ironwood, elder bark, hay, armoise, juniper, patchouli, galangal root, Spanish moss, and cabreuva.

Hunter's Moon (Pulp Fragrance) — An Ode to Diana, lunar goddes of the Hunt: Moonflower, tonka bean, honeyed amber, sandalwood, tolu balsam, oud, and rich golden spice.

The Hunter's Kiss (Andromeda's Curse) — Key Notes: Leather, Dark Forest, Incense

Ignihyde —

Starship Mechanic (Fyrinnae) — Working among the generators and weapons control areas all day ensures the scents of titanium, steel tools, engine oil, and fuel stick to their skin and hair for hours. Even after a scented shower, mixing with the lingering fragrances of bergamot, woods, and patchouli, their line of work is fairly obvious when you get close. But you don't mind at all.

Idia Shroud

Please Rewind (Amorphous) — Highlights include VHS tape cases, hot popcorn, and the ozonic, static-like aroma of a hot VHS tape fresh from the VCR.

Artificer (BPAL) — Gleaming metal, gear oil, sparking wires, shattered glass, and a blue flicker of arcane power.

Shroud (Sugar & Spite) — Obsidian violet, geranium, coconut milk, amyris, saffron, cedar, and vetiver

In The Styx (Birch & Besom) — Cool mineral water, metallic silver, dry woods, aquatic atmospherics

The Black Gate (Pierrot Perfumery) — A truly evil blend of wormwood, labdanum, nag champa and blackened metal.

Ortho Shroud

Aerobraking (Fyrinnae) — The combination of warm machine oil, cold titanium, and the slightly stale scent of re-circulated oxygen.

Electric Feel (Death & Floral) — A blend of different electricity accords; hot wires, neon signs, tv static fuzz, the electricity that rumbles inside a thunderstorm.

Deus Ex Machina (Alkemia) — An olfactory portrait of industrial decay and the fallen gods of age of disruption, innovation, and technological revolution… fire hardened steel, rusted iron, motor oil, wet cement, burnt copper wires, and grey amber

Abduction (The Eyes Are Always There) — metallic and ozone top notes transition into a heart and base comprised of a subtle blending of rich spice, wood, organic and earthy components.

Eldritch (Red River Apothecary) — Inky black musk, cosmic horror, patent leather and a smattering of dark energy

Diasomnia —

Gargoyle (Nui Cobalt) — Rain-drenched lavender, cathedral incense, beeswax candles, and ancient stone.

Malleus Draconia

Green Eyes, Black Hair (The Strange South) — Oud, marshmallow, freesia, and vanilla.

Beastly (CocoaPink) — Ancient castle stones, the brooding airs of a dark forest, a threat of winter; a fougere fit for a prince, the musk and leather of a beast; a library filled with rare books; and a single red rose.

Insomnia (Sugar & Spite) — Oud, Black Pepper, beeswax, dragon's blood, light and dark patchouli, benzoin resin

Lost Temple (Nui Cobalt) — A nexus of mystery and hidden power. Damp moss, a humid tangle of mandevilla vines, freshly cut palo santo, rain-drenched stone, and the memory of sacred fires.

Thunder In Your Ear (The Strange South) — Dragon's blood, red musk, sleet, mandarin, and vanilla.

Silver

Aurora (Alkemia) — A luminescent skin-but-better aurora of soft cashmeran, orris root, cardamon infused coconut milk, white amber, white musk, white violet, white ginger, lotus flower, and a touch of honeyed cream.

Gentle Tormentor (CocoaPink) — You are that wild-eyed faery's child, beautiful and merciless. A bed of vanillas, tonka and white musk, laced with delicate lemon and bergamot.

Doe Eyed and Dreaming (Sugar & Spite) — Assam au lait, dry vanilla pods, burned brown sugar, oak wood, tonka, ambrette and the tiniest hint of firewood

Fey Touched (Nui Cobalt) — A glistening aura of elemental power to enhance all spellcraft. Sunflower petals, honeyed almond, yuzu, sacred benzoin, and prismatic mist from woodland stream dappled in sunlight.

Inside a Nightmare (Death & Floral) — The olfactory profile of a constantly changing nightmare. Freezing cold water, asphalt, sea salt, lavender & chamomile. very soft leather car interior. Which turn was wrong, and where did we end up?

Sebek Zigvolt

Magic Compass (Nui Cobalt) — An enchantment to navigate you through the fog and keep you on the right path. Shining brass, benzoin, angelica flower, quatre épices, sandalwood, golden patchouli, and a touch of ripe passion fruit.

