#Those Who Sink Into Black Abyss

[littleouroboros]

Sketch dump

#ok here we go #knart #oc #Those Who Sink Into Black Abyss #Moira #Roland Bane #Death #and one thats yet to be named #The Horsemen #Alaric

[milksuu]

❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ ─── ☾⏺☽

pairing: yandere!aphelios x solari!priestess!reader (LoL)

warning: non/con, fem!reader, possessive/obsessive behavior, mentions of blood/violence, religious/fanatical behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, minor drug use, implied kidnapping, implied forced relationship, semi-public sex, unbalanced power dynamic, runeterra au

notes: sorry besties, he's a 10 but he's bat shit insane. (so an 11) also any mention of 'her' is the moon goddess, not alune. (we're leaving that sweet summer child out of this.) and for those who aren't aware, phel can speak when not under the influence of noctum, but unable to communicate with alune, which is uh...great in this case. (also not me wanting to write a second part like how why help?)

You never thought you’d stare into the pale visage of the Lunari man the village whispered about.

The one with a vacant face but deadly occupation. Your naïve belief in your own safe keeping was nothing more than an illusion. The sun always faded below the misted cliffs, only for the moon to take its place above the mountain’s highest peak. An endless cycle of hierarchical dominance that rinsed itself in blood and repeated in constant turmoil. Tonight would be no different.

“Don’t come any closer.”

A failed attempt to embolden your voice beyond a meek plea. You stiffened at the thunderous closing of the temple door. A clambering echo vibrated through the marble floor and pillars, past the rows of worship, up to where you stood at the crest of the ceremonial altar. The remaining resonance rattled and sang up your spine, shaking the candle light pinched between your fingertips. 

The figure sauntered forward, stepping into the drapes of moonshine filtering from the glass atrium above. Before you stood a deadly beauty; a handsome face rapt with enticing secrets. With a painted crescent that mocked your own solar marking of gold. His lips were a perfect horizontal line, and it was difficult to imagine the ability they possessed beyond lethal silence. His hallowed expression screamed danger—but there was no running away—not when the black abyss of his eyes invited you to stay.

 Not as a guest, but as his permanent resident.

“I’m warning you. Take one more step, and I’ll scream. The guards will come and they won’t hesitate to kill you—”

Your voice went taut inside your throat. Your breath sewn shut against your lungs. The weapon he carried listless at his side drenched itself in various hues of red. Fresh enough to steam in wisps around the sharpest point of the blade.

He stalked forward. The clack of his predetermined steps quickening the pace of your heart. When he stood at arms length, you felt the coldest touch of night. The veins layered beneath your skin pounded, flooding every inch of you with mortal dread. It was sickening to think the flush of your flesh would only make the spill of it all the better. The ‘Weapon of The Faithful’—titled by his own blasphemous people—spoke true. His name…you wished you could cleanse it from existence.

“Aphelios.” You damned the name like a plague upon all of Mount Targon. “Murderer. Blight. Heretic!” 

You jabbed and swung your candlelight in a pitiful attempt to create distance. His free hand quipped against it, sending it clambering to the ground, banishing the flame to the surrounding night. Creating a hazier veil of darkness where there was only one true light—his moon.

Out of sheer disdain, you attempted to slap his face in recoil. His unarmed hand caught you by the wrist, remaining still as you struggled to free yourself from his trained grasp. With force, he pried your hand open, palm exposed. He brought the skin of it to his stiff lips. Unmoving, he lingered there. His lashes fluttered closed; taking a moment of peace, a moment of prayer. 

A moment for sanctum. 

His eyes then winged opened, boring into you, through you. Body, bone and soul. And all you could do was tremble within them. Sinking without escape into those black depths of…nothing. 

In one swift motion, he brought the blade upwards, slicing through the thin linen of your garments. In a precise vertical line, your gown split into two equal halves. The insignificant barrier between you and him slipped to the ground, splaying like rags at your feet. Your head pounded for you to scream, but your own voice felt lost to you. Knowing it was all meaningless. 

No one would hear you. 

No one would save you.

Weakened by the surmounting despair of it all, if he hadn’t already had a hold on you, your legs would have given to the earth.

“No—“ you choked out, eyes brimming with tears. It must’ve looked pathetic; the way you placed your only free arm across your exposed breasts. As if any decorum of modesty would spare you. “Please—just kill me. Do nothing else but that. I beg of you.”

Your final sob for mercy reached ears that may as well have been carved of stone. He stalked closer, forcing your lower back to meet the mantled altar behind you. He’d sheathed his weapon, and took both of your hands within one tight grasp, in case you had half a mind to oppose him. You dipped your chin, heaving through a prayer with mournful hics and sniffled utterances. His advancing weight forced your trembling legs to part, and slotting himself between, created a space where your faith could never exist. 

You didn’t want to look at him, or rather, you couldn’t. Tears scorched your vision and seared down the round of your cheeks. You flinched when he took your chin, raising your blurry gaze to meet his. In those darkest of pools, something gave. An insignificant speck of light gleaming into a faint existence. His lips moved, but there was no sound. Instead, you traced the words from the bow of his mouth.

‘Forgive me.’

Your heart clenched. Diluted blood spiked with fear drowned your consciousness. It left no room for thoughts to linger; whether or not you imagined even an ounce of sympathy reflected in those sedated eyes. Whether or not you imagined he said anything at all. 

The entire world scattered away when he brought your face closer, and kissed away the tears staining the corners of your eyes. You fought to pull away, but he held firm, both your chin and hands locked in the cage of his fingers. From your cheeks, he skimmed his ghostly lips to your mouth. He muffled your protestive moans by filling up your mouth with all of his tongue. 

He gave you the salt taste of your own tears. That, and the taste of something else. A saccharine flavor with notes of floral and bitter earth. 

A reaction flourished; a slight tingle of your lips at first. It made his tongue feel hotter against yours, as parts of your upper mouth went numb. A stream of lukewarm paralysis seeped past your soft palate, filling every nook and cranny of your mindscape. Yet, the secondary symptoms didn’t stop there. An opposite wave traversed down your throat to your stomach, spilling fire throughout every layer of nerves. You clenched your lashes tight, shuddering a gasp into his open mouth.

When the pain settled into a dull simmer, you wondered briefly, had he felt it too? Had he consumed such a substance by choice? If that was a taste, what pain did he endure if he drank it like an offering of wine?

You didn’t want to imagine the terrible effects it might’ve had on his person. Not if it gave you even a single drop of sympathy. It was revolting enough his saliva was poisoning your pure sense of self. The fog of it sullying your inhibitions, stripping away your layers of moral preservation. To the absolute vitriolic parts of yourself, it made you consider…

What would it be like to be touched?

It was too sick and cruel of a thing to do to you. Since birth, you’d devoted your body and soul to your divine Goddess; The Golden Sister. You wanted to be disgusted by allowing the gift of yourself to become tainted by some awful man. No—he was worse than that. Or any word you could craft and cut the corners of your mouth with. He was, by biblical history, a Lunari man born from the cataclysmic eclipse of two moons. A day that marked the day of reckoning of the Solari faith and your people.

Your clouded senses and busied mouth made you unaware that his hand left your face to trail the mounds and curves of your body. A light touch drifting to your inner thighs. You jolted when a finger graced the sensitive hood of your exposed clit. Your thighs squirmed at his side as you attempted to jerk your knees. It did nothing and stirred nothing from him. Except bolster his conviction, tempting a finger lower, teasing your folds already glistening.

Although light-headed, you ripped your mouth away and nipped at his lip. It sprang forth droplets of blood, enough to taste his iron on your tongue. A trivial satisfaction. 

“May you burn at dawn,” you condemned and spat at his lips.

Unflinching, he withdrew his hand and brushed over the blood mark you left. Sweeping it across his bottom lip, along with your saliva, he rolled the consistency between his fingers in private contemplation. Before he looked you dead in the eyes and stuck his fingers inside his mouth. Sucking and licking till his fingers dripped. Watching sent a lightning strike coiling down your spine.

He loomed his weight forward until your back met the altar mantle. With your palms pinned above your head, and legs coaxed wider. His coated hand repositioned down to your entrance, and you writhed with any strength your body could lend. His hold wrapped around your wrists squeezed, gentle in its reprimand. He leaned down to brush his face at the side of your cheek.

“Please…for your own sake.” 

Your eyes widened at his frayed whispers stringing together. Breathing life into what seemed like an empty shell of a person. The frigid space between his mouth and your ear kindling with the slightest bit of warmth. It was what you feared the most. Forced to accept he was every bit human, with a horrid courtesy to use polite words and a pleasant, sickening tone. More insult to your injury. You wished he hadn’t spoken at all. Letting you believe in your mind that he was more aberration or phantom. Or anything else that carried not a single hint of a beating heart.

“I don’t want to hurt you…not anyone, really.” Again, comforting yet noxious. And it made whatever was inside you throb so terribly. As if he could sense it, he reached for it. His salivated finger split through your folds, sliding into the heat of your cunt. It elicited a drawn out whimper as you felt the sensual brush of it against a bed of tingling nerves. Gradually revealing a hidden desire you hadn’t wanted to gratify him with.

“But you…and your people…need to accept what can’t be denied any longer.” He punctuated his words with each thrust of his finger as it curved into that crescent shape you despised so much. Yet, you couldn’t deny the way it made your most feminine parts unravel at the seams. ”No matter how high your sun rises, my heavenly moon will always eclipse it. And fill the sun with Her beauty for all to see.“

A hitched whine fluttered past your lips as he easily slipped a second finger. While the heel of his palm pressed in circles, spreading your arousal and stimulating your plumping clit. Your cunt unashamedly sucked on his long fingers, encouraging him to mold and form you into what he needed you to be���a conduit for the undying affections of his faith.

“You might not see it, but the divine path has been shown to me. The one that’s led me to you. You can feel it at least, can’t you?” He flexed his digits and plunged a third finger. Deeper than the last, fuller than before. Your hips rolled forward on their own accord, craving every bit of attention from his touch.

With deliverance, you answered the question with a wail and arch of your back. Your whole body washed its nerves in a blinding heat. His fingers curled and flexed at your hungry walls clenching around him. It pushed a gush of sticky fluid from your twitching hole into his circling palm. Coming down from the spasms, you sobbed at the humiliating response of your body. 

“So you do feel it.” There was a hidden sentiment of relief in his otherwise placid delivery. As if he’d purged the last blot of doubt that restrained him. You swallowed a mouthful of whines as his probing fingers continued undulating inside you. “Your body…it’s begging to devour me in all its warmth. And mine, yearning to take all your bright stars and bathe you by moon glow alone. Wanting us—and only us—to become one.” 

Without warning, he emptied you of his fingers, a filthy squelch following with it. You sucked in a gasp at the crippling cold he left you with. But he wouldn’t abandon you for long. Shifting in the dark haze above you, he unsheathed his length from his garments and pressed himself against your sopping cunt. He dragged his fullness against your swollen and slicked folds. He wasn’t even inside you, yet you felt an agonizing cramp fisting in your stomach. 

“By Her orders, by Her design…” he spoke through tight whispers, strained by his own anticipation. Pressing his full weight down, he hovered mere inches above you, panting bouts of aroused breaths against your lips. “Let us Converge.”

You squirmed and bucked underneath him. “Nn…not with you…anyone but—!”

You broke off into a high-pitched cry as he stretched you open, filling you up till he bottomed out, and pressed up to the hilt of his hips. He silenced both of your newly coupled hymns with his mouth, and each lap of his tongue matched the tempo of his generous thrusts. The sharp, intrusive pinch died as quickly as it came—the insignificant remnants of toxin dulling bits and pieces of certain pain receptive nerves. A gift, perhaps, in this instance. He had also prepped you well enough to accept all of his adoration, as intended. Another gift, as someone of his ‘giving’ nature may phrase it.

Pulling away slowly, the tip of his head rubbed graciously against every ridge of your swelling walls, before languidly pushing back, going past where you seemed to end. Beyond your farthest points you hadn’t thought existed. Pressing and rubbing all your soft spots and cervix with careful deliberation.

Then again, and again, and again.

“Can you feel it…my devotion…” he groaned into your open-mouthed kisses, continuing to work himself inside you. You weren’t even sure if he was speaking to you, or through you to his false Goddess. 

His free hand found the round flesh of your breast, rolling your budded nipple delicately between the pad of his thumb and index. The other hand, squeezing at your captured wrists, but never tight enough to bruise. He had you lulling in a spellbinding rhythm underneath him, your hands fastened above your head, and hair spilling over the opposite side of the altar. When his mouth left your full lips, he possessed the nape of your neck, sucking the delicate skin above your life line. Your mewls, laced with the chasteless sounds of his base squelching at your entrance, leapt your pulse to an unreturnable pace.

“So warm,” he moaned low, staving off a growing need to revel in his own whines of ecstasy. “This pure sunlight of yours…I’m blessed to be the one who takes it. And you should be too. What an honor it is to be of service to my moon.”

You wanted to hate everything about it. The way he kissed you, the way he moved inside you—but you couldn’t. Every stiff and engorged part of him pressed almost lovingly against your most vulnerable parts; but that wasn’t the proper word for it. His affectionate caresses were zealous in origin. Not even for you. And boderlined a hedonistic doctrine you couldn’t describe. It would’ve been better if he were a man of barbaric qualities; rough and brutal. Not purposeful and diligent and—dared you admit it—tender. If he were the former, then your disgust could be justified, and your body would refuse him in its own rightful way. But it defied you, the lecherous thing. Insisting you melted beneath him and reduce to nothing but a drenched mess. Completely at the mercy of this Lunari man’s act of worship.

“Are you finally realizing it now? How generous my Goddess is compared to yours.” He abandoned the curve of your throat. Within the flush of his face, his eyes were suppled in absolute vindication at your shameless image. “How willing you are to accept me—to accept Her.”   

“N-No…I’m…not…I won’t,” you pried your tongue for words.

He drawled out a quivering whine from your mouth. His body picking up to an impassioned pace, rutting into your sweltering heat. Tethering on his own abandoned pleasure. Your legs pushed themselves wider, opening yourself up more for him, drawing him deeper to pound against the tender knot growing in your belly. 

Choked moans tightened in his throat. Your radiance gripped him with conviction, burning him so divinely from tip to base. Dragging him closer to your complete consummation. His fingers caught the contour of your face, tilting your head back. Your already swimming eyes rolled to follow, and watered at the sight of your Solari Goddess. Carved out from the temple wall, her sacred marbled gaze met your disgraceful expressions. 

“That’s…hn…alright. You can lie to me. I’ll—we’ll always forgive you. But can you say the same for your deity? As she watches her little sunlight being pleasured by the moon’s devoted weapon. I—ha…doubt it very much.” An airy laugh cut through his thick moans intertwined with yours. He continued, inhaling and exhaling his words, raspy and down right broken. “It’s—almost our time…as reverence…your insides…with all of my…”

You couldn’t refuse the vile implication of his words. Not when his thickened, throbbing cock lapped achingly against your muddled core. Your blood boiled, draining out from your collapsing bodily veins to well up inside your stomach. Applying a pressure that made you want to burst into unmendable fractals of yourself. And you did—that tight knot broke in an instant, dilating your insides in a blaze of heat. Flooding you so wholly, you almost forgot to breathe through your delirious sobs of release. 

When the smooth ridges of your walls clamped down, you heard it first as a moan of afflicted surrender on his part. Then, the cock buried inside you pulsed. A stream of white-hot fluid poured into you, shooting well past your cervix, bathing your womb with his warmth. But he didn’t stop there, continuing to indulge. He pumped and pushed the concoction of unified fluids till it poured past his base, and dripped in milky heaps from your hole. His pelvic and abdominal muscles shuddered as his hips rolled slowly but needingly, nursing himself through his over-stimulating climax.

From your tearful, half-lidded gaze, you witnessed a wet glisten in his own eyes. Whether induced by overwhelming pleasure or pained remorse, you would never know. You didn’t want to know.

It didn't matter.

They evaporated the moment he blinked again.

When the heaves and pants subsided, only the echoes of your whimpers remained. Unfastening his grasp from your wrists, his icy hands cupped your sulking face, idly running his thumbs across your soaked cheeks.

“I understand your pain. Believe me, I do. But no amount of tears will keep the celestial cycle from shifting in the moon’s favor. Like any phase, there will be a moment when you won’t hate me as you do now. You might even come to...love me.”

The way he paused made it seem he had no sense for the word. Or what the difference was between what was love and obsession. The look he possessed didn’t instill solace, either; his eyes mere slits of black against his porcelain face. Promising the moment you dared turn away from him, the back of your neck would bleed.

”I swear to you. From this night on, you’ll burn brightest by my reflection. And only my reflection. So long as there's breath and blood in this body, I’ll protect your sunlight from ever fading in the hands of anyone less deserving than mine. By cosmic fate, you’re my entire purpose, my entire existence...” he bent and kissed the solar marking painted on your forehead. “My orbit.” 