Vert et Noir (DSH) — A bright, citric-green eau fraiche vetiver fragrance with vegetal notes and ozone to bring the unexpected.

Sorcerer (BPAL) — A golden, sparking surge of raw, wild magic: waves of amber, frankincense, red cacao, blood orange, and lavender touched by demonic incense and dragon’s blood.

Lightning (BPAL) — Lightning slashing the midnight skies over the endless reaches of the ocean. The electric tang of ozone, marine notes, and a drop of sharp rain.

16 The Tower (Wild Hybrid) — Lightning and stone

Lilia Vanrouge

Frickin' Bats (Hexennacht) — Vanilla ice cream, black licorice whips, candy corn, root beer, kettle corn.

90s Goth (Amorphous) — Aroma palette is a spooky, spicy, dark floral musk with hints of leather and spice. Highlights include clove cigarette smoke, jet black lipstick, worn leather, fog machine, and white violet musk.

Bats in the Belfry (Pierrot Perfumery) — A sweet, musty blend. Notes of vintage lace, dried flowers and dusty photos.

You'll Never Grow Old (CocoaPink) — A vintage amusement park on a summer night boardwalk where the coolest vampires hang out. The irresistible mingling of cotton candy, waffle cones, caramel popcorn, and candy apple is stalked by the tang of an oncoming storm, sea salt, freshly-dug dirt, and a primal, seductive musk.

Moondust Will Cover You (Sugar & Spite) — Lush green foliage, tiny, still-green wildflowers bathed in moonlight, and a sweet breeze that smells of love and sorrow.

Ramshackle —

Parlour (Fantome) — A darkly polished mahogany rapping table, spirit boards, sweet rosewood chests, burning incense, and a hint of vetiver.

Grim

Purr (Hexennacht) — kitten fur accord, yarn (wool absolute), milky kitten breath, tonka bean absolute, musk.

Le Chat Noir (Hexennacht) — chimney smoke, freshly fallen snow, and the cool, dry, musky scent of a cat just in from a long winter stroll.

Vampire Cat (Nui Cobalt) — Playfully alluring. Top notes of tart cherry and pomegranate, a warm heart of rooibos, torch ginger, and hibiscus, and a base of red cedarwood and dragon’s blood resin.

Making Biscuits (Deep Midnight) — The most ubiquitous of cat practices, biscuits are about sharing. Main notes of: bread, sugar, fire, pumpkin, cardamom

Kitten and the Falling Leaves (Alkemia) — An olfactory portrait of crisp dry leaves and warm musky kitten fur.

NRC Staff —

Dire Crowley

The Night-Raven (BPAL) — Indigo musk, wild plum, rose geranium, benzoin, night-blooming jasmine, and patchouli.

Prismatic Crow (Crow & Pebble) — Soft woods, dark forest fruits, dry pine needles, juniper branches and a wisp of smoke.

A Fine Gentleman (The Strange South) — Blackberry, licorice, wood shavings, bay rum, and clove.

Ravenous (Siren Song Elixirs) — Frost, Snow, Ozone, Birch, Cypress, Fir Needles, Oakmoss, Sandalwood, Black Salt, Black Pepper, Charcoal, Sweet Milk, Blue Musk, Vetiver, Nag Champa, Mahogany, Narcissus blooms

Villain (BPAL) — A classic Victorian men’s cologne: a lavender fougere, with hints of lilac, lime, and citrus musk.

Divus Crewel

Hand Me My Leather (Hexennacht) — premium leather/suede accord, vanilla, benzoin, tolu balsam, Peru balsam, olibanum, amber, black pepper, cedar, sandalwood, tonka, musk.

My Curse (Stone & Wit) — Red wine, hyssop, cashmere, suede, musk

The Devil's Bentley (Pierrot Perfumery) — Coal, brimstone, car exhaust, black musk and 1970's amber cologne.

Wardrobe (Solstice Scents) — Creamy woods blend with cashmere, fur, velvet and a touch of dry woody spice.

Hexes 4 My Exes (Birch & Besom) — Leather, Earl Grey tea, vintage powder, crushed violets, cauldron smoke

Mozus Trein

1891 (Alkemia) — A delightful anachronism of French lavender buds, mandarin peel, lime leaves, bergamot, bay leaves, coriander, clove, nutmeg, ginger flower, pink pepper, elegant white carnations, heirloom tree rose, opium tar accord, and woody amber resin nestled in an embrace of precious oriental incense woods.

Beloved (Stone & Wit) — Apricot brandy, sandalwood, cedar

Vintage (Hexennacht) — Golden amber, Medjool dates, vanilla, amber attar, citrus, resins, Mysore sandalwood, opoponax.

Lucifer (Hexennacht) — White sage, blue musk, cedar, blackberry, black tea, bergamot, apple.

The Blues Are All the Same (Death & Floral) — Smooth vanilla cognac, aged barrel wood, and sticky honey.

Ashton Vargas

The Heartbreaking Simplicity of Ordinary Things (Death & Floral) — Freshly opened tennis balls, cool crisp meteor shower nights, warm and sweet cardamom

Black Mass (Hexennacht) — essentially, "MOON-mallow ": smoked vanilla, frankincense, Peru balsam, labdanum, amber, vetiver, atlas cedarwood, patchouli, night musk, and scorched marshmallows.

Greymist (Pineward) — noble fir, scotch pine, expressed citron, blond tobacco, botanical musk, vetiver.

Lothario (Wild Hybrid) — Night blooming flowers with a touch of campfire smoke and leather.

The Wolf Only Needs Luck to Find You Once (Death & Floral) — Crisp forest night air, lunar musk, large drifting Oakwood trees, the musky scent of a trailing shadow.

Sam

Spellbound (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of cinnamon, bourbon, tonka bean, salted caramel, sandalwood, and vanilla.

Cafe (The Strange South) — Chicory coffee, hot beignets, and pralines.

Memento Mori (Siren Song Elixirs) — Lily, Tuberose, Forget-Me-Nots, Rain, Amber, Incense

Parlor Trick (Solstice Scents) — Ivory lace, white wax, aged paper, glossy white smoke, teak, black tea, blonde woods, delicate spice, bone musk, Manor and a faint trace of rose

Imp (Haus of Gloi) — Peculiar passion fruit mingling with sun cured apricots, perfectly pink grapefruit juice and innocent whispers of wet mimosa blooms.

Royal Sword Academy —

Ambrose the 63rd

The Mentor (Nui Cobalt) — A venerable wizard, mysterious but kind, with faded robes and shining eyes. Ancient sandalwood, well-worn linen, olive leaf, oakmoss, Earl Grey tea, and sacred temple incense. Wear for guidance in times of confusion, and for spiritual support in times of discouragement.

Wizard's Tome (Pierrot Perfumery) — An herby blend of sage, lavender, with notes of parchment and wet stone.

Wizard's Library (Birch & Besom) — Antique books, a smooth cup of hazelnut coffee, cedar desks, sandalwood, sweet tobacco

Nocturne #10 (Siren Song Elixirs) — Mahogany, Amber, Dried leaves, Vanillin, Fireplace Smoke, Coffee, Shea butter, Wood embers, Marshmallow

As Above So Below (Sugar & Spite) — Delicate, ephemeral lilacs, sweet swirls of cream, and mahogany wood

Chenya

Cereal Marshmallows (Hexennacht) — Cronchy, sugary, delicious. Also terrible for you, but OH WELL.

Pouty Kitten (Luvmilk) — Old fashioned cream soda, piles of sugared strawberries, a bowl of whipped cream, freshly cut grass on a warm summer day.

Cheshire Cat (BPAL) — Grapefruit, red currant, dark musk, Roman chamomile, delphinium, and lavender.

Lavender Sugar Cookie (Fable & Canon) — Soft, sweet lavender and rich vanilla folded into buttery sugar cookies.

Lofty Castle (Luvmilk) — Candied lavender, fresh honey, puffs of cotton candy, and raw sugar.

Neige Leblanche

Sit For a Spell (Sorce) — Salted cantaloupe, a light drizzle of wild rosemary honey, fresh spring air, ambrette seed, and winding honeysuckle vines

Lost in the Wood (Crow & Pebble) — A thicket of mossy silver birch, bluebell flowers and violet leaves crushed underfoot, with apple blossoms and elderflower blooming overhead.

Meadowmoss (Pineward) — Oakmoss, alpine sandwort, wild grass, green wheat, orange blossom, fir balsam, tomato leaf, azure bluet, mountain wildflowers.

Angelic (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of sparkling yuzu soda, white tea leaves, mint, apple blossom, white sage, cedarwood, and angelic musk.

Good (BPAL) — Shimmering celestial musk with vanilla, white honey, acacia, and sugar cane.

Book 7 Characters —

Baul Zigvolt

The Faerie Knight (Wild Hybrid) — Tuberose, aged leather, helichrysum, cassie absolute, apricot, ethereal musk and tangled greenery.