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #league of legends #aphelios x reader #yandere aphelios x reader #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yandere league of legends #reader insert #tw noncon #mdni

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ┊ 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄

( tomorrow / either i will murder you / or you will rinse the knife in water )

chara : arlecchino fandom : genshin impact quote cr : garous abdolmalekian ; ashwarya a/n : i haven't played genshin in forever, this is all based off her character trailer + wiki

act one : BUT THE STAIN OF A CURSED EXISTENCE IS A TREACHEROUS BEING : HIDEOUS , HORRIFYING , HUMANIZING.

the first time you witness the black that adorns her skin is the first time your heart beats in vast terror. a battle gone wrong, tattered clothes and gloves, and then the reveal of the truest & highest self of a harbinger.

you do not know what to do, what to think. you are unsure if it is the adrenaline of survival that makes the life in your chest ache violently so, or if it is the fear and wanting of the unknown.

arlecchino stands before you, yet you do not dare cast your gaze upon her. you swallow hard, eyes following the drips of sanguine that fall from wretched claws. oh, dearest, how they sink into the hollows of the world, forever fragmented into existence in remnant of death. the blood is too much. it's too much-- the way it splatters across her skin, nearly drenching all black until it is an ocean of madness and crimsons and massacres.

your hands tremble. your stomach churns. you look elsewhere, searching for refuge, but the blood follows, and somewhere in its meaning is the death of those it once belonged to, and that makes your heart beat faster and faster until you feel your mind on the verge of break.

"stand."

the blood is too much.

you listen, but still, you do not look. you are afraid, but you are unsure of what.

a sharpness digs into your face, sudden. harsh. her claws press into your skin-- not light, but seldom hard enough to draw blood. you know very well that she could harm you if she desired, yet she doesn't. she jerks your chin up, forces you to meet her gaze.

"it's ill-mannered to not look your savior in the eye."

your mouth runs dry. something unfamiliar gnaws at your humanity.

"i... am thankful that the blood on your hands is not mine."

and in the abyss of black and red, there's just the faintest trace of amusement in the echoes of apathy.

"a simple thank you would have sufficed."

act two : BUT THE STAIN OF A CURSED EXISTENCE IS A TREACHEROUS BEING : FRIGHTENING , FOREIGN , FATED.

you do not know what draws you to her, this harbinger. it has been a long while since your first encounter, and still, you have remained by her side. you do not know why. you do not know why she agrees to your companionship. you question it more often than you'd like.

she is a complexity of things you have yet to unravel, and truth be told, you doubt you will ever understand her, her past, or who she truly is, and maybe it's better that way. that's what you'll tell yourself, anyway, even if it might hurt.

because she is both safety and danger to you, and you wish that frightened you, but it doesn't. you wish that it would drive you away, but it doesn't. she is no sanctuary, no haven, and though she is lined with cruelty, there is not always a coldness in her heart. you know this.

"i did not save you with the intention of keeping your presence." she tells you one day, and you cannot help but smile.

she washes the crimson off her hands. an all too common sight you have grown to adore. you watch in fascination every time, searching the bright red that fades into an everlasting black.

"yet you do not push me away, arlecchino."

she does not respond. she stares at the bloodied waters, the hazy red a familiarity. in her muddled reflection, there is nothing but vacancy.

"no, i don't."

( she doesn't. she should. you both know this. )

act three : BUT THE STAIN OF A CURSED EXISTENCE IS A TREACHEROUS BEING : ADORED , ADMIRED , ANTAGONIZED.

the world is not meant to be viewed in good and evil, but how it is deeply desired so. it would make things simpler, wouldn't it? the truth would be so easy, the war between logic and emotion dissipated into black and white and seldom gray.

that's what you'd like to imagine, anyway. because even in a world full of good and evil, you do not know where you stand, nor do you know where arlecchino stands. your heart beats dearly for her, but you do not know whether it is with love or infatuation or with warning of the end to come.

perhaps it will be a happy ending. perhaps you will not be in it, whether in death or other means.

you are unsure.

you sit before her, staring at the translucent water in the basin. it has yet to be disturbed by another, pure. your reflection is curious, though you are unable to study it for long. your gaze shifts elsewhere as she grabs your jaw; it is a familiar feeling, the way she forces you to look at her.

it's a dark nostalgia, you think. the blood on her claws, the digging sensation in your face, though much gentler than before. you aren't afraid this time. she stares at you, visage empty. she waits.

your lips curve, subtle. there is a strange exhilaration in the mourning of it all, and one day, you will understand it.

"i wonder," you begin, hand wrapping around her wrist, "when it will be my blood on your hands one day."

something in her expression changes. you barely catch it, but even then, you cannot read it. she leans forward, closes the distance between you, her lips just inches away from yours.

"will you be thankful, even then?"

her grip on your jaw tightens, but still, the claws do not draw blood. you wish it did. you grin.

"of course." you answer, and slowly, you press your lips against hers. "i will always be thankful."

#genshin impact x reader #arlecchino x reader #genshin impact #arlecchino #gi x reader #this was supposed to be a fluff/comfort fic but then i was like . so what if there was blood. what if they were insane. wh #.: writing

[kentopedia]

𝐈. 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄 ❤︎༻°₊ ｡ villain!nanami + f!reader

series masterlist

chapter summary . . . it's been a year since the death of gojo satoru, and it seems that geto's plans have slightly changed.

chapter warnings . . . none other than jjk typical dark themes. see masterlist for series warnings!

author note! this series is my exploration of some of the themes and aspects about jjk that i find intriguing, but this story will be an alternate timeline, and will diverge from the jjk canon, lore, power system, etc. pls don't correct me if i get something about jujutsu or the current timeline wrong! <3

“𝐖𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮” 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐍𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐳𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐞

The sheet wrinkled between your fingertips, your grasp far too tight for the thin piece of paper. Words smudged into a pool of black from the oils that danced across your palm, but it didn’t matter much… You didn’t need to read them anyway. 

Those lines were as familiar to you as your own name, scribbled down in Utahime’s neat calligraphy, a daily report of new information gathered. The length of the list never changed, but, really, seldom changed, these days. 

The same could not be said of the numbers beside the names, the words that followed. They were altered, on occasion. Often when you least expected it.

Directory of known sorcerers residing in Japan, as of December 24, 2017. Most recent grade of every sorcerer identified. Status identified. Bounty set by Nanami Kento and Geto Suguru identified (if applicable):

GOJO SATORU . . . Special Grade . . . Deceased 

TSUKUMO YUKI . . . Special Grade . . . Deceased 

OKKOTSU YUUTA . . . Special Grade . . . Deceased 

GETO SUGURU . . . Special Grade . . . Defected 

NANAMI KENTO . . . Special Grade . . . Defected 

SHOKO IERI . . .  Grade 1 . . . Reward: 35,000,000

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. . . Grade 1 . . . Reward: 50,000,000

Your name was next on the list. 

Immediately, you stopped reading, the anger consuming you as quickly as your eyes scanned the words across the page, crumbling it in your palm. 

Every two weeks, like clockwork, your bounty raised. It was the same with Megumi and Maki, as descendants of the Zen’in clan, and children that the higher-ups were so desperate to obtain. But no one else’s reward held quite the same inconsistency as your own, which never seemed to raise by a set amount.

Today, nothing was surprising about the list, no new deaths, no numbers that seemed otherworldly. You threw the wadded ball of paper over your shoulder, slumping forward as your head fell into your hands. 

Everyone was getting desperate, it seemed. Not just the Zen’in clan, but Geto too. Perhaps even you were losing your last shred of rationality, of hope that things would change. The only ambition you still had was keeping Maki and Megumi out of the disgusting hands of their clan leaders. 

You swore to protect them… And you would protect them, now that Gojo Satoru could not.

Glancing up, your gaze fell from the ceiling to the window, rays of sunlight clearing through a dark curtain of storm clouds. The sky had begun to open up into a steely gray abyss, but it never looked natural, with the curtain of curse energy that shimmered across the horizon. It encased the entirety of the country, unbroken, from each shore to the beaches, sinking into the seas. A navy hue that sealed your home into a prison, out of hatred and fear, and every twisted feeling that Geto Suguru had settling in his heart.

There was hardly anything that passed through the curtain; only things that were predetermined by Geto, who saw himself, surely, as your great benefactor. No communication to the world outside, no alarming any foreign sorcerers of what had become of your country. Maybe no one cared enough to come to your defense.

It was shield that did little to protect, and it would remain there until someone was strong enough to break it. But without Satoru alive, even that had become an impossible task. 

Month after month, the strongest sorcerers attempted to break it, to take it down, and collapse the cursed energy that was compacted into a swirling wave. Every one of them failed. There were only two special grade sorcerers left, and they were the ones that had trapped you in the circle of hell, to begin with. 

You let out a heavy exhale, turning away from the window to slink back into the darkness of your bedroom. Thinking too hard about the state of your survival only served to depress you further.

At least you still had the rain. The drizzle that maintained the farmlands, kept the rivers from drying out, and you and the rest of the country from dying. Geto had been kind enough to give you that.

As if in response to your dismal thoughts, a dreary rainbow unfurled across the sky, brightening it like a beacon. The colors were still muted, though, swallowed by the darkness of an energy created by hatred. It did little to draw a smile onto your face, and you collapsed onto a chair instead, wrapping yourself up in whatever dusty blankets covered it.

Satoru’s name lingered in your mind like he was whispering it there, his lighthearted, arrogant tone seeping through your eardrums, nestling into your brain. You could still see his smug smile, almost as if he’d been standing in front of you all this time, the image of it painted onto the wall across from you. 

The mere whistle of a memory of him sent a twinge of regret and longing through your entire frame. He was always a pain in your ass, and yet, you were certain that no one missed him more than you. What a pity it was, to have been the strongest. 

So caught up in your memories, you were ignorant to the door unlatching, footsteps padding through the threshold as Shoko came in. Although you hadn’t heard her, you saw her out of the corner of your eye, the shadow of her before she spoke. 

“Everything okay?” Shoko asked, and while things hadn’t been okay in months, there was no other question that could have been asked in place of it. 

You looked over, nestling deeper into the blankets, as you observed her stature, which only seemed to shrink with time. A cigarette was balanced between her fingers, nails painted a light shade of pink; a way to counter the dismal reality of her situation. Shoko’s dark hair had been cut short again, a shadow of her teenage self, a shell of that girl she’d once been, hollow and empty. 

Just like you, you supposed. A burnt image of someone who’d once longed to visit her friends in Tokyo, who’d looked up to all of them like they’d hung the moon. 

How sick you felt, knowing you’d once adored the men that did this to you. Nauseating, even, that you held a shred of love for them still. 

“You could’ve knocked,” you said, rolling your eyes as Shoko puffed out of a cloud of smoke, one that wafted over to the nest you’d perched yourself in. It didn’t quite reach you, but you coughed dramatically anyway, waving your hands around your face.

“Would it have made a difference?”

“For starters, I could’ve looked a little less like I was brooding.”

Shoko laughed, and her tiny little smile caused you to crack one of your own, grateful that you could still experience a fraction of joy. There was still hope, somewhere, even if you buried it deep. Without it, you would’ve given yourself up to Geto months ago, or died trying to escape. There was no point in fighting with nothing to live for. 

“I’ve been under the impression that that’s all you do up here,” Shoko remarked, taking another long drag of her cigarette. “Sitting so seriously in your dark, cold room, all alone. Perhaps thinking of the things that might have been.”

Although she was teasing you, you feel a stab within your chest at the remark. You’d been shy as a girl, and you’d grown into a quiet adult — something that someone as obnoxious as Satoru had always teased you about. But you’d learned to accept his remarks, as annoying as they were, because for all Gojo Satoru talked, he was, really, quite horrible at communicating. 

It just seemed like a punch to the gut, that Shoko sounded like him now. That her mouth twisted up in the same way Satoru’s did, even though it was unsurprising that she’d picked up on some of his quirks over the years.

You just didn’t like seeing a reminder of him everywhere you went. As much as you missed him, you hated him for leaving you in a world where the unthinkable came to light. Even the strongest flame had been put out, and there was no safety in that sort of place. 

Silence remained Shoko’s answer, and she sighed, accepting it as her eyes dimmed. Looking past you, the last of the day’s rays burned through the glass panels, coating the room in a purple haze. “Utahime wants to have a meeting,” Shoko said, resigned. “Be downstairs in ten.”

The curt response was the end of your conversation. Once you nodded, your old friend left, letting the door slam behind her.

Meeting was hardly a name that could qualify for your meager gathering of sorcerers, especially since almost everyone had been stuck together for months, with no other options. Yet, Utahime continued to put on a brave face, calling it a formal congregation, as if to instill the hope that you all could become enough to incite a rebellion. As if, maybe, you could train and strengthen yourselves, overthrowing two of the most powerful curse-users in the world.

It was laughable, really, and you saw why Shoko and everyone else thought that. Why they rolled their eyes at the flimsy sheets of paper that Utahime passed out every day, because, maybe, there wasn’t a point to any of it. 

You, though, were happy to indulge Utahime. It gave you just a few moments to pretend like things hadn’t changed. You could listen to her lecture to your measly group of sorcerers, and pretend that she was still a teacher in Kyoto. You could pretend that Satoru was still by your side, that you were still fighting nothing worse than grade one curses, and that everything was normal.

It painted a pretty peaceful image, even if it wasn’t real. 

Throwing the blankets off your body, you finally left the room, your breathing seeming far too loud for the empty halls. Papery hotel walls loomed over you as you trekked down carpeted stairs, sliding your hands along the banister. The elevators were never used, and lights were only on when necessary. It was a risk to use up any resources, when none of you were certain how much longer they’d last.

Really, it was a mystery that you’d made it this far. For all of his theatrics and grandiose plans, Geto Suguru was not an idiot. If he was allowing you all to live, for anyone who opposed him to live, then there must have been a reason. Society was likely blooming within the four walls of Geto’s cult following, and those who stood with him received all the finest things in life. 

And it may have been a ridiculous notion, but it seemed more realistic than the alternative. Whoever Geto was now, he was still a man who cared deeply for his new family. You couldn’t imagine him forcing them into a life where they had to fend for scraps off the streets.

When you got downstairs, to the lobby of the hotel that you were all inhabiting for the week, the room was already lit with candles, flames so high that you could tell they’d been burning for a while. With the sun already setting on the other side of the building, very little light filtered through the vast windows. 

Despite the cold outside, the building remained relatively warm, a heating system kicking on regardless of your precautions. However, you were grateful not to have to face the winter in a small town without some source of warmth. Even if it died out on you by the end of the night. 

Nearly everyone had gathered when you arrived downstairs… But at this point in your battle, the numbers were never very staggering. Many of the sorcerers never bothered to show up, despite knowing the severity of the position that you were all in. 

Not that you could blame them, though. Oftentimes, in these meetings, you just repeated the same information; it was rare that you stumbled upon anything noteworthy toward your survival.

The would-be third years sat huddled in a circle, and Utahime and Shoko talked amongst themselves in hushed whispers. At the far side of the vast table, one you’d created from various smaller ones, Takuma Ino sat, beanie covering his forehead, eyes closed as he leaned back in the chair. 

Something relaxed inside of you, at the sight of him sitting there so calmly. Since Stour had died, Ino had become something of a comfort to you. His steadfast optimism and energy were hard to match in such dire times, bringing a new life to people who might as well have been dead—including yourself. Despite the few years difference in age and the differences in your experiences as sorcerers, he’d become one of your closest friends. 

You approached him, quietly; though he heard your subtle footsteps nonetheless. A dark eye popped open, and he smiled, lips pulling back, eyes crinkling at the corners. Ino was still so young, but there was more evidence of happiness on his features than many of you; wrinkles were already obvious around his eyes and mouth. It was admirable how deeply he could hold onto joy, and you found yourself latching onto that, longing for it, even. 

“You left your cave!” Ino remarked, pulling his beanie off, dusty brown strands falling onto his cheekbones. “This must be really important if Shoko pulled you out of there.” 

As you took the seat next to him, you made an effort to poke him in the shin with your shoe. A kick, almost, with how hard the pressure landed. “I always come to these meetings,” you said, rolling your eyes. “If I remember correctly, it was your seat that was empty during the last one.” 

Ino’s lips tugged upwards again, not quite a smirk but close enough. He sat up a little straighter, less relaxed than before, when the rest of the sorcerers began filing into the room. “Well, it’s never me that those bastards looking for.” Ino shrugged, wiping a hand over his face, hiding his weariness of the entire situation. “They don’t need everyone. Some of us, they just want to capture to eliminate.” 

An objection rested on your lips, but you knew that it was fruitless. Sorcerers that didn’t have a technique inherently useful to Geto’s agenda would be imprisoned — or killed. The rest of you… Well, you’re certain you’d be used for something far worse. Dying seemed, almost, like the better outcome. 

“Well, it’s a good thing that none of us have been captured, then,” you settled on instead. 

Ino looked away, his dark lashes fanning over the hollowed shadows beneath his eyes. “It’s only a matter of time, though. Isn’t it? We can’t run forever.” 

You didn’t bother to respond. Ino was right. Of course, he was right. You’d all fought like hell to keep everyone alive, and though a few had willingly left, sworn their allegiance with a betrayal of information, no one had been captured. The defects never really mattered, though. There were very few secrets kept amongst you. What secrets could be kept, when your goal of escape was more than obvious?

Finally, Utahime drew all your focus with a dramatic clearing of her throat. She stood tall, proud before you, like you were all first-years, oblivious to your own talents, and far too naive for the world of Jujutsu. 