Chevalier Vert (Olympic Orchids) — Citrus, rhubarb, tomato leaf, armoise, violet leaf, violet, orris, and peony, Sichuan pepper, and soft woods.

Luna (Laurel & June) — Crystal white amber, night blooming jasmine and lotus flowers; heather, fig blossoms, cool night rain

Stratus (Osmofolia) — Broken stems, ambergris, bitter galbanum, silvery osmanthus, wet stones, damp soil, glimpses of cherry blossom buds, and never-ending fog.

After the Night's Shade (Mythpunk Olfactive) — Earl grey (bergamot, black tea), 'blue' Spanish lavender, golden amber, osmanthus, rosewood, sandalwood, tonka bean, vetiver (Bourbon), aged patchouli, opoponax 216, pure oakmoss, and pine tree moss

Dawn Knight

Forest Prince (Luvmilk) — A woodsy clean scented blend of cedarwood, moss, hyacinth, sandalwood, and subtle musk.

Paladin (BPAL) — Immaculate white musk, sweet frankincense, bourbon vanilla, white leather, and shining armor.

Iron & Oak (Redwood Alchemy) — Oakmoss, Cashmere Wood, Iron, Lily of the Valley, Spice

Lost Epitaph (Mythpunk Olfactive) — Briar rose, narcissus, creeping ivy, crumbling headstones, cemetery rain

Apparition (Hexennacht) — Spectral amber, alabaster vanilla, bone-white woods.

Maleanor Draconia

Dragon Princess (Crow & Pebble) — Ocean waves, gifts of pink peony, waterlily blooms and ripe tangerines, underpinned by deep red amber and dragonsblood incense.

What's Inside a Girl (Sugar & Spite) — Smoldering embers, honey, clove, and wildflowers

Draconic Resilience (Nui Cobalt) — A stalwart spell for strength and reinforcement. Glowing embers of cedarwood, oudh, and mahogany, supple leather, copaiba balsam, vermillion musk, and heat.

Love is Lost (Sugar & Spite) — Dark plum, black vanilla, nag champa, indian sandalwood, cashmere, red patchouli, and smoky embers

She Was the Storm (Death & Floral) — Black hemlock, driftwood, hay absolute, dreamy sandalwood, spiced oudh, dried fruits, dead leaves

Event Characters —

Dylla Spade

Tulips and Chimneys (Alkemia) — An urban springtime of rainy aldehydes, wet asphalt, industrial steam engines, farmer's market bouquets of fresh tulips, Toulouse violets, mint pastels, and a warm touch of clove viburnum.

Odette (Haus of Gloi) — Clean sun dried linens, tuberose, ginger lily and white musk.

Meadow Nymph (Morari) — Wildflower Accord, Green Apple, Dew-Laden Grass, Lemon Peel

Night of Folly (The Strange South) — Exhaust, floral musk, and a Zulu coconut.

Street Racer (Cirrus Parfum) — Cherry bubblegum, leather car interior, newly laid rubber, hot tarmac, a tinge of anxiety

Eliza (The Ghost Bride)

Dance With Me (Possets) — Refreshing and refined at once. A superb coumarin-laced lavender combines with fizzy pink grapefruit, and it all rests on a bed of white musk.

Scenes From a Marriage (The Strange South) — A single violet rose, apple, champa flower, ylang-ylang, chipped paint, and dusty old picture frames.

Midnight Wedding (Sorce) — Bergamot, oud, patchouli, sandalwood, tonka bean, Ambroxan

Dead & Lovely (Pierrot Perfumery) — A flowery blend of jasmine, wisteria, lilies, corpse flower, and casket silk.

Forever As Now (Sugar & Spite) — Lavender, Tonka, French vanilla, sandalwood, Egyptian musk

Eric Venue

Private Eye (Solstice Scents) — Natural Blend of Cocoa, Myrrh, Pink Pepper, Black Pepper, Tonka, Buddha Wood, Tobacco, Coffee, Guiacwood & More

Invocation (Sugar & Spite) — Spiced brandy, toasted praline, pistachio and walnut, oak, mahogany, palm Santo and patchouli

World Famous For 15 Minutes (Death & Floral) — Sweet tobacco and vanilla, blended with a hint of violet and gin

Black Iris (Alkemia) — Royal purple iris and Queen Elizabeth orris root pillowed in a soft nimbostratus raincloud.

Sassy (Hexennacht) — glossy magazine pages infused with a wafting fusion of 90's scent strip samples. IYKYK.

Fellow Honest

Carnival of Illustrious Hearts (Alkemia) — A glitteringly gourmet gala of French sugarcreams, candied orange blossoms, raspberry cotton candy, rosewater torte filling, and Bourbon vanilla amber.

Mischief Master (Crow & Pebble) — A heart of carnation, orange blossom and rock rose atop a base of oakmoss and musk, topped with a burst of fresh, sweet orange and aromatic saffron.

Shadow Touched (Nui Cobalt) — A dusky philtre for stealth and sleight of hand. Black vanilla, unsweetened chai, antique myrrh, Omani musk, rich pipe tobacco, agarwood, and unrefined cashmere.

Lament of the Midway (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of spilled cherry slush, bubblegum, black licorice, hay, dead grass, motor oil, cement and corn husks.

Widowmaker (Siren Song Elixirs) — Mirabelle plums, dark ripe fruit, black vanilla, gunpowder, black suede, hint of cotton candy

Gidel

Bubble Pop (Death & Floral) — Bright pink bubble gum, spiced apricots, lemon rind and bitter orange peel, red berries + bergamot.

Star Circus (Luvmilk) — Rich, creamy vanilla and blueberry.

Night Carnival (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of funnel cakes, whipped cream, and a dusting of sugar sprinkles.

A Whiff of Wafflecone (Imaginary Authors) — Fragrance Notes: Vanilla, Salted Caramel, Saigon Cinnamon, Heavy Cream, Sandalwood, Orgeat, Scoop Shop

Boardwalk Sideshow (Birch & Besom) — Salty sea air, bright orchids, mint limeade, white musk, jasmine

Kifaji

Archipelago (Haus of Gloi) — Golden fruits from across the seas. Toasted coconut, kola nuts, tamarind and jackfruit - all warmed with a light dusting of brown sugar.

Helios (Osmofolia) — Honey, heliotrope, chamomile, lemon, mango, and white amber.

Alibi (Cirrus Parfum) — passionfruit, orange blossom, guava, strawberry yuzu lemonade, and a dash of coconut cream over a rosewood base.

Sun Gold (Laurel & June) — White amber, banana milk and honey

Sent From Heaven (Laurel & June) — Hibiscus blooms, rice flower, shea, faint bit of smoke, white amber

Marja Felmier

Villa Diodati (Poesie) — Pungent wild rosemary, fresh balsam pine, crystal clear lakewater, dry, and dark vanilla

Snowshoe Hare (Nui Cobalt) — Nutmeg and tonka bean nuzzle up against fluffy marshmallow, cottonflower, white suede, clove bud, cashmere, and a trace of carrot seed.

Winter's Lament (Deep Midnight) — Crackling Firewood, Cassis, Apple, Spruce, Balsam, Citrus, Dark Tea, Pinecones, and Sugar Crystals

Grandma's Best Friend (Deep Midnight) — Iris, Sandalwood, Heliotrope, Musk, Apple, Citron, Jasmine, Cedar

Orchard Brew (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of candied apples, mulling spices, caramel apple cider, and dark amber.

Najma Viper

Cipher (Stone & Wit) — Lime, jasmine, spices, oud (black agar) accord, raspberry

Good Omen (Sugar & Spite) — Jasmine, pineapple, green apple, tart grapefruit, musk and sandalwood

Titania (Poesie) — Blonde woods, sparkling bergamot, orange creamsicle, magnolia, and stargazer lily

Pink Lipstick (Lovesick Witchery) — Notes of orange cream pops, sugar, vanilla bean, heliotrope, oats, pink velvet, whipped tonka, gilded amber, and fluffy pink musk.

Sitting On the Edge of a Cloud (Sorce) — Mandarin orange, pink grapefruit, cotton candy, coconut water, amyris wood, sandalwood, palo santo, ambrette, tonka bean

Rollo Flamme

C'est Noel (Sorce) — Coffee, freshly baked cinnamon bread, roasted chestnuts, blown out candles, lingering church incense, and softly falling snow

En Repos (Sugar & Spite) — A mélange of melancholy, indeed. Beeswax candles, church incense, pale musk, amber resin and funeral flowers.

A Midnight Dreary (Wylde Ivy) — Notes of scattered coffee grounds, cedar smoke, rum, well aged leather, black vanilla, singed tonka, dripping wax, with a touch of spiced amber and fireplace embers.

Cathedral (BPAL) — Venerable and solemn: the scent of incense smoke wafting through an ancient church. A true ecclesiatical blend of pure resins.

Dance of Death (BPAL) — Dry, bone-white orris, black musk, serpentine patchouli and our murkiest myrrh.

Skully J. Graves

Not Dead, But Arisen (Fantome) — Freshly turned grave soil and spring greenery lie beneath uplifting orange and crisp yuzu.