It seemed a realistic comparison, though, as all of you still trained like students, trying to learn something from others that you hadn’t known before. A disappointing concept, considering many of you were beyond growth in your technique, and your abilities would remain stagnant. But the grades of sorcery meant nothing anymore — hardly anyone referred to themselves as such, these days. 

“As you all know, for months, we’ve been trying to anticipate Geto and Nanami’s next move,” Utahime began, as always, with the obvious. There was a brief pause, and whether it was for dramatics or for Utahime to gather her thoughts, you weren’t certain. “Our infiltration attempts have all failed — The bounties tell us little, except that the clan’s children are wanted more than everyone.” 

You glanced over at Megumi, whose eyebrow only twitched in irritation. He would be eighteen soon, but he would remain your responsibility. A life you’d always protect, dying before the clan could ever attempt to take him away, sell him for whatever he was worth. You’d promised Satoru that much, hadn’t you? 

“Although,” Utahime started again, with renewed vigor in her voice, “we think we’ve gained some new insight into their operations. Or, at least, what their next ambition is.” A frown took over her face, then, slowly, curled to every corner of her expression. Wrinkles formed between her brows, and she licked her lips, pointedly avoiding the far end of the table where you sat. “But there is nothing proven in the information. It is a gamble — one we’re not sure we’re willing to take.” 

“What options do we have left?” Todo said, mouth drawn into a tight line. “Risks are all we have now. Every other plan has led to nothing, and Geto is a complete basket case. You act as if any of his goals are rational — as if we can predict them.” 

Utahime opened her mouth, but faltered, looking at Shoko, who had already begun to take over. She was onto her second cigarette since you’d last seen her, the habit only erupting after Gojo had been killed. Clouds of smoke rose above her as she exhaled smoothly. 

“No, Geto is not rational,” Shoko agreed. “But Nanami is. There’s a reason that those without cursed energy still reside in Japan. That Geto has not wiped them out entirely.”

“To supply him with curses,” Todo argued, fists on the table. It did little to faze Shoko, who was already so numb. “And money.”

“No,” Shoko paused, gathering her thoughts. “That may be part of the reason, but it isn’t the entire truth, I believe.” 

Although she took a few more breaths, no one interrupted, letting her expel whatever was residing in her mind. When it came to Geto, evwryone entrusted her entirely. There was no one else alive who knew him as well as she did. Even if Gojo had been the only one to ever know him completely. 

“How many sorcerers do you think are left in Japan?” she asked, staring Todo down with a flat gaze, shadowy eyes only growing darker by the day. “An estimate.” 

He shrugged, glancing around the table, and counting heads. Thinking of the clans. Of those who had joined Geto before that evening in Shinjuku, and those who joined him in the two years since. “I don’t know. Perhaps two hundred?”

“I’d argue less,” Shoko hummed, taking one more drag of her cigarette before she dropped it on the floor of the hotel, stomping it out. “But let’s stick with your guess. Two hundred is hardly a feasible number to sustain a society, without setting all of us back centuries. Geto’s goal of murdering anyone without cursed energy… Well, it’s not feasible, really. Not unless he wants the human race, including sorcerers, to cease to exist.” She smiled, though it was sad, exhausted. Things had never stopped being hard for her. Not since the day she’d met the two special grade sorcerers that had once been her best friends. “That’s why they’ve stopped. That’s why the rest of the world moves along, why there are still curses haunting Tokyo, even when Geto hates them. If his plan fails here, then how will it succeed in the rest of the world?” 

Utahime took her seat beside Shoko, bowing her head. Silence arose across the table, as the words sank in. How often you’d thought the same thing, how rational it seemed that that was the case. Yet, none of you had ever been brave enough to say the words out loud. 

Perhaps it didn’t matter, really, when all of you were helpless to stop them.

 “So this is a test run?” Megumi interjected, not allowing Todo to supply any more questions out of his fearful rage. “If Geto can build his utopia here, then he will continue everywhere else?” 

Shoko nodded. “Well. That’s what I think anyway. No one needs to believe me.” 

But her statements were never up for debate. They settled around the table like the word of God, bestowed upon unwilling servants. Giving to the last of you; people who needed to continue on a path that seemed to lead to nowhere. 

“What are we supposed to do, then?” Maki threw her hands up, standing as the chair screeched across the floor. “We’ve run and we’ve hid, and we’ve planned for a year. We’re cowards, aren’t we? Just trying to get by while a lunatic takes over the entire world.” 

Shoko flinched at the word, at the brashness of the teenager’s tone. But she sat tall, face neutral, never letting anyone see how deeply she was truly hurting. “I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers.” 

“Well let’s do something. I’ve lost so many people. We’ve all lost so many people. I’m starting to think that maybe their deaths were in vain.” 

Megumi’s eyes snapped over to her, muttering something darkly under his breath. In a failed attempt, Nobara tugged on her wrist, guiding her back down to her seat. But she flicked him off, sitting on her own, breathing heavily. You’d always liked Maki Zen’in. It was a pity you’d never get the chance to teach her as a third year — you would’ve promoted her to grade one sorcerer, given the chance.

“I agree, Maki,” Utahime spoke up again, softly, coaxing her anger back down. “We think that we might have a plan, though, as I have said, it is a gamble. And…” she blinked, glancing over at you before avoiding your gaze. “I’m not sure that everyone would be willing.” 

The statement started a chorus around the table, of those who would do anything to help, those who were tired of living as you had been living — if you could even call it a life. The students, more courageous than you’d ever been, were the first to offer up their lives. But it was not them that Utahime needed, and deep in your gut, you knew that to be true before she even said it. 

“Utahime,” you said across the wave of speakers, trying your best to make your voice louder than everyone else’s. “It’s me you need, isn’t it?” 

As quickly as the words had left your mouth, everyone was silent, blinking at you. And for a moment, you hesitated. How embarrassing it would be, to believe yourself so important to Geto that you must be the willing victim. 

But you weren’t a fool, and Utahime knew that. Geto knew that, and Nanami Kento certainly knew that. Your bounty had raised just as heavily, and the numbers were staggering. The price on your head was almost as high as Maki and Megumi, despite having very few sorcerers in your long line of descendants. 

It was just — your technique was rare. So rare, in fact, that other curse users had come for you before, when you were but a child. It was something that Geto could easily use to achieve his end goal, if he were able to use your technique to his advantage. 

Thinking of it now, it was logical and seemed almost ridiculous that you hadn’t thought of it sooner. He’d surely attempt to convert you, perhaps promise you a life of grandeur, whatever security he could provide you. 

Yet, the realization hadn’t made you any more prepared for when Utahime’s face fell. Everyone around the table seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

She sighed, looking over to Shoko before nodding. “I’m sorry.” 

Momentarily, your heart stopped. 

Ino flew out of his seat beside you, arguments spewing from his lips in an uncertain stutter. “What? What does that mean? You’re just going to ship her off to Nanami and Geto? Because I’m not going to stand by and watch you hand anyone over to the people that ruined our lives,” he shouted. The heat had risen in his body far too quickly, painting him the image of someone who could only be your lover. 

Your cheeks grew warm, your body hot all over from Ino’s words, from all the eyes that were on you, the dread of what was to come. You’d do it — of course, you’d do it, whatever they needed. Whatever it took to save Megumi and Maki, and the rest of the children. Whatever it took to save the world. If you were to be a sacrifice, well, so be it. There wasn’t much of a choice. 

“Calm down, lover boy,” Shoko laughed, and though Ino’s cheeks grew red, his anger didn’t subside, features pinching up tight. “We’re not going to do anything she doesn’t want to do. There could be another way, we can get someone else but…” Shoko looked at you, studying you for any fear. “You are the best option, aren’t you?” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Megumi asked, eyebrows narrowing. “I’m with Takuma. You expect us just to watch her walk straight into the lions’ den?” 

“It’s okay, Megumi,” you said, schooling your face into a neutral expression. All these months, you’d been promising yourself that you would do whatever was necessary. You’d become a loud voice against the tyrants that controlled what was left of the Jujutsu society, and you couldn’t go back on your word now, could you? “What did you have in mind, Utahime?”

She blinked, dark lashes fluttering over her cheeks, brown eyes wide. Almost like she’d expected you to say no — like she’d hoped for it. But, even though you knew in your heart and soul that you were a coward, you refused to let yourself act like one.

Megumi said your name again, an argument, as Maki became flustered beside him. How noble the two of them were. They were just kids, and already, they reminded you so much of Satoru. The good qualities, of course. Always standing up for what was right, fighting against the system that threatened to topple them. 

Geto had been like that once. Nanami had too.

Sadly, you smiled to yourself as Shoko cleared her throat, cooling the argument that had sprung up among you. Besides the students and Ino, no one had much to say. All of you were too tired, it seemed, to want to fight. To breathe life back into yourselves and your convictions, which seemed to barely be there at all.

“What we know for sure is that Geto has employed Mei Mei as a bounty hunter,” Utahime said, lips drawn thin. Her defection had never really come as a shock. Mei Mei could easily round up sorcerers with her technique, and Geto would supply her with millions; she’d never once put anyone first but herself. “We’ve managed to stay ahead of her, but…” 

Her voice trailed off, dark eyes drifting between Megumi and Maki, innocent children who had been dragged into it, simply because of their lineage. They’d fought bravely the past few years, had trained mercilessly, but they shouldn’t have been weapons in a war of this scale. 

Oh, Satoru, you thought, what a mess you’ve left us with.

“We won’t let any of the children get involved,” Shoko said, brushing her short hair out of her face. “They’ll be safe — away, with the rest of us. There might be casualties. We don’t know who else Geto has employed, or if Mei Mei will be on her own… I’m sorry, but we don’t know much.” 

“It’s okay,” you said again, but the wave of arguments had erupted once more.  

Shoko dropped her head, shaking it, as her chin fell against her chest. Under the table, Ino grabbed your hand, squeezing it gently. 

“You can’t expect us just to do nothing,” Maki argued, fists clenched by her side. “Last time you set us all on the bench, three students died. This is a ridiculous plan. Why don’t we just kill the bitch, and we’ll be down one less curse-user that wants us all dead!” 

“It’s not that simple.” Utahime, for the first time in a while, shouted at the former student. Her cheeks were flushed, bright and pink, her nose flared with the force of her breathing. 

For a moment, Maki seemed taken aback, but erased the emotion from her face, twisting it up before she sat back down. Utahime regained her composure quickly after.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Maki, but we need to be willing to do whatever it takes. We’ve spent a year playing it safe, and it’s gotten us nowhere. This time, we need to take a risk.” 

“If that’s truly the case, then I’ll help,” Ino offered beside you, threading his fingers through your own, palms clammy against yours. You let him run his thumb along the back of your hand, calloused and warm, even as you wanted to twist away. How often you’d gone to him for comfort, crawled into his arms… and yet, the subtle signs of affection made you want to writhe away and put distance between you. Sometimes, the dissonance of your emotions made you want to never speak to him again. 

It was a hard pill to swallow. Once, you’d been full of love, accepted it easily. But it was harder to give these days, and harder to take. Just a sign of how much you’d changed since Satoru had died. 

“If you need sorcerers, I’ll help, Utahime. I don’t mind giving my life so that the rest of you can live.” 

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

You sighed, looking around the table at all of the faces of people that had once been your friends, your colleagues, your students. Now, you were just a group of survivors, people who wanted to escape the miserable future you’d been given. How you loved them, even now, and it stung, to know this might be the last time you’d ever see them.

“Alright. Tell me what I need to do.” you said, putting on a brave face, swallowing away your fear. The little girl you’d once been, so terrified of curses and Jujutsu, threatened to slip back into your body. You pushed her away, refusing to let her in.

Shoko pulled another cigarette out of the box. “I think we should speak alone.”

PREV | NEXT

if you'd like to be added to the tag list or read this on ao3, please visit the masterlist!

tags: @killlerqween @chilichopsticks @voids-universe @createyourmoriarty @ifuckinghateschool @deadmarygolds @deffenferofjustice

#nanami kento #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #nanami jjk #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento angst #jjk #nanami x fem!reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #nanami imagine #nanami angst #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ #jjk x reader series #nanami series

[dee-writes-smut]

WINTER (Part Two)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY in the aftermath of your kidnapping, you find it harder than normal to cope and continue on with life, causing you to push the people closest to you away. (THIS IS A PART TWO)

CONTENT WARNINGS descriptions of injuries, pain, torture, severe depression, and PTSD. If you thought the last one was dark, buckle up.

AUTHORS NOTE wow, three fics in two days?! What happened to me? I have just been super motivated to write creatively recently, which is exciting! So here, enjoy the second part of the Season's series, Winter.

Winter's embrace was a bleak grip, the world laying shrouded in a suffocating blanket of ice and snow, each flake a cruel reminder of nature's indifference. The landscape stretched out before you like a desolate wasteland, barren trees reaching up like skeletal fingers towards a sky heavy with the promise of more bitter cold to come. There was no warmth to be found here, only the biting chill that gnawed at your bones and numbed your very soul.

Gone were the vibrant colors and lively sounds of spring, replaced instead by a deafening silence broken only by the hollow howl of the wind as it whipped through the skeletal remains of once-thriving forests. The air was thick with a palpable sense of despair, each breath a struggle against the icy grip of despair that threatened to crush you under its weight.

As you trudged through the snow, each step felt like a punishment, a relentless march towards an uncertain fate. The landscape seemed to taunt you with its emptiness, a cruel reminder of the futility of your existence in a world so devoid of life and hope. Shadows danced across the frozen ground, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes that seemed to mock your very presence.

And yet, amidst the desolation, there was a perverse beauty to be found – in the stark contrast of black against white, in the delicate lacework of frost that adorned the barren branches, in the eerie stillness that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was a beauty born of darkness, a twisted reflection of the cruel whims of fate that had brought you to this forsaken place.

In the heart of winter's icy grip, you found yourself consumed by a sense of isolation and despair, a prisoner in a world that had long since abandoned any pretense of kindness or compassion. It was a season of suffering, of unrelenting cruelty, of darkness so deep that even the faintest glimmer of hope seemed but a distant memory. And as the cold crept ever closer, you couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be an end to the endless winter that had consumed your very soul.

(Wintertime, Velaris)

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, I sat alone on the edge of my bed, my gaze fixed on the empty space where my wings used to be. The pain, both physical and emotional, gnawed at me like a relentless predator, sinking its claws deep into my chest, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. My once majestic wings, the very essence of my being, were gone, severed from my body by those who sought to break my spirit.

With trembling hands, I traced the scars where my wings had been, feeling the phantom sensation of membrane-like skin against my fingertips. The memory of their hard, bone-like ridges, their graceful span; it lingered like a bittersweet melody, haunting yet achingly beautiful. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the world around me with their shimmering veil, but I refused to let them fall. Crying felt like admitting defeat, acknowledging just how shattered I truly was. So instead, I pushed the pain down, burying it deep within me, where no one could see.

But the emptiness inside me was a vast abyss, yawning wide and hungry, impossible to ignore. I had always prided myself on my resilience, my strength, but now I felt like a mere husk of my former self. The trauma of my kidnapping weighed upon my mind like a heavy shroud, casting shadows that danced and twisted in the corners of my consciousness.

As the days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, I withdrew further into myself, cocooning my heart in layers of solitude and silence. The world outside seemed distant and hazy, a blurred landscape of faces and voices that I could no longer connect with. I couldn't bear the pity in their eyes, the whispered words of sympathy that fell like stones upon my wounded soul. So, I built walls around my heart, brick by brick, until I was encased in a fortress of my own making, impervious to the outside world.

Even Azriel, my steadfast companion, my unwavering ally, found himself barred from the inner sanctum of my heart. He tried to reach me, to break through the barriers I had erected, but I turned away, unable to bear the thought of exposing my vulnerability to anyone, even him. I didn't want their pity or their well-meaning words. All I wanted was to be left alone with my pain, to drown in it until it consumed me completely.

But even in my darkest moments, a flicker of hope danced on the periphery of my consciousness, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished. It whispered of resilience and redemption, of healing and renewal, but I pushed it away, hiding from its warmth like a frightened child. For now, I would remain adrift in a sea of darkness, lost and alone, clinging to the fragile thread of hope that promised a way out of the abyss.

The memories played out in my mind with vivid intensity, each scene etched into my consciousness like a brand of torment.

I remembered the moment I was jolted from unconsciousness, the harsh voice of my captor slicing through the haze like a blade. "Wake up, whore," he hissed, sending a shiver down my spine and igniting a primal fear within me. Blinking against the darkness that enveloped me, I felt the oppressive weight of a bag over my head, suffocating and disorienting. Panic surged through me as I realized my bound state, my struggles against the restraints futile in the face of impending doom.

The voice, dripping with malice, mocked my defiance. "No need to struggle, sweetheart," he sneered, his words a cruel reminder of my helplessness. As I strained to make sense of my surroundings, fear clawed its way through my throat, leaving behind deep grooves of despair. The familiar scent of damp earth and mildew filled my senses, a chilling reminder of the unknown horrors that awaited me.

A flicker of hope emerged in the form of Azriel, my steadfast protector, but it was quickly extinguished by the looming presence of Lyris, a childhood friend turned tormentor. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he brandished a dagger, the cold metal glinting ominously in the dim light.

With a cruel smirk, Lyris descended upon me, his voice filled with twisted pleasure. "Time to finally take what's mine," he taunted, the blade poised to inflict unimaginable pain.

The first cut tore through me like a bolt of lightning, a searing agony that ripped through flesh and soul alike. My cries echoed off the walls of the chamber, lost in the darkness that enveloped me.

But the torment did not end there. With each merciless stroke of the blade, Lyris carved away my very essence, leaving behind a shattered shell of my former self. I watched helplessly as my wings, once symbols of freedom and strength, were mutilated and discarded like worthless scraps of flesh.

And as the last remnants of my identity fell away, a hollow emptiness consumed me, leaving behind only the cruel scars of my torment. I was no longer whole, no longer the person I once was. I had been robbed of everything that defined me, my essence stolen by the darkness that lurked within the depths of my captor's soul.

As the soft rap echoed through the hollow corridors, it felt like a distant echo of a life I once knew, one filled with warmth and camaraderie. Reluctantly, I approached the door, each step heavy with the weight of my turmoil, the heavy thud of my heart matching the rhythm of my footfalls.

Feyre stood there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway lanterns, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the bonds I had once cherished. In her hands, she cradled a delicate tray, a small offering of sustenance amidst the darkness that engulfed me.

"I brought you some food," she offered, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room, a fragile thread of connection in the vast expanse of my solitude. "I thought you might be hungry."

My response was curt, a reflexive defense against the vulnerability her kindness exposed. "I don't need your pity, Feyre," I retorted, the bitterness in my voice a stark contrast to the warmth of her offering. "I can take care of myself."

For a fleeting moment, hurt flickered in her eyes, a silent plea for understanding that cut through the barriers I had erected around my wounded heart. But she quickly masked it with a forced smile, her resilience a testament to the depth of her compassion.

Without another word, she set the tray down on the table beside me, the scent of warm food mingling with the heavy silence that enveloped us. It was a gesture of kindness in a world that had grown cold and indifferent, a fleeting glimpse of the friendship I had once treasured.

As Feyre lingered in the doorway, her gaze lingered on mine with a quiet intensity, a silent invitation to let her in, to share the burden of my pain. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, her voice a gentle reminder that I was not alone, that there were still those who cared enough to reach out a helping hand.

But I shook my head, my walls still firmly in place, my pride a shield against the vulnerability her presence exposed. "No," I replied curtly, my voice a harsh echo of the emptiness that echoed within me.

With a nod of understanding, Feyre turned to leave, the weight of her disappointment a heavy burden on my already burdened soul. And as the door closed behind her, I was left alone once more, the silence of the empty room a stark reminder of the walls I had built to keep the world at bay.

The evening air was thick with the scent of spices and laughter as I made my way through the bustling streets of Velaris, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm hue over the cobblestone pathways. Each step felt heavy, burdened by the weight of my own thoughts, as I navigated the vibrant tapestry of the Night Court.

Amidst the lively chatter and cheerful bustle of the city, familiar voices pierced through the haze of my melancholy. Mor's vibrant laughter echoed through the air, drawing my gaze towards her radiant figure standing across the street. Beside her, Cassian, his presence as imposing as ever, offered a welcoming grin that tugged at the corners of my lips despite my inner turmoil.

"Hey, there she is!" Mor's voice carried on the breeze, her smile bright as she beckoned me over. "Come join us!"

Cassian's invitation followed, his boisterous enthusiasm contagious as he gestured towards the tavern. "We're heading for a drink. You should come with us."

My heart clenched at the genuine warmth in their gestures, a stark contrast to the icy grip of my own despair. The desire to lose myself in their company, if only for a fleeting moment, warred with the overwhelming sense of unworthiness that gnawed at my soul.

But as Mor reached out to take my hand, her touch a gentle reminder of the bond we shared, a surge of jealousy and resentment swept through me. My gaze flickered to Cassian, his powerful wings a constant reminder of everything I had lost. Anger boiled within me, bitter and consuming, as I struggled to suppress the envy that threatened to engulf me. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll pass," I managed to say, my voice betraying a hint of regret. "I'm not really in the mood for drinking tonight."

Mor's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of concern crossing her features before she masked it with reassurance. "That's okay," she said softly, her words a soothing balm to the ache in my heart. "But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us."

With a nod of understanding, I watched as they disappeared into the throng of revelers, their laughter fading into the night. Left alone on the deserted street, the weight of my solitude pressed heavily upon me, a reminder of the chasm that separated me from the warmth of their companionship. As the echoes of their laughter dissolved into the stillness of the night, I couldn't shake the pang of resentment that lingered in my chest. But even amidst the darkness of my despair, I knew that I couldn't risk dragging my friends down with me. So, with a heavy heart, I turned away, retreating into the shadows once more, the silence of the night swallowing me whole.

The faint glow of moonlight, a silver cascade, filtered through the windows, casting ethereal patterns across the dimly lit kitchen of the Night Court's sprawling estate. I stood amidst the chaos, surrounded by a haphazard array of pots, pans, and ingredients scattered across the countertops. My attempt at cooking had quickly spiraled into a messy disaster, each failed endeavor only serving to fuel my frustration further.

As I grappled with the stubborn lid of a jar, a voice sliced through the silence, its presence both unexpected and unwelcome.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Startled, I turned to find Rhysand standing in the doorway, his silhouette a stark contrast against the luminescent backdrop. His wings, a breathtaking display of power and grace, unfurled behind him like the majestic sails of a ship, the membrane-like skin gleaming in the moonlight. They seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy, each beat a testament to the freedom and strength they embodied. My heart clenched at the sight, a bitter pang of jealousy twisting in the depths of my soul. Once, I had known that same sense of freedom, had soared through the skies with effortless grace, my wings slicing through the air like a blade through silk. But now, they were gone, cruelly ripped from my back by those who sought to break me.

An ache, dull and persistent, throbbed in the space where my wings had once been, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. I longed to feel the wind beneath me, to taste the exhilarating rush of flight once more, but it was nothing more than a distant dream, forever out of reach.

"None of your business," I snapped, my voice a whipcrack of frustration, my fingers still wrestling with the stubborn jar lid. The last thing I needed was his pity, his condescending attempts to help when I clearly didn't want it.

Rhysand's gaze softened, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he approached with cautious steps, his movements a ballet of grace. "You're making quite a mess," he observed, his voice gentle but firm, like the soothing murmur of a distant stream. "Let me help you."

I recoiled from his touch, the anger bubbling to the surface like molten lava erupting from the depths of the earth. "I don't need your help," I spat, my voice tinged with venom, the bitterness like bile in my throat. "I don't need anyone."

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence hanging heavy in the air as Rhysand regarded me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "You're clearly upset," he said softly, his words a gentle caress against the storm raging within me. "Let me help you. Let us help you."

But I refused to listen, the tempest of my emotions raging unabated, the walls around my heart fortified against any intrusion. With a strangled cry of frustration, I shoved past him and fled from the room, the echoes of his words following me like a haunting refrain, the cadence of his footsteps a melancholy echo in the corridors of my mind.

Alone in the sanctuary of my darkened chamber, I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of my own solitude pressing down upon me like a suffocating avalanche. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging, as I buried my face in the pillows, the emptiness consuming me like a ravenous beast, its jaws gnashing at the frayed edges of my soul.

"Mind if I join you?"

Nesta's voice broke through the silence, her presence a welcome intrusion in the stillness of the night. I turned to face her, my expression guarded and wary, unsure of what to expect. She stepped onto the balcony, her graceful movements a stark contrast to the heaviness that weighed upon my own shoulders. There was a quiet understanding in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lingered beneath the surface.

"I know what it's like," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet expanse of the night. "To push people away, to build walls around your heart so high that no one can reach you."

I bristled at her words, the anger and resentment bubbling to the surface like a dormant volcano awakening from its slumber. How dare she presume to understand the depths of my despair, the darkness that threatened to consume me from within?

"You have no idea what I'm going through," I snapped, my voice tinged with bitterness. "You have Cassian, you have someone who loves you unconditionally. I have no one."

Nesta's gaze softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she reached out to take my hand. "I may have Cassian, but that doesn't mean I haven't faced my own demons," she said gently. "I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning in darkness, to feel like there's no way out."

I recoiled from her touch, the walls around my heart growing ever taller with each passing moment. "I don't need your pity," I retorted, my voice laced with venom. "I don't need anyone."

Nesta's expression faltered for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it with a steely resolve. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever change your mind. No judgments, no expectations. Just someone who understands." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own sorrow.

The library exuded an atmosphere of solemn tranquility, its shelves adorned with ancient tomes and illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. I sat ensconced amidst the towering pillars of knowledge, a solitary figure in the midst of a vast sea of wisdom, my thoughts tumultuous and unruly.

"I’m joining you.”

The voice, sharp and unwavering, pierced the silence like a dagger, its intrusion disrupting the fragile peace that had settled over the room. Startled, I glanced up to find Amren standing before me, her gaze penetrating and incisive, cutting through the veil of my solitude with unnerving precision.

"Fine," I sighed, my voice tinged with resignation as I gestured for her to take a seat. Amren wasted no time in settling herself across from me, her movements fluid and purposeful, her eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that made me squirm.

"You look like hell," she remarked bluntly, her words a harsh echo in the stillness of the library.

I bristled at her candor, the urge to lash out bubbling up from the depths of my despair like a tempest on the horizon. But there was something in Amren's gaze, a glimmer of genuine concern beneath the steely facade, that gave me pause. She wasn't asking out of idle curiosity; she genuinely wanted to understand the turmoil that churned within me.

"It's nothing," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet her probing stare.

Amren snorted in disbelief, her lips curling into a sardonic smile as she leaned forward, her eyes boring into mine with unrelenting intensity. "Don't give me that bullshit," she retorted, her tone sharp and unyielding. "I may not be the touchy-feely type, but even I can see that something's eating you alive."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing with each passing moment as I struggled to find the words to express the depth of my despair. But before I could respond, Amren reached out and grasped my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the steel in her eyes. "I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through," she said softly, her voice a quiet reassurance in the stillness of the library. "But I do know one thing: you don't have to face it alone. We're your friends, and we're here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging, as I looked into Amren's unwavering gaze. In that moment, I realized that she was right. I didn't have to carry the weight of my despair alone. I had friends who cared about me, who were willing to stand by my side through the darkest of times. But even as the realization washed over me like a tidal wave, a part of me rebelled against the idea of letting them in. The walls around my heart, built brick by brick in an attempt to shield myself from further pain, felt impenetrable, insurmountable.

With a trembling breath, I pulled my hand away from Amren's grasp, my movements abrupt and jerky. "I don't need your help," I said, my voice strained with emotion. "I don't need anyone."

Amren's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with barely concealed anger as she stared at me, incredulous. "You're a fool if you think you can face this alone," she spat, her voice cold and cutting. "But fine, if that's how you want it. Just know that when you finally come crawling back, don't expect us to welcome you with open arms."

And with that, she rose from her seat and stormed from the room, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own despair. Even as the silence settled around me like a suffocating blanket, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at my soul

As the twilight descended, casting its ethereal veil over the Night Court's training grounds, I found myself standing alone at the edge of the courtyard, my heart heavy with the burden of my own anguish. The fading light painted the world in hues of amber and indigo, a melancholy backdrop to the tempest raging within.

With measured steps, Azriel approached, his presence a soothing balm amidst the chaos of my emotions. His silhouette merged with the shadows, his eyes alight with concern as he drew near. "Are you alright?" His voice, a tender caress against the backdrop of the evening's symphony, reached out to me, offering solace in the darkness.

I turned to face him, my heart aching with the weight of unspoken words, the tumult of my soul laid bare in the vulnerability of my gaze. "Do I look alright?" I whispered, the bitterness of my sorrow echoing in the stillness of the night. "Do I seem like someone who has it all together?"

Azriel's expression softened, his gaze a mirror to the storm brewing within me. "I'm just trying to help," he murmured, his voice a gentle melody that stirred the depths of my wounded spirit.

Tears welled in my eyes, the ache in my chest threatening to consume me whole. "Maybe I don't want your help," I confessed, the admission a fragile confession of my deepest fears. "Maybe I'm tired of everyone trying to fix me, like I'm some broken thing in need of repair."

The hurt that flickered in Azriel's eyes pierced through me, his anguish a reflection of my own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice laden with remorse, a silent plea for understanding.

My resolve wavered, the walls around my heart crumbling in the face of his compassion. "I don't need your apologies," I confessed, the weight of my pain heavy upon my shoulders. "I just need… I don't know what I need."

With that, I turned away, the vulnerability of my confession hanging heavy in the air between us. As I retreated into the enveloping darkness, I felt the warmth of Azriel's presence recede, leaving me alone with the ache of my own brokenness. And in the stillness of the night, I grappled with the realization that perhaps, amidst the chaos of my despair, what I truly longed for was the one thing I had pushed away—the comforting embrace of someone who cared.

But even as I yearned for solace, the sight of Azriel, the one who had rescued me from the clutches of darkness, stirred within me a tumult of conflicting emotions. His Illyrian heritage, his wings—symbols of strength and freedom—served as painful reminders of the horrors I had endured. And in his compassionate gaze, I saw reflected the shadows of my past, haunting me with memories I longed to forget. It was hard to see him, to confront the echoes of my trauma that lingered in his presence, yet even amidst the pain, there remained a flicker of hope—something that clung so tight, that wouldn’t let go, and that throbbed in the presence of him.

[PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

#azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar #rhys acotar #acourtofthornsandroses #acowar #acotar fanfiction #angst #fanfic #acomaf #x reader #velaris #night court #a court of thorns and roses #depressing shit #tw depressing thoughts #tw depressing stuff #amren #mor #rhysand #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #amren acotar #cassian #wings #a court of silver flames

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 24

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Two in a row?!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The dullness of the home renovation show does little to combat your fatigue. You watch the drilling and trimming and plastering from behind a glossy curtain, yawning and swaying against Andy. You really just want to go lay down but you don't have the courage to insist on it.

Your eyes roll back only for you to snap your head forward, forcing yourself awake. Several times you feel yourself start to slump to one side. You don't know how much longer you can stay awake.

You feel the air in your nose clog and a rumble in your throat. You're too far gone to catch yourself as you succumb to your exhaustion. You sink into the fuzzy abyss, welcoming the rest for your mind and body.

You sleep without thought, without dreams, or worries. The deep blackness that blurs time and space, the very concept of your existence fading into the void. You forget everything for the dulcet comfort of unconsciousness.

You feel something on your arm. A long, soft caress. It's almost soothing, so subtle and gentle that you're not sure it's real. You moan and sniff through your dry nose.

"Amber?" You murmur, "I'll get up in a minute."

The hand squeezes and you curl your shoulders forward. You're too tired. You just want to sleep forever. You murmur as the touch descends to your elbow and the hand slips down to your stomach, spreading there.

It is much too big to be Amber. And why would she be in the bed with you? Against you? You feel the warmth radiating along your back.

You open your eyes as you're drawn into a stolid embrace. You look down and see the freckled arm around you. Oh. What do you do?

You feel his breath behind your ear, fanning up your scalp. You've never been this close to anyone. Especially a man.

"Andy," you squeak. "Andy…" you grab his wrist as your chest squeezes with panic. He needs to let you go!

"Hmph," he grumbles groggily.

You don't care if he's sleeping. He's touching you. He's got you trapped! You don't like this. You need to get away.

You need to sleep on your own. You need space. You need to be alone!

"Andy!" You squeal and dig your nails in as he hugs you tighter, "get off!"

You writhe as your voice piques. You flail as he keeps a hold of you. He shifts but doesn't let you go. You throw your elbow up and twist around, the impact cracking hard as you're released at once. 

You hit the floor as Andy grips his cheek and grunts. You gasp as you realise what you've done. Oh no! You never meant to hurt him.

"Ow," he hides his face behind his hand, "dove…"

"I'm s-sorry," you stutter, dizzily getting your feet under you, "I didn't mean to–"

You step forward as he peeks out between his fingers. The hurt in his eyes gives you pause and you wince. Oh god! 

"S-s-sorry!" You clap your hands against your cheeks and spin, "I'm sorry! Please! Don't be mad–"

You run without looking, without thinking. You hit the edge of the couch as you race frantically out of the room. You stumble up the stairs, not looking back as you fear he might be after you. That you may have just pushed him too far. But you deserve it, don't you? You hit him first.

You burst into the guest room and scramble to lock the handle. There is no mechanism. Shaky and terrified, you get on the other side of the dresser and push it with your shoulder. It scrapes over the floor until you have it across the door.

You slide down and curl yourself into a ball on the other side, heart beating wildly. No, no, no. Stay out. Stay out!

You can hear his footsteps coming up the stairs and his barely repressed groans. There's a tap on the other side of the door before the handle turns and the dresser lurches but doesn't give. You whimper and cover your head.

You remember the way the chair leg smacked against your head, how the blows came down over and over, on every part of you. You remember how it left your breaths rattly and your bones screaming. You remember how Amber held you and told you it would be okay.

Where is she? You want her there to promise you that you're safe. You left her behind. 

"Dove, please, let me in," Andy says from the other side.