Cemetery Tour (The Strange South) — Osmanthus, crumbling stone, brick dust, moss, and graveyard dirt.

Lacrimosa (Sugar & Spite) — Blonde woods, heliotrope, a bouquet of dried, dusty flowers tied with tattered velvet ribbon, bone-white birch, guaiac wood, tears, and a pinch of graveyard dirt

Cemetery Soirée (Nui Cobalt) — A celebration of life in the presence of Death. Mossy stone walls, lanterns aglow, steam from a cauldron of hot spiced cider, funeral flowers catching rain from crimson leaves above.

Merry Halloween (CocoaPink) — The Pumpkin King comes to Christmas Town! A festive clash of holidays. Sweet pumpkin, salted caramel apples, candy corn, and night woodsmoke meets snowy mounds of vanilla ice-cream; wild pinyon pine, black spruce needles, cranberries and candied orange peel.

Website Links —

Alkemia

Amorphous

Andromeda's Curse

Birch & Besom

Black Hearted Tart

BPAL

Cirrus Parfum

CocoaPink

Crow & Pebble

Death & Floral

Deconstructing Eden

Deep Midnight

DSH

Fable & Canon

Fantome

Fyrinnae

Haus of Gloi

Hexennacht

Imaginary Authors

Laurel & June

Lovesick Witchery

Luvmilk

Morari

Mythpunk Olfactive

Nui Cobalt

Olympic Orchids

Osmofolia

Pierrot Perfumery

Pineward

Poesie

Possets

Pulp Fragrance

Red River Apothecary

Redwood Alchemy

Siren Song Elixirs

Solstice Scents

Sorce

Stone & Wit

Sugar & Spite

Sunsphere Scents

The Eyes Are Always There

The Strange South

Wild Hybrid

Wylde Ivy

[satoruhour]

STILL (ALWAYS) HERE

a/n: part two to this but not really? enjoy!

wc: 2.4k

warnings: spider-man!gojo, a little ooc gojo, mentions of blood and bruises, cleaning up wounds, some angst -> comfort, play on that one scene from tasm 2

you’re thinking that you’ve hit another dead end when you groan into your sheets from the headache that wraps around your head. it’s mild and dull but there’s still that throb at the back of your consciousness that you can’t exactly take your mind off of. at least, that was what you were telling yourself — normal headaches caused by the stress of university, and definitely not because of a trivial fight with your boyfriend.

the daunting calculus question stares back at you like it was mocking you, teasing you for getting heated over such a small thing when you knew he was only looking out for you with the best intentions in mind.

with a longing look to your abandoned convo with spider-man!gojo, you sink again into your pillow, lights suddenly looking too bright and the music in your ears, jarring. you haven’t seen him in school today, thinking him to be dramatic as always. but he didn’t need lectures and seminars at this point, either, knowing him to be one of the smartest people you know.

in the midst of quelling your headache and thinking of how to apologise, you don’t notice the way your vigilante boyfriend weaves his web around the trees just outside your window, crafting a sweet message of i miss you along the branches and leaves.

a tangle of webs, stuck like honeycomb to some abandoned shed, a tangle of webbing like his hip to yours. tangles of countless webs like his lips along your forehead when you fall asleep too early during study sessions and finally, his heart beating in time with yours.

one fell swoop of a rock from above makes you head tilt in utter confusion; in no world could a rock fall against your window in an arc like that come from anyone of this world, this dimension, yet you know no other person with wall-sticking and web-shooting abilities and it’s then when the complicated entanglement of letters come into view.

your heart clenches up just a little at the sight, a clear indication that it’s satoru from the similarity of his handwriting that’s on his own pre-calc homework. before you can call out, he shifts diagonally outside your window, mask removed and chest heaving at the anticipation of your reaction — both to the tension of your fight before and possibly another thing.

the darkness of the night hardly provides clarity, though, so when you don’t walk away, gojo feels the pull of your eyes on him, drawing him in and trapping him within your own web like prey. crawling along the side of your house, he gives you one more small pleading look: roughed up hair looking a little dirty and his body just aching so much.

“baby . .” he mumbles, blue eyes softening at the sight of you after not seeing you for just one day. it does things to him, “may i?”

but you’re not truly prepared for until your ceiling light exposes the reality of gojo’s situation, what with his cut-filled face and rips all over his suit. it’s dirty, like he was dragged around and made a fool of fighting god knows who, and he’s — oh my god — is all you mouth out, he’s bleeding from a fairly large wound in his side which he has held pressure with his mask.