You don't say a word. You gulp as tears spring up. You don't want to remember. Stop!

"Dove, please, I'm not mad," there's friction on the door, "let's talk. What happened?"

You shake your head and ball yourself up tighter.

"Why did you hit me?" He lowers his voice.

You let out a sob. You don't know why. You didn't mean to. It never matters what you meant, it only matters that you're wrong.

"Dove," his voice rises again, "you can't just close me out."

You have no answer for him as you tremble in a heap, trapped between the past and present, paralysed for what's to come. 

"Aren't you going to apologize?" He scoffs.

You have no words, no strength, you have nothing but fear. 

He hits the door and you yelp, "Dove! Answer me." He snarls, "this is my house."

But he touched you. He was touching you! No, how can you be wrong? If he was touching you?

You're confused. It was an accident and yet you feel guilty. But Amber always says you should protect yourself. So why do you feel so rotten?

He huffs and clucks, "I can wait."

You open your eyes and slow drag your arms down, folding them across your chest. You wait and listen. He doesn't retreat right away, no he lurks outside and for a moment you think he's going to stay there until you come out. When at last his footfalls pad away, you're not relieved.

Eventually, you're going to have to leave that room. 

🕊️

Eventually comes in the form of your throbbing bladder. You stand at the door, facing the inevitable, dreading the outside. You shift the dresser inch by inch, trying not to make a noise. You move it only enough to fit through the door.

You peek into the hallway and hold your breath. The evening has come and the house is dark. You creep out, hoping you've gone unheard. You've always been good at being unnoticed.

Until Andy.

You tiptoe over the carpet and glance down towards his door. Your chest twinges with guilt. You hope he's okay. You can only feel the force of your elbow hitting him. You can hear the impact repeating in your head.

You quickly flit into the bathroom and shut the door. You flip the lock up and stand in the dim space. You don't bother with the light switch as you do what you need to and turn the faucet on only halfway to wash your hands.

You take a breath as you face the door. Just a few steps across and you can hide away. You ease it open little by little and let it fall ajar as you see the shadow waiting for you outside. Andy reaches over to flip the overhead light on.

You chew your lip as your eyes sparkle with a sudden wash of tears. You teeter on your toes as the white bulb shines through the glass sconce and illuminates the darkening blemish under his right eye. You did that.

"Andy..." you eke out.

He looks at you, tight-lipped, his own eyes glistening. He takes a deep breath that makes his chest rise and fall. His jaw grits and cheek twitches. He puts his hands on his hips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I told you..." you blubber.

He shows his palm, raising his hand as he drops his chin. A long exhale before he lifts his head again. He lets his shoulders fall.

"We need to talk," he says.

"I... know," you hang your head in defeat.

He gestures down the hall and you offer no resistance. You walk ahead of him, keeping your posture low, wanting to shield your head as you expect the worst. He points you down the stairs and follows your descent.

You enter the dining room at his direction and you sit at the table. He pulls out the chair across from you and lowers himself with a sigh. He pushes his hands up his cheeks and winces, leaning his weight on his elbows against the table.

"You hit me," he says staunchly.

You stare at the table, wilting as you bring your feet up onto the seat and hug your legs. You nod.

"I said sorry--"

"Dove," he intones, "you hurt me. And as much as I want an apology, I want it to mean something. I want you to understand what you're apologising for."

"I am so sorry," you bluster as you snap your head up, "really, Andy. I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to. I would never-- I'm not a mean person."

"You didn't mean to but you did."

"I was confused. You were so close and--"

"You fell asleep. I was keeping you from falling off the couch," he hisses.

"Oh, uh, well, I... I didn't realise--"

"You keep making these excuses. I didn't want to... I didn't want to believe it but I spoke with Dr. Kemp while you were... hiding," he rolls his eyes, "and he agrees with me."

"What?" You heave, nearly choking on tears, "about what?"

"About you. About you're behaviour," he puts his hands down, folding them over the table. You watch the effort he puts into his next words, "about Amber. I didn't want to think about it, to possibly admit it but... she isn't the problem, honey."

"What does that mean?" You wipe your nose, "Andy, what are you saying?"

"Look at me, Dove," he leans in, emphasizing the blotch under his eye, "look what you did."

"But-- but--"

"You take. Everything. People around you give and give and give and they get nothing in return. It's exactly what you did to her. Dove, I want you to get help, but you have to realise, you're not a burden, you're a leech."

You lean back, chest heavy as it hollows shakily. You can barely breath. Why is he saying this?

"No, no, I'm not--"

"You are. You're not stupid so give it up. You know exactly what you've been doing," he insists. His tone is even and hard but not angry. "I know you're not stupid because you know how I feel about you. And you push me away and make me feel like the villain. I'm the bad guy because I love you? Because you made me feel something and I let myself feel it--"

"Love? Feel? Wh-what?"

"Stop pretending you don't know," he snaps, "dove, you just keep hurting me. Look at everything I've done for you. Why would I do all of this if I didn't love you?"

"You love me?" You croak.

"I do and look what you did to me," he waves his hand at his face, "you did this but I'm not going to give up on you."

You bury your face in your hands and cry. Every word is like a knife slicing through you. They always say the truth hurts the most.

"Dr. Kemp is going to help you. He's going to help both of us work through this--"

"I don't understand," you say through your fingers.

"I know you don't, so you need to trust me," he reaches across the table as you open your eyes and tear your hands away from your face, "I can forgive you, this one time. And that's because I love you. Because it would hurt more to let you go."

You shake your head and clutch at your hair, "no, no, no... I never... I didn't mean to hurt you..." you babble, "Andy," you gasp and hit the edge of the table with your hands, "do you mean I hurt Amber?"

He looks down and swallows tightly, "honey, you know what you did. You know it. You have to accept it if you're going to change."

You shudder as the world seems to shrink around you. You really are just as bad as you always thought. All those years in your little bubble, with Amber lying to you, telling you that you're not a monster. She took your abuse and you took everything from her. How could you be so horrible and not even know it?

"I... didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I didn't... mean to," you chant through thick sobs, "no, I didn't mean to..."

"Shhh, dove," he stands and you make yourself even small in the chair.

You wince as he rounds the table and kneels beside you. He hushes you as he touches your arm, rubbing it gently as he coos at you. You quiet to a hiccuping heave and look at him.

"Are you going to try?" He asks.

You nod and gulp loudly.

"That's good, sweetie," he praises and reaches up to caress your cheek, "Dr. Kemp is going to see us tomorrow and we can do this together."

"Us? Both?" You murmur in confusion as he runs his fingers back down your arm and takes your hand.

"Couples therapy," he explains, "we have to work on our communication."

"Couple... what?" You squint at him, lashes fluttering.

"Come on, dove," he stands and pulls you to your feet, "I told you how I feel, are you going to keep hurting me by pretending you don't feel the same?"

Your lip trembles. Do you feel the same? You don't know. You've never really known. You're just afraid and lost and confused. You don't want to be a bad person.

"You feel bad, don't you? For hitting me?" He asks and you nod, a sob wrenching in your chest, "and you feel bad why?"

You search his face, only looking in his eyes for a second before you can stand no more. You look at his neck and the tendons there, the way it bobs nervously, and the tension set into his shoulders. Your lips part and you puff out a shaky breath.

"Because... I love you?" You squeak the uneven statement through your quivering lips.

"You do but and that means it's going to be okay," he draws you into a hug and you don't fight it. You can't fight something you don't understand, "isn't it, dove?"

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #library au #defending jacob #series #don't speak

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (XIII) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Sixth year comes to a close. Y/N and Harry sport new badges of trauma. Fleur and Bill get married.

Part XII / Part XIV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: chapter wc: 6.3k. Enjoy. I really miss Regulus *cry*

Time bears no meaning to one unseeing and unfeeling, one who endlessly sinks into a void. You’ve read the papers and the theories: an observer outside of a black hole would think that time has frozen, while those falling into the black hole would appear to be frozen to those watching. 

Perhaps, you were falling through a black hole. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been laying in the medical wing, eyes puffy, pillow damp with tears, but you can only pity whoever it was that sat with you the entire time. The first memory you could recall of waking up in the medical wing seemed so distant, but you knew it had likely only been a few days since then. 

Nothing seemed to register in your mind throughout those days, not that you cared all that much. You would simply peel your eyes open, silently shed tears, ignore whoever was whispering in your ear, ignore Madam Pomfrey’s fussing, go back to sleep, and repeat. 

Every time you awoke, you desperately hoped that the events that kept replaying in your head had been nothing but a terrible, prolonged nightmare. But the emptiness in your pocket weighed on your chest and hollowed out your heart. 

Every time you opened your eyes to see the familiar beige, arched ceilings and bright latticed windows, you wanted to sink through the bed and fall into an abyss that matched the chasm in your chest . 

Regulus’ voice kept ringing in your ears, making your head ache with sharp stabs behind your eyes, ‘I’ll find you again, my love.’ You wanted to laugh. His last words to you were futile promises, yet you still wanted nothing more than to believe them. 

You were positive that you would drive yourself into madness.

You decide to start listening to the voice that would always emit from beside you, half expecting it to be a figment of your imagination. Even so, you hoped that it could provide solace, if not a distraction from your mental spiral.

The more you listened, the more your senses began to clear – and you realized you couldn’t spend forever wallowing in your misery. Surprisingly, it was not just one person that visited you. From what you could discern, it was three different people that would seemingly take turns talking to you. 

“Mother and I are concerned for you, amico mio. Draco hasn’t been back since that night, same with Professor Snape. The term is going to end soon, and Aurors have been hassling Potter for answers. They’re leaving you alone for now because you’ve been unresponsive, but the press and Ministry are waiting for your eyewitness account. If you don’t get better soon…They want to send you to St.Mungo’s for monitoring, but mother volunteered to house you instead. I have to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Rest well, Y/N.” 

Blaise.

It seemed that Dumbledore was dead then. There was no other reason why the Ministry would be so eager to question you. Two people died that night, three if you counted whatever part of yourself was missing now – but only Dumbledore would be memorialized. 

You felt your heart race at the thought, but you tried to ground yourself by remembering Blaise’s words. At least you knew that the Contessa was willing to take you in. The thought sent a warm buzz down your navel. You wouldn’t be alone. 

“It was Professor Snape. It all happened so fast. After he shot the spell and Dumbledore … Draco was going to stay with you, but then they shot off the dark mark into the sky. And Snape, he-he … he’s the Half-Blood Prince. He killed him. Dumbledore trusted him, and he killed him. I don’t know where the locket is either. To think of what it took – what it cost us, and I lost the bloody thing.” 

Harry. 

Even in your state, you could feel Harry’s turmoil – his rage. But you couldn’t bring yourself to reflect the same sentiments, things were always more convoluted than they seemed, especially for your lot. You did feel remorseful about the locket though, realizing the damn thing was still looped around your neck (even if it were a sham). 

You don’t know what exactly happened that night in the astronomy tower after you blacked out, just that Snape finished the job and escaped with the rest of the death eaters, but you assumed that Harry was secretly wounded by the professor’s betrayal. 

No matter how vehemently he denies it, you could tell Harry did care for Snape in his own weird, unconventional way. You shared a similar sentiment, feeling a tinge of understanding toward the disillusioned man. That was why you held onto hope that Snape was truly not a traitor, but only time would tell. 

You were taken aback to hear that Draco tried to stay with you, but perhaps your strange encounters with each other and your initiative to try and help him – even while he aimed his wand at you – made him feel indebted. 

“The wrackspurts are beginning to leave, they were hovering around you for a long time. You will be okay, he waits as he always has. You must not give up.” 

Luna.

Luna was a comforting presence. She never bombarded you or urged you to recover quicker, and oftentimes you could feel her gently playing with your hand. You always looked forward to hearing her the most. Her reassurances sparked hope in you, especially since you believed that she was clairvoyant. 

Things did get better, eventually. 

You awoke on the second to last day of term with aching joints and stiff muscles. The world seemed to gleam with a new vibrance under the July sky, and it helped that Blaise nearly tipped out of his seat when you abruptly sat up on the bed. 

“Is that any way to greet me, B? How uncouth.” Your scratchy voice did little to deter the boy who merely threw his arm over your shoulder. 

After a few moments of silent greetings, you pull back and pat the boy gently on the shoulder, wanting room to stretch your arms. 

Blaise moves over to sit at the foot of your bed, hands digging into his robes, “Glad to have you back. You gave me quite the fright, you know?” The boy shoots a pointed look at you, “I thought you were dead when I found you that night.” 

“So it was you?” Your words are more to yourself than anything, but the Italian nods firmly. 

“Mio dio, here we are.” The boy fishes something out of his pocket, and extends his palm towards you, “Thought you would want this.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest as you reach over. 

Regulus’ frame. 

“Thank you.” The lump in your throat makes it difficult to say much more, but the gratitude that bleeds into your words has Blaise tilting his head. Of course, your friend didn’t quite grasp how important the tattered pieces of wood were to you, but you were touched nonetheless. 

Thank Merlin for his scavenging tendencies. 

“Prego. Now, are you feeling well enough to get up? You should start packing soon.” 

“Nevermind, just kill me now.” Blaise, the traitor, laughs at your misery much to your chagrin. 

The last two days at Hogwarts are filled with suppressed grief and reassuring smiles, with many approaching you to make sure you didn’t sustain any permanent damage from the encounter with Bellatrix (you were quite sure Neville even promised retribution). 

You’re decidedly silent about the main events of being manhandled by Greyback, tired from the tirade of questions and also unsure if the prospect would have your friends flying off their handles.

As the Hogwarts Express came to a halt at King’s Cross, you dismissed yourself from the Trio’s compartment and levitated your items with you to locate Blaise. The slytherin was adamant that you say your farewells to him, already dissatisfied with your decision to stay elsewhere for the summer. 

Peering into one of the compartments, you catch Blaise’s eye and wave slowly. The boy stands and slides the door open for you, grinning at your unimpressed frown, “You made it!” 

“Yes, I didn’t want you to brood the entire summer. Merlin knows I barely agreed to have tea with you and the Contessa anyway.” Your indignant response elicits a few snickers from behind Blaise, and the Italian spins around with an expression of mock offense. 

“Traitors, all of you.” 

You peer over Blaise’s shoulder and meet the curious stares of some of the other slytherins in your year, though Draco was notably absent.

Pansy appraises you quickly before grinning, “Well met, L/N. Blaise said you were much better than your other friends.” 

You let out a dry laugh, but nod in greeting. Scanning the opposite bench, an exasperated set of eyes cuts through you. The boy inclines his head, causing you to do the same. You were already familiar with Theodore Nott, having quite literally clashed with him over the top position in your Runes class (which somehow led to you both studying together in silence?). 

“Y/N, any summer plans?” You lean against the doorframe and wave at Daphne, ignoring Blaise’s huff. 

“Hi Daphne, and just a few things here and there. Mainly just looking forward to spending time with my dogs.” Which was not totally a lie, both Remus and Sirius were part time dogs of sorts. 

Blaise crosses his arms and shakes his head, “Yes, a summer with some pets over one with me.” 

Continuing to ignore the boy next to you, you crack your knuckles and smile apologetically, “It’s nice to see you all. But apologies, I must get going, one of my dogs gets a bit restless.” You wave to the group and quickly pat Blaise on the back before quickly ducking out of the train. 

As you walk through the platform, you barely flinch when Harry sidles up to you with his own luggage. 

“Harry, come to Grimmauld Place after it’s all done.” The boy shifts his head to look at you, eyebrow raised to indicate that he would have done so even without the reminder. Rolling your eyes, you adjust the collar of your shirt before quickly pulling out the locket long enough for the boy to see. 

Harry’s mouth sets into a firm line and he nods, “Alright. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.” His firm tone indicated that he expected an explanation from you, but you could see that he was refraining from being too direct, having already expressed guilt for what happened to Regulus. 

Harry and Hermione informed you that they would be taking certain measures to protect their respective families, and you winced at the implications – more so feeling commiseration for Hermione than Harry, knowing that the girl’s parents actually valued her. 

As Sirius and Remus come into view – Sirius in his Grim form, Harry rushes away and lunges into Remus’ awaiting arms. Sirius trots over to you in greeting and you have to restrain yourself from petting him, knowing it would be awkward to face the man after he transforms back. 

Crouching down, you smile at the dog-man and barely duck fast enough to miss his attempt at licking you. It would appear that he was forgoing formalities and was jumping straight into licking and pawing at you and Harry – you admit, that it made his disguise all the more convincing. 

“Okay, enough you old menace!” You bat at him, causing him to huff at you, still rounding around you to nudge at your leg. 

Harry reluctantly leaves as he spots his Uncle Vernon, reaching down to squeeze your wrist in comfort one last time. As soon as you double-check your items and greet Remus, you all are off in a hurry to get to Grimmauld Place, not feeling comfortable being out in the open for a prolonged period of time. 

The journey back is spent in silence as you pointedly ignore Sirius’ looks of concern and Remus’ more subtle glances. 

The first few days back at the gloomy house are interesting to say the least. Both of the adults were almost diffident towards you, clearly unsure of how to breach the subject of their concerns without immediately spiraling into an interrogation. 

You try and wait it out the first few days, and soon Harry is joining you with a pleased smile, regaling you with how Dudley had made amends with him before the Dursleys all packed up and left. Despite Harry’s arrival, Sirius and Remus continued to edge around you both much to Harry’s confusion. 

The awkward atmosphere gives you and Harry time to convene in your room, both sitting around the decoy locket. As you peer down onto your bed at the glimmering piece of jewelry, you feel your lips twist in forbearance. 

Harry scoops it up and examines it in the light before sighing, “Yeah. This isn’t the real thing, I would be able to feel it if it were.” Narrowing his eyes further, he tugs at the locket’s sides and pulls. 

The locket abruptly pops open and you and Harry share a look that pretty much conveyed the ‘shit that actually worked’ thought that flew through both of your heads. 

You’d think there would be more security measures even with a sham. 

Placing it back down onto the bed, you tilt your head at the slip of paper that revealed itself inside. Harry slowly picks it up and unfurls it, frowning at the contents, 

“To the Dark Lord, 

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. 

R.A.B” 

“Regulus,” Your gasp is followed by a devastating realization that has you shuddering. Harry looks up at you with a worried frown, patting your knee before handing the paper to you. As you gently cup the paper in your hands, you reread the message several times. 

“He died to try and stop him.” Harry’s words are not a question, but rather a declaration of crushing recognition. He looks over to your hunched figure and cups his hand around yours, nodding firmly, “Keep it.” 

Not bothering to retort that you were planning on doing so even if you had to wrangle it from him, you simply nod and carefully fold the note up and place it back inside the locket. As you carefully click the pendant shut and move the necklace back over your head, Harry turns towards the empty space near your door, “Kreacher!” 

A loud pop emits throughout the room and you slowly turn to face the house elf, “Yes, Master Harry called for Kreacher?” 

Harry swallows harshly, “Did Regulus ever talk about a locket that belonged to Voldemort?” 

Kreacher flinches back and alternates between sneering at Harry and frowning at you, “Kreacher doesn’t know anything about a locket.” 

You rise up from the bed and slowly walk towards the cowering house elf, squatting down to appear less intimidating, “Kreacher. Regulus, he…he wanted–wants us to destroy it. Please.” You hoped that Kreacher didn’t register your slip up, not wanting to explain that his favorite master was blown to bits by an insane witch. 

Seeming to weigh his options, Kreacher darts his eyes around the floor before meeting your gaze, “Kreacher will find it.” Not a moment later, the elf pops away and you’re left with your thoughts and achy knees. 

As you stretch back up, Harry shoots you a grateful look before sighing, “We should talk to Sirius about the locket at the very least. Maybe he’ll let us look around and we can figure out what else Regulus knew.” 

You don’t have a chance to answer as Kreacher pops back into the room, hands clasped tightly around the real locket, extending his hand away from his face to keep the artifact as far away from him as possible. 

“Thank you, Kreacher.” The elf merely grunts at Harry’s words and practically shoves the locket into his hands when the boy gets close enough to reach it. 

You nod and smile at the elf, feeling a twinge of guilt when he pops away without another word. It seemed that Kreacher had an idea of what happened to Regulus, and he was definitely not happy with you and Harry by any stretch of the imagination. 

Harry fiddles with the item before huffing, “Hello again, Tom.” 

Rubbing your forehead tiredly, you leave your friend to his musings and opt to find Sirius, deciding to rip the bandaid off sooner than later. 

Surprisingly, the man barely bats an eye at your bizarre request, “Sure, go ahead. I don’t think you’ll find much more than old books though.” 

Nodding with wide eyes, you try to rein in your gobsmacked expression, “Uh–yeah, thanks,” and with one last boost of confidence, you decide to pat the man’s shoulder, “And really, thanks for the concern. Harry and I are fine though, so you guys don’t have to keep walking around eggshells when we’re in the same room.” 

Not giving time for the man to respond, you practically fly up the stairs and towards Regulus’ bedroom. Hit with a sense of deja vu, you only pause to take everything in once you crack open the bedroom door. 

So many memories. 

But he’s not here anymore.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest, you slowly shuffle into the dark room and shut the door behind you. Spinning around on the spot, you take in every detail around you, determined to commit it to memory – for what reason, you didn’t really know. You wander around in circles for a while, slowly working up the courage to actually look around for something useful. 

It felt wrong to go through his possessions without his knowledge or expressed permission. 

Crouching down next to the dusty bed, you trace your finger around the design of the bedding. 

The design scheme of Regulus’ room was far more subdued in comparison to the rest of the house’s gaudy antiques and brassy accents, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he would have decorated a house of his own.

Brushing away the thought, you pause your movements when your finger hits a protrusion under the mattress. Furrowing your eyebrows, you slowly lift up the quilt bedding.

Please be spider-free. If a spider lunges at me, I will actually die. 

Your prayers are, thankfully, taken into account. As you peer at the object, you realize that it was a worn leather journal shoved haphazardly between the two mattresses – how neat. You wrestle the book out with far more effort than it should have taken, and breathlessly sit down on the floor. 

Flipping the object in your hands, you run your finger along the creased cover. 

Just as you lay the book in your lap to flip it open, you’re distracted by the sound of the door creaking open. Harry slowly slinks inside the room and shoots you a quick smile, “Sirius is being weird. Like strange. Something about therapy and teenagers?” You merely raise your eyebrow as Harry moves to sit beside you, the boy’s eyes immediately falling to your lap, “What’s that?” 

“No clue. What about the locket? Figured out how we’re going to destroy it?” 

Harry rolls his eyes before fishing out the necklace and dangling it from his hand like it wasn’t a precious heirloom (even if it were tainted by a sadistic, egomaniac’s soul shard). 

“No clue,” Harry intones, laughing at your narrowed eyes. You roll your eyes before shoving him lightly, deciding to tuck the journal away by your side before getting up to wander around the room again. 

Your search around Regulus’ room continues for the next few days, but ends up fruitless. 

July passed quickly, taking the sunny days away with it. The journal that you found was shrunken and bouncing around in your pocket, remaining untouched. You couldn’t explain it, but it didn’t feel right to read it just yet. 

Was Luna’s clairvoyance rubbing off on you? 

The thought had you smiling softly, causing Remus to share a look with Sirius that you barely caught. 

“You doing okay there, pup?” Sirius asked, reaching over to pat your arm. 

“Never better, old man. Also, pup?” Your question hangs in the air and Remus merely shakes his head before craning back down to read his book. Sirius smiles brightly at you, “Yep.” 

“Never a dull moment around here. Forget my Runes study, maybe I should become a mind healer and have you as my case study.” You tease, much to Harry and Remus’ amusement.

You wouldn’t ever admit it aloud, but you had sorely missed the comfort of summers with Sirius. 

Actually, you wanted to rescind that statement. 

“You absolute troll of a man!” Your words echo throughout the house as Sirius’ laughter draws the attention of the other two men. 

Remus shoots Sirius an exasperated look, while Harry spins around in his seat to try and see what was happening. You emerge into the room, heaving from anger, hand clasped tightly around a soggy potions book. 

“I am going to wreak havoc upon your bloodline, Black! Beg now or wrath shall hath no mercy for your foolishness.” Your wild gesticulation and fury has Remus raising an eyebrow towards Sirius who simply shoots his friend an innocent smile. 

The absolute oaf then turns and sticks his tongue out at you. 

“Do it! I dare you! You wouldn’t–” 

You throw the wet tome at his head. 

“Remmy! Look what’s become of my beautiful face!” Sirius whines and bangs his elbows on the table, drawing the attention of one stressed out Mrs.Weasley. The woman shoots a withering look at the man before returning to fuss over a particularly wild table arrangement. 

Remus simply shakes his head and resumes surveying the venue, studiously ignoring the man next to him (who was now sporting a large bump on his head that he refused to heal in order to show everyone the result of your “demonic mood swings”). 

You smile tauntingly at the older man before standing up to walk around. It was insane to you how drastically different you were feeling now in comparison to at the beginning of your summer break. The aching in your heart never fully ceased, but you were back up on your feet and even allowing yourself to indulge in Sirius’ antics. 

The world truly was coming to an end, wasn’t it? 

Guiltily, you found yourself remedying your heart ache by sneaking into Regulus’ bedroom at night. It inexplicably brought you closure to see what was left of the teen’s bedroom. 

August emerged from the corners of the sky with temperamental winds and blue, misty dawns. Bill and Fleur had decided to commence the month with a rather extravagant wedding, having sent out your personal invites weeks before. The venue was at the Burrow, but was simply breathtaking: the ivory tent was propped up by poles that were encircled with plethoras of cream flowers, and the dainty chairs lined with gold were eye-catching without being tawdry. 

Gold. 

You wince as you reach into your jacket, feeling the scraps of Regulus’ gold frame brush against your fingertips. 

It seemed you weren’t the only one plagued with grief and foreboding though. Many were expecting for Voldemort to make his next move any day now, which was one of the many reasons as to why Bill and Fleur decided to rush their union. 

The political climate was tense as well, wracked with uncertainties after the death of Dumbledore. Ex-Auror, now instated Minister of Magic, Scrimegeour was trying his best, but he was rough around the edges and had the charisma of an angry goblin. 

Still, you were one of the many who preferred him over Fudge. 

In light of all this, you made a greater effort to get to know Contessa Zabini, knowing that your channels for information were more restricted than ever, and who better to turn to than an all-powerful, neutral femme fatale? 

Corresponding with Blaise and Luna kept you sane throughout the summer since you refrained from trauma dumping on Harry (á la therapy, knowing the boy was literally the embodiment of “what are you talking about? I’m perfectly fine”).  

“Hey, pup.” You spin around to see Sirius approaching you with his hands in his pockets, mouth curled up amiably. 

Suspiciously raising a brow, you cross your arms, “If you pull something on me right now, Bill is going to be left wondering why there’s an empty chair at our table. Spoiler alert, your chair, not mine.” 

The man chuckles at your playful (kind of) threat, and simply hands you a folded paper, “Thought you’d want it. Still not sorry about your book though.” 

Shaking your head, you gently grasp the slip and raise your eyes in uncertainty when you realize it was a folded photo. Sirius gestures for you to unfold it, eyes gleaming brightly with a shine you could hardly decipher. 

As you bring the photo up towards your eyes, you gape as you realize what you were looking at. 

“Sirius, what?--” Why was he giving you a photo of Regulus? What did he know?

“I don’t know what’s up with you and Prongslet and your fascination with Regulus, but I’m not completely oblivious.” He jabs, smiling widely at your disbelief. 

Debatable, really. 

You sigh and hug the photo to your chest, “I promise, I’ll tell you everything when this all blows over. Thank you though.” 

The man shrugs and gives you a brief side hug, “I’ll take your word for it.” 

As soon as you see his mischievous smile disappear behind the milling Weasley family, you decide to study the photo again. 

Regulus looked a bit younger than he had in his portrait, hair a tad shorter and eyes sparkling with a youthful glow. Clearly, Regulus hadn’t been marked when this photo was taken, but he still looked like a dutiful, proper pureblood heir. 

He looked perfect. 

You were going to rip Bellatrix to shreds.

Yes. You would have the banshee screeching at your feet, begging for the release of death. 

Sorry Neville, she’s mine to kill.

“Heya-” 

“Y/N!” 

You quickly fold up the photo and tuck it into your pocket, shooting your head up to meet the eyes of the twins. Smiling at their antics, you tip an invisible hat to them, “Messrs Twins, how are you today? Excited to see Bill in his suit?”

George offers you his arm as he gestures outside of the tent, “Doing just dandy, Y/N!” 

“Yes, Bill was able to weasel his way out of mother’s claws,” Seeing your confused expression, Fred continues, “She wanted him to wear father’s wedding robes.” 

Snickering at the idea, you allow George to continue dragging you, “How frightful. You both might not be as lucky though. Merlin knows Charlie’s muscles would suffocate in those robes, you two on the other hand…” 

“Ouch!” 

“My poor heart!” 

Your banter continues until the twins manage to parade you through the Burrow’s living room, dropping you off with mock bows, “It’s been our pleasure!” 

As soon as they’re off and running to Merlin knows where, you turn around to meet the unimpressed face of Minister Scrimgeour. Harry, Hermione, and Ron emerge from the kitchen and meet your questioning eyes, looking just as puzzled by his appearance. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Minister?” Harry asks, ever the diplomat. 

You smile wearily, shifting closer to your friends, “Yes, don’t suppose you’re here for the treacle tarts?” 

The scraggy man shakes his firmly, mouth deepening in its frown, “Unfortunately not. I think we both know the answer to your question though, Mr.Potter.”

Clenching your jaw, you make way to sit on the couch, gesturing for the Minister to sit across the coffee table. Your friends quickly follow your movements, fidgeting quietly as the man limps over and settles down with a huff. 

He wastes no time and sets down a folded cloth on the table, leaning on his knees to meet your awaiting gazes. Before any of you have time to question him, he reaches deep into his coat and whips out a folded piece of paper. 

The yellowed parchment floats to the side and unfolds itself as Scrimegeour shoots you all an assured look before reading off of it, “Herein is set forth the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore-” Holy shit, “-First, Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my deluminator…” 

You zone out, only vaguely aware of how Scrimgeour reaches down to unwrap the cloth. Harry shifts uncomfortably beside you and you’re quick to pick up on his grief. He was still in the process of accepting the headmaster’s death. 

Frankly, you were amazed you were left in the will. 

Hermione receives a children’s book (not cryptic at all). 

Harry receives the snitch he caught in your first year, which was quite unexpected seeing as your friend was pretty much carrying the weight of the Wizarding World on his back. It seemed that he thought the same as he reluctantly reached over to accept it, rolling the golden ball around his palm. 

A snitch, really? Couldn’t he have left a detailed instruction manual on how to slay Voldemort? Not like your lot isn’t elbow-deep in resuscitating Wizarding Britain or anything.  

Your attention is drawn away from Harry’s despondent face when a paper is being shoved towards you. 

What was this, the second time today?

Masking your bemusement, you reach over and take it from the man’s hand, quickly glancing at your friends. 

‘There is a wonderful municipality in Moskenesøya, Norway called Reine. Anders Fiske owes me a meal of which I pass to you. You may find great enlightenment on your troubles with him. He has knowledge of magic which your young companion utilized.’ 

Slowly looking up at the other occupants of the room, you don’t let your surprise show. 

“Well?” Ron asks impatiently, clearly intrigued that Dumbledore left you an actual written message. 

“A meal. He left me a meal ticket.” 

Minister Scrimgeour leaves shortly after, mumbling something about endless paperwork and efforts to suppress the growing dark forces. You were quick to part from your friends, falling into thought about how you were going to heed your former headmaster’s words. 

As you mill around the tent, eyes glued to the purple carpet under your feet, you’re pleasantly surprised when you accidentally bump into a familiar face. 

“Luna!” 

The girl spins around and looks at you dazedly, mouth tugging into a wide grin, “Y/N! The heliopaths burn brightly around you. Have you gotten the clue, then?” 

Gazing fondly at the younger girl, you wrap an arm around her and guide her near a vacant table, “I’m not even surprised. Did you see this coming?” 

“There were whispers that Dumbledore would aid you. Our paths are now converging…” Luna trails off, but you understand the gist of her words. It would appear that she was going to help you in some way, and you were quite pleased with the turn of events. 

Soon, dusk blanketed over the fields and the inky skies loomed over the tent, giving life to the vibrant lights and the guests who were resplendent in their formal attires. 

Sheer curtains fell around the tent in waves of dusty purple, slightly veiling the patrolling Aurors from sight. Sirius had to be put under multiple glamours much to his ire, but he conceded after being told it was either that or partying as a dog the whole night. 

The man was currently nestling a glass of firewhiskey to his chest by your side, occasionally glancing at Luna who was spinning in circles on your other side. Remus had decided to help patrol, and you rolled your eyes at his wallflower tendencies, picking up the unspoken “babysitting Sirius” duties in his stead. 

Bill and Fleur were dancing around at the center of the tent, surrounded by their immediate families and you were entranced by the dozens of pink butterflies that encircled the couple. 

How were they doing that?

Well, they did make for quite the attractive pair, and you were just grateful for the lack of drama throughout the evening. Though, you would be making a grand escape at the first hint of drunken stupors and incoherent babbling. 

Turning to the entrance of the tent, you smile softly as you see Harry make his way inside, slowly approaching an older man who was peering at the clapping guests with poorly concealed anxiety. 

Before you can further goggle at the boy’s movements, a sheen of yellow hues suddenly bombards your eyes and casts a shadow over your figure. Looking up, you’re struck at the sight of a familiar dazed expression. 

“Hello, Xenophilius Lovegood,” The man sticks out his hand for you to take, and you see Luna sway happily towards the man, “A pleasure, Mr.Lovegood. I’ve always enjoyed meeting my friends’ families. I’m Y/N.” 

“My Luna speaks very highly of you, and if you or Mr.Potter ever need anything, feel free to come to us. We live just over the hill, you see.” The man muses pleasantly, wrapping an arm around his daughter as she nods in agreement. 

You speak to the man for a few more minutes before he dismisses himself to find Harry, explaining that he would very much enjoy talking about The Quibbler with the boy. 

At the man’s departure, you begin to try and drag Sirius onto the dance floor, but he simply complains that the music wasn’t really his style and chugs his drink. 