“’toru!” you panic and quieten down, “oh— oh my god, fuck, fuck fuck, what do i do? satoru— you’re b-bleeding—” and you regret every single word you yelled at him just the day before, now rewarded (or cursed, rather) with his pristine white suit stained a deep, traumatising red. you’re shaking, rightfully so, and gojo is more calm than you, using his free and clean hand to rub circles into your sides.

“breathe, you gotta breathe, princess.”

“n-no— you breathe! you’re l-losing blood!’’ your throat closes in, your head fills with thoughts of his coffin being lowered. you start to sob, “satoru—”

“hey, hey, hey,” it’s both gentle and strong enough to catch your attention, brushing the stray strands from your face and you already lean into the long-awaited touch. his thumb wipes away the tears that already start falling, “’m still here, ’m still here. i’ve tried my best to cover the wound with extra shirts of mine, just stuffed into my suit.”

sniffling, you speak through hiccups, “why the hell do you have extra shirts in your fighting-villains backpack? w-why do you even bring a fighting-villains backpack?”

through the absurdity of it all: fucking spider-man bleeding out on your wooden floor, your tears mixing in with blood, the branches outside starting to snap and fall from the added tension of the webs, satoru laughs softly, fully cupping your face now and trying his best not to grimace at the increasing ache in his side. 

“and you always laugh at the weirdest fucking times!” you chastise, still speaking through periodic hiccups and sniffles that you keep stuttering, not even able to smack him like you like to do because you know he hurts, “now wait here, you loser.”

a soft thank you is heard, able to breathe a little harsher now that you’ve gone to find the first aid, anxiety obvious in the pattering footsteps heard. without wasting any time, you grab the kit and let him peel off the suit in the bathroom, not even that much focused on his toned body but the amount of bruises and cuts that litter it.

a new wave of panic settles in your bones, a whimper sounding out when your feather-like touches span over his body.

“satoru . .”

“i’m so—”

“no,” you mumble, getting to work fast by taking out the gauze, bandages, whatever you could use. thank the heavens you at least knew some first aid, wincing whenever he hisses at the stinging alcohol. “let’s not talk about our fight now.”

he swallows, knuckles white from how tight he was gripping the sink, “f-first time you’re not asking me to apologise, heh—”

from behind, he can see you lift your eyes from the careful care you execute on his side, meeting your eyes in the mirror that gloss over again with tears and his heart sinks again.

“p— please don’t make jokes when i’m literally stitching you up, satoru,” you whisper, forehead bumping into his bicep, soft but quick breaths fanning over the skin there, “i don’t wanna talk, not while i almost lost you.”

“but it’s hardly any—”

“gojo satoru!” the shout of his full name shocks both of you, not even sure whether you were feeling angry at the fact that he always downplays his injuries, or sad at the fact that he can’t see that he deserves to be taken care of, too. it was always a guessing game with satoru.

“it’s not just anything, g-god! can you have some regard for yourself?” you don’t care that your words echo off the bathroom walls, its acoustics probably making your wails even more heartbreaking for your boyfriend. “look at yourself and tell me that it’s hardly anything! tell me, say it to my face!”

your nose is red, tear stains already making their home on your pretty face while your fingers squeeze the gauze instinctively, and he tells himself it’s all because of him. it’s all because he didn’t want to be a couple in public in fear that his enemies would target you, because he was afraid they’d use you as leverage, as a decoy, as a trade deal. but that has only made the yearning for you more difficult — pinkies barely brushing against each other, an inside joke swallowed into his throat.

satoru is silent, not sure what he could say that wouldn’t hurt you any further and he turns to lean against the sink counter, bloodied hands staining the marble and suit. and if he looked hard enough, he’s sure he can see the ache of your palpitating heart, bleeding down your chest and pooling at the floor from all the pain he’s caused you.

you dance across the bathroom floor, tiles both cold and warm under your feet as you make your move without any sound, afraid, afraid, like he would get pulled away the moment you touch him.

but he doesn’t go anywhere — just jerking a little at the sudden contact.

“satoru . .” hoarse, tired, it’s what he made your voice sound like just yesterday from shouting, and now, today, “i . .”

you cry quietly but never stop your ever loving hands, holding his face to look up from the shame, and you see how dull his cerulean ones look now, softened but dim, gentle but lacking vivacity. you think maybe it’s the tears hindering it. bit by bit, gojo’s tears fall and he apologises.

satoru apologises over and over, i’m sorry’s muttered into your hair, into your forehead, into your lips and both your hands are shaking like on a first date.