There did seem to be a lack of electric guitar riffs in the air. 

Rings of gasps and shuffles draw your attention away from your two companions, and you look towards the center of the tent to see an illumination of blue floating in place of the once dancing couple. 

A patronus. 

Immediately, Shacklebolt’s resounding voice echoes around the venue, “The Ministry has fallen. The Minister of Magic is dead…they are coming…” Scrimgeour was dead? You just saw the bloody man!

“They are coming…” 

The tense silence has you stepping forward and drawing your wand, sharing a look with an alarmed Sirius who was slowly edging in front of you. 

“They are coming…”

As the patronus dissipates, the panic that had been stewing erupts into cacophonous shouts and echoing distortions of apparition. Many guests flee just as the first cluster of black smoke swoops through the tent. 

Death eaters. 

Grabbing Sirius’ wrist, you quickly try to shout over the chaos, “Stay safe! You and Remus better not die!” 

The man nods firmly, but gets pulled away into the moving crowd as people begin to make a break for it just as the first spells start flying around. Twirling your wand into your palm, you turn and grab Luna’s hand, pulling her behind you as you duck through the mayhem.

You see rays of green soar across the tent as flames begin to engulf the flowers and curtains. Blocking a killing curse from flying straight into your face, you quickly shoot out a Confringo and a binding spell back to back, effectively binding your attacker as he tries to duck. 

Spinning around frantically, ignoring the blood rushing through your ears and the thrumming of your heart beat in your fingertips, you see Hermione apparate with Ron and Harry. Sighing in relief at the trio’s escape, you quickly continue to push through the pandemonium. 

As Remus turns his back, you see a death eater try and shoot a killing curse at him causing you to nearly fly forward on the spot. 

“Expulso!” The lamps by the death eater’s head explodes in a spray of glass, causing him to hunch over long enough for Sirius to fire off an array of hexes that had you raising your eyebrows. 

Good to know that even Azkaban couldn’t erode his dueling skills. 

Satisfied with your cathartic release, you apparate away with Luna to the first place that pops into your head. 

As you touch down on damp cobblestone, you quickly spin around to assess Luna for injuries. The girl merely smiles at you reassuringly before gazing around at your surroundings. Luckily, it seemed that this section of Diagon Alley was safe from death eaters for now, but with the fall of the Ministry, it would only be a matter of hours before chaos would erupt. 

You cringe at the thought, knowing that many of the shops were still recovering from the previous year when Ollivander’s was ransacked and when Fortescue was killed by death eaters. 

Slowly creeping out from the dark alley you were both in, you assess the environment quickly. There were a few wizards still walking about, but for the most part, it was quiet and safe. 

Waving for Luna to follow, you both begin to stroll down the stone path, no real destination in mind. 

“Bedda Matri! What are you doing?” You whip around with your wand pointed towards the voice, only lowering it once you see an annoyingly familiar face, “And what are you wearing?”

“Nice to see you too, B. We were at a wedding for your information. I would have taken you as my plus one, but then I remembered how insufferable you are.” 

Your shoulders slacken in relief and you quickly trail over to your smirking friend. 

The boy goes to retaliate, but is interrupted by a dulcet voice, “Mio figlio, aren’t you going to introduce me?” 

Pausing at the honeyed voice, you slowly crane your head to the shadows to meet a pair of amused eyes. 

Blaise seems to flounder a bit before quickly composing himself, “Mama, this is Y/N L/N, my good friend,” he then turns towards your flustered gape and coughs lightly, “Y/N, this is my mother.” 

You collect yourself and straighten up your posture, inclining your head towards the imposing woman, “Contessa Zabini.” 

“How fortunate.” She drawls, slowly approaching your stiff figure, “We finally meet young Y/N, though the night is not kind. Come, let’s have tea together, we have much to discuss.” 

Perhaps you should have tested your luck with the death eaters. 

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txorua @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale @peachyaeger @thegayhoenextdoor @l--absinthe @ok-boke @summer-noir @mikeikax @musically-ambiguous @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @randomfaeriechild @misacc08 @that-bitch-bri @ily2lia

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black imagine #regulus black fluff #regulus x reader #regulus black scenario #regulus black angst #regulus black imagines #regulus deserved better #regulus black series #harry potter series #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter and the half blood prince #the noble house of black #sirius black #hermione granger #ronald weasley #the weasley twins #luna lovegood #blaise zabini #draco malfoy

[dmagedgoods]

I just really like the idea of Durge having previously dealt with Raphael, running into him with Amnesia and assuming they're in a relationship given all of Raphael's flirting and pet names. Durge deciding to kiss a shocked Raphael who goes along with it because he's been looking to find some kind of hold over them.

Anon, I need you to know how much this inspired me. I made a little story out of it with my own Durge Cian because it fits him so incredibly well. He's nothing if not obsessive. And especially obsessed with that devil. 😁

A Devil You Know? A Devil You Do?

Rating: General but a touch spicy

Relationships: Raphael/Durge (male, Cian)

Tags: obsessive thoughts, kissing, spoilers for act 2

Summary: Dark Urge Cian misunderstands his own obsessive thoughts about the local devil following him and assumes a relationship they don't actually have. - Much to the delight of the devil in question. AO3 ~ The picture was lively, like a vision haunting his every waking moment: Eyes of molten heat reaching out for his soul, the soul he yearned to possess, his elegant hair combed back, curling invitingly in his neck, calling for his fingers to bury themselves in its softness to bend his head to his liking, his expressive dark eyebrows, giving him too many hints, opening his emotions to him too easily, his aristocratic, suave features with a prominent nose and thin wide lips, indicating a dominating and controlling nature and other irresistible traits he wanted to lay open and dissect. He followed him with every step, even now Cian felt his presence while he was tossing and turning, restless, wide awake in the middle of this stinking, irksome camp surrounded by the darkness striking fear in the hearts of those around him. If only they knew. It was nothing but a weak shadow compared to the black abyss he felt in his very own chest. And yet. When he closed his eyes, he saw fire striking through its depth. – Burning hot on his skin and like a raging inferno in his guts. His fire. His torrid ambition. His glowing gaze. His fierce desire. He could feel it all, he could feel him with every breath. It was a game, wasn’t it? He is toying with me. ‘The mouse smiled brightly: It outfoxed the cat! Then down came the claw, And that, love, was that.’ He licked his paper-dry lips. There wasn’t much he could recall about himself, his memories kept withdrawing just in time whenever he tried to sink his fangs into their silhouettes, mocking him at the edge of his consciousness. And so did he. But his adoration for poetry, the way it resonated within him, brought him a profound, endearing joy. No, this was not a new development but an old, a familiar part of him the devil must have been aware of. ‘And that, love, was that.’

“You know me.” He spoke the words into the darkness. None of his companions roused from their sleep. But his invisible observer stayed silent. “And I know you, isn’t that true, devil? Despite the farce of an ‘introduction’, he had not only told him with his gazes, with his demeanor and luring sensuality, but with an open statement even, his little hint: ‘It's not every day one meets such a cavalier sinner such as yourself! A true, bloody pleasure.’ His pulse quickened, his blood rushed through his veins so loudly that he feared its noise would alarm the vampire. The strong bond he was sensing, the delight he felt, the growing desire: That devil and him, they were connected far beyond fleeting first impressions. You have been at my side, have you not?, he continued in his thoughts, so loud and focused that if Raphael indeed was near, he probably could hear them as clearly as his words, And now you patiently wait for me to remember. But even if I still lack the pictures and specifics as of now, I do remember you; a part of me recognizes what still lies buried. It would be impossible to forget a devil like you. He closed his eyes, listening for an answer that did not come. With a little smile, he turned to his side. The silence did not matter. Soon the truth would be revealed. - The child left the table with a self-satisfied grin. For someone her age, she was, well, bearable. Although, her victory was his, not hers, and – either way – mostly the devil’s, despite his defeat. Raphael’s reactions, their conversation, his comment when she disappeared into another part of the inn, and out of hearing, nothing of it left any doubt that he was after her soul and the game only had brought him closer to his goal. Naïve little girl. “The Theskan move suggestion was inspired,” Raphael said to him and now he himself was the one who felt a hint of self-satisfaction. Of course, he hid the fact that the devil’s compliment affected him.

“There is plenty about me you have no idea about.” “Don’t I, indeed …” Raphael did not attempt to sound convincing. “Or maybe,” Cian stepped closer. “That’s only what you want me to believe.” One of those vivid eyebrows wandered higher. “How long do you think you can fool me?” “Fool you,” Raphael repeated slowly and with a shimmer of amusement in his eyes, “And how exactly do you believe I'm doing th…” With calm determination, Cian closed the last distance between them and cut off his words by pressing his lips to his. Raphael’s eyes widened in utter surprise. He refused to return the kiss, keeping his mouth taut and inaccessible. Have I been wrong? Fear and a hollow cold spread through his insides, despite the warmth of the skin he was still touching, hands buried in the expensive fabric of Raphael’s clothes. Cian readied himself to step back and apologize – with calm nonchalance, protecting his pride or as much of it as he could save. But suddenly Raphael’s grip tightened around his hip. He didn’t allow him to escape. Instead, he moved his lips against his mouth and used his consequent little sound as an opportunity to tease his tongue with the tip of his. It sent tingling pleasure through his body and fierce heat to the very bottom of his soul. Relief flooded every fiber of his being, and he grabbed the devil harder. Raphael was taller than him, stronger too, still, he wanted to claim him as his, to remind him that he was. Prying his lips open further, he slid his tongue behind those pearly teeth, invading his mouth and deepening the kiss with unrestrained passion that now was returned with the same demanding harshness. Their tongues pushed against the other insistently, hungry for sensation, hungry for dominance. For the duration of their kiss, nothing else existed but the devil in his arms and his eager touch. But when they finally parted, he could feel the shocked gazes of his companions. Astarion overcame his surprise first and let out a delighted little laugh. “No no no, please don’t stop now, I was enjoying the show!” “You can’t be serious.” Wyll spat those words out with undisguised disgust. “I’m sure you two could get a room if you asked,” Shadowheart commented drily. Cian cleared his throat, and Raphael allowed him to retreat. “Forgive the spontaneous assault,” he said without paying much attention to the others. “But I needed the confirmation.” “The confirmation of what, if I may ask?” Raphael asked, the curiosity in his voice seemed genuine. Now it was for him to raise a brow. “That we know each other intimately. When did you plan to tell me the truth about our past? – About our connection?” Raphael hesitated. – His gaze piercing as if he was searching for something in his eyes. Did he try to find out how much of it he already remembered? Cian knew he would need to be careful with what he believed him until his memories truly returned. His partner or not, he was a devil after all. And they loved their little games and secrets. Eventually, Raphael smiled a charming smile. “Well, as you proved just now, it won’t be necessary to tell you anything about your forlorn past. It’s much more intriguing to watch it return to your eager mind.”

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate #oc: cian #my ocs #the dark urge #raphael x tav #tav x raphael #raphael x durge #durge x raphael #my writing #dmagedtexts #bg3 spoilers #a devil you know? a devil you do?

[callmeklair]

unrequited [epilogue]

« it's going to be a long journey »

Yui didn't know how she was supposed to face Reiji after what she just witnessed, no, more than that she is disgusted by the fact how their own father, Karlheinz, despite being aware of his son’s presence continued to say and show such horrendous things.

Should she confront Reiji or walk out and think for some time???

she is not prepared for either.

though it was too late to ponder on those thoughts as Reiji already got his hands on her and took her to Eden’s garden.

To Reiji it was most obvious what he should do, after all he has spent two lifetimes with Yui.

communicate.

he knows, at some point she'll blame herself, that's why he needs to talk with her. he needs to.

after arriving at the garden, both of them were quiet for some time, debating with words that'll sound proper instead of worsening things.

“Reiji-san you remember, right?”

ah, how badly he hoped that would be the last thing she'll ask.

“yes.”

“....”

“....”

“look Yui I can explain–”

“no I understand.”

“wait it's not what you think–”

“no, no, no, don't worry. I'm not misunderstanding things. even though your reason might not be identical to mine. I'm genuinely alright.”

“???? what are you-”

“I don't want Shu to remember. you heard that already right?”

Reiji was silent. he was so confused on Yui's sudden behavior. the girl who is always loyal and would rather die than fall in love with someone else has given up?

he knew how strong her love was. he even heard her genuine reasons on why she gave up on Shu, but something doesn't sit right with him.

was that the only reason?

more than that, she declared she loves him?

he should be happy to hear that but why is he not able to accept it?

“was that the only reason you gave up on Shu?”

Yui opened her mouth to say something but paused for a minute.

“maybe it's all my fault.”

“how?”

she shook her head.

“you are Reiji. you already have a speculation don't you.”

“please stop being so mysterious, that's so unlike you. Yui.” yes he knows the answer but he is also starting to get afraid at the sight of how her eyes are slowly starting to darken and becoming identical to his. he is trembling internally. he needs to convince her. but before that…

he slowly brings her into his embrace, rubbing her back gently to ease her. she is trying to be brave but she is doing that by putting all the weight on her. until she lets it all out properly, she'll keep sinking into the abyss.

on the other hand, Yui is a little dumbfounded at Reiji's actions. it's so unlike him. but even though it's not like him, she understood bit by bit what he is trying to do. after all, even though he is stroking gently, his hands are stiff.

she laughed.

this is no situation to laugh at but his small efforts and actions are making her giddy. she laughed with tears in her eyes as she finally let it all out.

gritting her teeth while the tears streamed down her cheeks, she hugged him back tightly.

“it's all my fault. it's all my fault… Reiji-san. why do we all have to go through a trial just because of my heart and reach someone’s expectations? why do you all have to do those things?”

he kept rubbing her back, letting her wet his favorite black coat, as he looked at a far distance.

“Shu had to cut the vibora leader’s head just for the sake of freeing me and you all had to face the vibora’s wrath while almost getting killed. and then what was the end result? we were sent back to square one because we didn't meet the expectations.”

“at first I badly wanted Shu to remember but then it crossed my mind. Shu changed by coming out of his comfort zone and went through all that length to protect me, only for us to end like this. even though he won't show it, he'll continuously self blame himself everyday for failing to protect me.”

“but more than that, as you already know, I was starting to lose my mind by being stuck in this animesic world all alone as I desperately pestered Shu to remember me like a mad woman. I was starting to get crazy. and if he would have regained his memories and saw me in such a state, it would have added fuel to the fire to his self-blame.”

for Reiji, love was a new word. if anyone told him such a thing, he would mock it and call it a waste of time.

it might be hard to understand Yui's way of thinking when it comes to love, but he'll do his best to get it for her.

“those tea times with you were my only solace. contradictory to my solemn days I spent forcing Shu to remember, I was calm and collected with you. devoting time in your presence made me rethink and differentiate things. it helped me to not lose my mind. maybe that's when, unknowingly, I fell for you. everytime, after I visited Shu, my head was dizzy as I felt myself slowly go numb. slowly feeling like throwing things around to vent it all out.”

“Yui…” there was this one time, he heard things breaking in the bathroom. at that time he thought she was just being clumsy but was she having a hysterical fit then?

was she becoming like Subaru’s mother? was he too late!??

it's like she sensed his thoughts and patted his back to prove otherwise.

she is alright.

Reiji was completely clueless what to say as nobody has ever relied on him or had a heart to heart conversation with him.

heck, he never even initiated such things and never cared if there was a misunderstanding. but now that he is with Yui, it's different.

maybe he should start with something simple?

“I'll support you” he slowly lifted his face away from her shoulders but made sure his eyes never left hers, as their foreheads inches apart.

it's not much, but he'll try. he will try everything he can to make her feel better.

Yui leaned closer and pecked his cheeks like she was assuring him that what he is doing and thinking is on the right track.

“you know, when you are anxious you become stiff and speechless.”

she really knows them all well. no, maybe it's more like how she spent most of her time with him too in both the timelines that she came to understand him in deeper terms.

“then should I take it as yes?” he said pointing at his kissed cheek.

Yui blushed before stammering how it should be her asking that when he obviously heard her confession back in that room.

days passed as Yui and Reiji spent time together to develop their relationship. it was more like Reiji not wanting to rush things with her as he still wanted to make sure she slowly recovers to her normal state.

Yui also figured that if she had a timeline with Reiji which she doesn't remember, then there are chances she might have one with others too.

but it's no use to ponder on it now because right now she has set her future with Reiji. they have decided that they'll face all the upcoming hardships together no matter what.

Reiji also gave her a necklace that connects her with him and vice versa for his own necklace.

this necklace will alert the person if the other is in danger, both physically and mentally.

still vividly remembering what he heard that day and also the events with Shu, Reiji researched day and night on it and after a week, successfully crafted this couple necklace.

now it was the day. their wedding day.

Yui was still unsure because they still have to face the Tsukinamis but Reiji replied that the marriage will only make things easier and those two can't try to lay a hand on someone's wife if they have morals.

the whole Sakamaki household was shocked because it's not been that long for them since Yui arrived. but to Reiyui, it's already been two timelines.

thankfully, the preparations went well and of course it was a small wedding after Yui insisted a lot.