“i just can’t bear to lose you,” you mumble shakily, trembling fingers tracing the lines of his features, “and i hope you know how much you mean to me, and— and how much it hurts to see you so nonchalant about being beaten up like this . .”

you stifle a sob when he kisses your fingers as they travel over his lips, having crossed oceans over his eyes and mountains through his nose. his lips, his lips look just like the sanctuary of everything soft and good and righteous, that sliver of perfect time like on juliet’s balcony.

“i’m sorry, i am so sorry, darling. i—” gojo sighs, pain now turning numb but still trying his best not to move an inch, “i guess i just become so used to taking care of aunt may that, i . . am not used to being taken care of.”

you nod in understanding, “i’m sorry too, for lashing out, for dismissing your efforts to make me feel safe. you were only looking out for me.”

gojo’s eyes avert from yours again, looking down at the one thing that signified his place in society — never that much seen, not much recognised, but still revered as the city’s hero. it represents anything from something as simple as getting back an old lady’s handbag to fighting off a scientist-turned-reptilian. but it also represents the why.

why he fights so hard. a star student like gojo definitely wouldn’t pass off the praises when he saves a falling civilian, but it was much deeper than that when it came to it, wanting the city he grew up in to be safe and to seeing the grateful, relieved expressions of passers-by.

it was for you, when the last face he sees before he closes his eyes for the night is your pretty one and he’d be damned if that changed any time soon.

that night where satoru is all patched up and lying like a statue because he’s afraid he’d tear your nicely done stitches (you assured him it was mediocre at best), his hand finds your hand naturally again, playing with the strands aimlessly.

all thoughts of the news articles showing his cheeky spider mask expression, to the funky poses he pulls (from a camera so high up it would really only be one person who plants it there), phases out the cool, suave spider-man persona and centres the stupid, goofy, annoying gojo satoru.

and you smile softly to yourself knowing you’d be the only one to see gojo satoru like this. 

“i should’ve told you why; it wasn’t fair of me to just stop acting like we’re head over heels— hey, why are you smiling?”

“no reason.” and your smile brightens.

“that’s not no reason,” he matches your grin, pulling on your cheek playfully before his hand goes to your nape like clockwork and tugs gently. like you were just a normal couple after a long day, without any indication of a gash along his side, but gojo satoru was far from normal in the grand scheme of things, “there’s always a reason.”

“is that the motto that the great spider-man lives by?” you inch closer to him, smiling from above in the dimness of the room so much so that it makes you look like royalty and him a mere commoner.

“uh . . no, pretty sure it’s ‘with great power comes great responsibility’,” gojo jests with sarcasm laced in his voice, roping you in and you, letting yourself get caught always as you lower yourself on his chest, but not before your lips meet his in a soft, quiet dance with you both being the only ones in the ballroom.

the rush of love that fills you overflows in the way your mouth moves against his, not wanting this sweet, sweet dream to end. especially if you come out empty-handed at the end of it all with spider-man’s, gojo’s blood on your hands, so you keep your eyes shut tight with a promise to yourself to welcome him with welcome arms the second, third, fourth, nth that he climbs through your window, bloodied and tired.

“i’m still here,” satoru whispers against your lips when he feels just how tense you are, easing out the lines of your face and holds you in that moment, held frozen in time like a scene in a snow globe, “i will be here for as long as we are alive,” he takes your hand and puts it up to his heart to remind you of its status, of how it speeds up a tad bit when you stroke his chest, “and i am alive whenever you are near.”

the quiet moment is shared with another soft kiss, features now relaxed when you smile against his lips and inspire the next few moments of endless laughter and jokes, falling into the same breath when sleep catches up.

in the bathroom lies his white-turned-red suit, left abandoned for the normalcy you both chase in your bedroom for at least a few hours until spider-man has to go back to being spider-man and you have calc questions to finish up on. but until then, with the alarm you set at 6am in secrecy before his classes, you’d wake up just to soak and hand wash the red out, returning the blue and white suit back to its glory.

when satoru wakes up the next morning, he finally knows why your warmth in bed was missing for a brief moment of time when he sees the clean folded up suit with his mask on top. you don’t miss with a sandwich either, and a cheeky note — all the best for your most dreaded class!!! if u can fight and come out alive i believe u can survive prof. masamichi lol.

and he laughs softly, sparing a glance to your sound, peaceful self and he finds a renewed sense of the reason why he decided to become spider-man.

spider-man— satoru seals his love with a kiss to your forehead and a messy mumble of i love you, long overdue from the night before.

“thank you for loving me.”