Yui walked down the altar holding Shu's elbow, remembering how he agreed to be her Chaperone by himself. at first she got anxious thinking Shu remembered everything, but that wasn't the case. the only answer they got whenever they asked Shu with a doubt, he'll say:

“it's my duty as the older brother” like he was declaring himself not only Reiji's but Yui's brother too, after all the bride is escorted down the aisle by her father but that isn't the case with Yui as Seiji cannot be reached.

more than that, she still doesn't know how to face him when he finds out she is marrying a vampire.

oh they have a long way to go, but that shouldn't matter. because right now the priority is to spend the time with each other as much as possible and enjoy the moment.

you never know the future.

Yui smiled as she completed her vows with Reiji and kissed him.

it is going to be a long journey.

Yui… you can finally stop crying now, because this man, Reiji, will never let you shed a tear and always keep you smiling.

she said to herself as she walked hand in hand with him towards their carriage to set off for their home.

the end.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #yui komori #komori yui #diabolik lovers fandom #shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #diabolik lovers yui #shu x yui #yui x shu #shuyui #reiyui #yui x reiji #sakamaki reiji #reiji x yui #unrequited reiyui #diabolik lovers fanfic

[psychologeek]

Red Hood

DAY 24: "i'm doing this because i care about you" ALT 10: last man standing

[from Who am I (to disappear))]

Maybe he didn't think it through.

Possibly.

Just, you know, the tiniest bit.

Drugging all the baby heroes to sleep, using aerosol, was a brilliant idea. He'll give it to himself.

Also using his old codes.

Which, honestly? He didn't really think it would work.

Still: great execution. Pun might be intended.

Anyway.

Kid obviously still up in the kitchen, probably working on the post-mission report or some other bullshit.

( The best thing about being dead? No. Fucking. PAPERWORK .)

Sitting with a mug of coffee and

(Is that Zesty? The kid really mixes those poisons together? 

Nuh, of course he would. Like the sleepless workaholic bird he really is.)

They talk, and he already prepared some FUCKING AWESOME monolouge. Vicios and snob and all that. And he beats the kid. Bat won’t take it seriously otherwise. Kid fight as good as he gets.

And then there’s something—

( the worst part? he doesn’t even remember what )

and the Green is all he sees, and–

(No. The worst part is when he sees a bleeding head full of black hair. The worst part is seeing a body, lay down in the bottom of the staircase, as the blood spread around. The worst part is knowing that he did it. That he's just like that fucking clown.)

His alarm beeps. Someone’s trying to enter via Zeta-tube.

(He can’t help tha kid. 

Because it’s a goddamn kid, Jason. 

What’s wrong with you?)

He can’t help the kid, but maybe someone else could?

He release the block he put on the Tubes, and head to the transport room through the secret passage in the walls.

He can't even remember how he got back to Gotham. How he made it to the safehouse. 

All he knows is washing his hands in the rusted sink and staring at a shattered mirror he still sees the abyss and the monsters is inside, now, and his fist–

And everything is red, red, red round him.

Tag bc you may like: @envysparkler @shinekocreator @jasontoddsguns

#batman #my writing #jason todd #red hood #batfam #tim drake #robin #Jason's attack on Titan's tower #attack on Titan's tower #Titan's tower #guilt #whump #snarky jay #“i'm doing this because i care about you” #day 24 #febwhump #Febwhump2024 #ALT 10 #last man standing

[midnightmoonkiss]

Bloody Kiss

Wednesday Addams X GN! Vampire! Reader

Blood was something that never bothered Wednesday, in fact.. she’s become quite accustomed to the taste after having been dating you for almost a year now.

You who drinks blood for lunch, and maybe as a treat after dinner.

You, a vampire.

Or, well, more accurately a ‘hybrid.’ Blood and human food, you required both to live.

Of course, it’s only pigs blood. As if Nevermore would allow it’s more fang-y occupants to consume human blood on a day-to-day basis, it’s far too expensive.

Besides, Nevermore is already on rocky terms with Jericho, no need to worsen it with the knowledge that donated blood would go to them and their blood thirsty residents.

Fake blood and pigs blood are the only options, of course they bring out the real deal for parents weekend but alas, thats once a year.

And so here you are, stuck consuming pigs blood as it doesn’t contain that artificial tang you’ve grown to hate.

Normally other kids stay away from the vampire table during lunch because of the nauseating scent of iron, but not Wednesday. No, sometimes she’d even sit with you. That, or she’d give you a look from across the quad or cafeteria that screams “come sit with me.”

How could you refuse?

She’s basically got you on a leash at this point, not that you minded.

Your lips could be stained a deep red and yet still.. she’d take your breath away with her own plump ones.

It was hard to tell if she liked the kiss or the taste of blood on your tongue more.

You discovered her lack of care for the crimson liquid a few months ago. You had been teasing her when she requested a kiss, taking a big swig of your drink before showing her the redness of your tongue and teeth, thinking it’d freak her out or cause her to rethink herself.

It’s not like you didn’t want a kiss, you just wanted her to know it’d be bloody.

And boy, did she not care.

She didn’t care for that bratty attitude of yours nor the implication that youd think she’d give a damn about something so insignificant. As if blood could deter her when she knew exactly what she wanted.

So, she grabbed you by the back of your head, instantly wiping that cocky smile from your face and replacing it with shock as she crashed her lips against yours. It was almost as if she was trying to prove a point with the way she practically licked all traces of blood from your mouth.

You would’ve been grossed out had you been a normal person. But as a vampire.. she was intoxicating.

You were even more wrapped around her finger from then on.

Her kisses always made you dizzy, but there’s something different in those specific ones. Passion burned like hot embers behind them, you always felt as though you could pass out either from them or the look in her eyes you’d see if you were to open your own during the kiss.

She doesn’t even mind kissing you with human blood on your tongue.. or more specifically, her own.

Wednesday was never one to back away from morbid curiosity, and with a vampire as a lover and her own twisted enjoyment of pain, you knew full well she’d eventually ask you to bite her.

However, she knew just how intimate of an act that was.

Vampires may be ancient, but there was always passion behind a bite. Even if that passion lead to someone’s demise, it was seen as taboo in communities to bite someone without that flare.

So, you’ve never bitten someone before. You were a fang virgin, as weird of a term that was.

The night she decided you would taste her own blood was a moonless one, the stars in the sky being the only things to light up the inky black abyss.

Candles lit up her dark and empty dorm room, prepared and ready for you to sink your teeth into her flesh, the atmosphere beyond romantic.

She whispered poems of devotion against your skin as she pressed gentle kisses against you, relaxing you as she slowly guided your mouth down to her neck.

The second your sharp fangs sank into her pale skin.. she knew she’d be addicted to the feeling for the rest of her life.

The sharp sting, the feeling of blood gushing into your awaiting mouth, the bubbling pleasure and passion from the venom that burned her skin, Wednesday couldn’t help but cradle you against her.

The second you pulled away, gazing hazily into her clouded black eyes, her lips were once again on yours.

Human blood tasted very different from pigs.

Wednesday Addams would never let romance die if it meant she could continue having you just like this.

You’d do anything for her, and the devil himself knows just all the sins she’d commit for you.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams #suggestive #wednesday #wednesday x y/n #vampire reader #gn!reader #tw. blood #blood #dom wednesday addams

[wherethefireliliesgrow]

(13) 1 day: colorless

Myoui Mina x reader

Part of the series: Palette

Previous chapter: (12) 79 days: burnt sepia

1 day.

Loud, hurried footsteps vibrated through the stairwell, their urgency punctuated by desperate calls that, oddly enough, provided a strange sense of solace in the otherwise desolate and decaying building. It was eerily comforting to hear these familiar voices within the hollow, deteriorating walls, as they breathed life into what were once vibrant halls, dispelling some of the haunting silence that had taken spot.

You tilted your head, intrigued, as a group of people exited the building and gathered in the front yard, now overgrown with vines and crisscrossed with broken paths. They appeared oddly familiar, but you struggled to remember who they were.

You couldn’t even remember your own name these days. 

A shiver coursed through you, a remnant of the afternoon rain's lingering chill, and you shook your head in an attempt to ward off another bout of wandering thoughts. Lately, your attention span has dwindled to mere seconds.

Rubbing your eyes to try and clear your hazy vision, you returned your focus to the scene below, leaning against the rooftop's tall walls and continued to observe the group. One individual, in particular, caught your eye: a young woman with flowing, light-colored hair. Even from your far view eight stories above, her beauty was breathtaking. 

She was crying, supported by two other women of similar age, one with midnight-black hair and the other blonde, both equally beautiful. 

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N," the mystery woman cried, her voice trembling with tears as her legs gave way, sinking to her knees.

You did not know who this Y/N was, nor did you understand why this Y/N could cause such anguish to this seemingly angelic being before you. Nevertheless, you extended your arms as if to offer comfort, wanting to pull her into your arms for a hug, even from a distance. Your heart ached at the sight of her pain; all you wanted was to hold her close and soothe her pain.

"I love you," she managed to utter between sobs. 

Despite the physical distance that separated you, those three words pierced the air, resonating loudly in your ears, and coursing through your entire being, sending shockwaves through your heart.

Inexplicably, that simple sentence triggered a pang in your heart, like a searing fire racing through your veins. Blood began to seep through the cloth wrapped around your wrist wound, staining it rapidly. Scorching pain surged through your body from the wound, making everything go white, with a ringing noise echoing in your ears. 

"Ouch," you muttered, clutching your chest and stumbling toward a makeshift bed.

You could see your forearm veins slowly turning black, the poison spreading through your entire system. Coughing up dark droplets, your heart protested with frantic beats against the poison.

Suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue, you collapsed onto the bed, curling up on your side to ease the pain. In your hand, you hugged a small penguin plushie that had always brought comfort in times of fear and pain.

Amidst your struggle to remember things, like your previous life or recent events, the plushie's name always remained clear. "Mina" stitched onto the penguin's foot, was the name you could never forget.

"It hurts, Mina," you whimpered, your focus narrowing to the intense pain in your heart. The group of people in the courtyard faded into the background as you pleaded.

"Please make it stop."

As you sank deeper into the abyss of nothingness, the sounds of the people calling and conversing grew distant and indistinct, until your heart gradually lost the fight to the poison in your veins. .

.

.

.

"She's not here, Mina," Chaeyoung whispered softly, making an effort to help the sobbing girl to her feet. Dahyun had given up on supporting Mina, upset with how Mina had chosen to navigate her relationship with Y/N.

The group consisted of your former co-workers, as well as some members of ITZY and TWICE. They had been searching tirelessly ever since Mina had woken up to find the bed next to her empty, with puddles of blood leading to the front door.

"It's okay," Chaeyoung tried to console the distraught Mina. It was the first time she had ever seen Mina in such a devastated state. "We'll find her."

"It's okay? Nothing is okay!" Ryujin snapped in response, her hands clenched into fists. "My best friend is bleeding out somewhere, probably lost and scared, and it's all her fault."

"She would have faded away even without Mina," the blonde tried to defend her friend, but even she felt feeble in her defense.

"She would have, but not like this," Karina chimed in, accusingly. "The poison is stronger for those who break the connection. You can't imagine how painful it is."

"I... I didn't mean to break it," Mina mumbled through her tears.

She hadn't felt anything when the connection was severed, so she had no idea how it had happened. But she had woken up to find the once-vibrant palette of colors, symbolizing your connection, empty and colorless, as if you had never existed.

"You could've just left her alone, you know?" Ryujin said with frustration, rubbing her forehead. "You could've just kept your distance if you knew you could never fully love her."

The group fell into silence, silently agreeing with Ryujin's words. Even Mina herself agreed; she knew she was in the wrong in this situation. Her concern for her reputation and ego had caused her to hurt the one she loved beyond repair. All those one-night stands and meaningless dates were nothing but a pitiful attempt to salvage her reputation, and they held no value compared to your love. She had, by her own actions, led you to your demise.

Deep down, she understood that it might be too late, but she couldn't bear the thought of losing you. You had always been there, waiting for her to return after interviews or award shows. You were home, but now she comes back to find nothing but an empty bed and forgotten memories. 

"I'll go find Haerin." Minji murmured, Hanni following closely in her footsteps. 

The cat-like girl had continued her aimless wandering through the desolate halls of the building where you had once lived, refusing to leave without her unnie as the others gathered in the front yard.

She had promised to take care of you the way you took care of her, but she had failed. She couldn't find you, not like the way she did before. Haerin called your name with each step, the echoes serving as cruel reminders of your absence. Yet, you could no longer recognize her, even though you were just a few floors above. The distance between you, both physically and emotionally, had grown too vast to bridge.

.

.

.

.

Mina had always considered the phrase "home is where the heart is" to be cliché. During her trainee days and even after she debuted with the girls, she never truly felt at home, despite her adoration for them. 

That changed when she met you.

Amidst her inner turmoil of conflicting emotions, she knew she loved you. Her love for you was so profound that it scared her because you held the power to shatter her heart into millions of pieces. Consequently, she ended up hurting you instead.

Lying alone in your bed, wearing your favorite t-shirt, she finally grasped that you had been her home all along. It took losing you for her to realize this painful truth.

The scent of your skin still lingered on the bedsheets, the book you never finished reading rested on the night table, and your favorite cap hung on the coat rack by the door. It felt as though you had never left, as if you would return from work any moment.

To keep you close, Mina had purchased the flat you had rented from the landlord. She intended to leave your room untouched just in case you ever found your way back into her arms. She knew that there was a possibility that she would never find you, or that you would never find your way back home. But she promised to love you regardless of the condition you were in and would wait for you here, whether it be in this life or the next.

You had patiently waited for her until the very end, and she intended to love you until her own journey's end in every lifetime. That's what soulmates are meant for, isn't it?

"Unnie?" A soft knock on the door jolted Mina awake.

She had drifted off while going through pictures of you on her phone. She regretted not taking more photos of you; you always insisted she was more of a model than you, preferring to capture her with your camera instead.

"Unnie, are you awake?" Haerin's gentle voice called through the door once more.

It had been months since the younger girl had spoken to Mina, but Mina couldn't blame her. Mina had taken away her beloved unnie, the person who had cared for the cat-like girl.

Opening the door, Mina found Haerin wearing one of your sweaters, a size or two too big for her, making her appear even smaller and more vulnerable than she was. The sight of Haerin in your clothing hurt Mina deeply; she resembled you so closely. The same large cat eyes, pale, sharp face, and a grin that always seemed to hide a secret.

But now, Haerin looked drastically different. It was evident that she hadn't been eating or sleeping. Her once-bright eyes now held a dull, gaunt look that deeply concerned Mina. It seems that Mina wasn’t the only one missing you. 

Haerin spoke again, her voice shaky, "Do you want to celebrate Y/N unnie's birthday with me?"

Nodding, Mina hesitantly reached out her hand to wipe away the tears streaming down Haerin's pale face. She was cautious, as if Haerin were a wounded bird that might fly away if she made a wrong move. Comforting wasn't her forte; you were always the one better at consoling people, not Mina. Nevertheless, she tried her best. The younger girl attempted to stifle a sob but ultimately broke down in the comfort of Mina's arms.

I'm sorry, Mina thought. I'll take care of Haerin until you come back home, Y/N.

.

.

.

.

Walking towards the living room in the dark with a cake in her hands, Haerin nearly toppled over the two large canvases, accidentally pulling off the black fabric that you always kept over the canvases.

These were the artworks you’d been working on ever since you met, and you had refused to show them what you were painting. The girls had never had the courage to reveal what you were working on, until now.

There, under the candlelight of the cake, Mina and Haerin stood side by side in silence. You had drawn them on separate canvases, each representing your love for them.

One canvas showed Haerin basking in the sunlight on the living room floor with Jennifer, like two cats ready for an afternoon nap. This scene captured the peace and coziness you felt when you spent time with Haerin on those Sunday afternoons while you painted or edited your photos.

On the other canvas, Mina came to life in vibrant colors while the studio around her remained in stark black and white. You had captured the day you met Mina, where the first color you could see was Mina herself. Soft golden hues emitted from the Mina in the painting, as if she spread color from her very presence. Your painting showed how Mina brought color into your life, but it also revealed how deeply she had become entwined in your existence.

Every stroke of the brush was so sure. You’d always been so confident in your painting, just as you had been so sure of your love.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Happy Birthday, Y/N unnie,” Haerin whispered as the hands struck midnight.

0 days. 

One last stinging sensation on her wrist signaled the end of everything. Mina took a deep breath and tried to remember how the pain on her wrists had felt for the last time as any trace of the tattoo faded into her skin.

Taking one last glance at the paintings, Mina closed her eyes and blew out the candles, leaving the room in darkness.

Just like her life was now, colorless without you.

And it would stay that way.

Until you loved her again.

In this life or the next.

Previous Chapter

Alternative Ending

Annnddd that's a wrap! 🥹 Thank you all for your patience and support throughout this journey. 🤍🤍 I hope the ending lived up to your expectations! This story holds a special place in my heart as my first work, and it took around four months to complete. As I am a sucker for happy endings, I will be writing another alternative ending. For those who also have a soft spot for happily-ever-afters, stay tuned 👀 Please let me know your thoughts!

#mina x reader #twice mina #mina x y/n #twice x reader #new jeans #itzy #ryujin #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #twice fic #gxg #wlw #kpop #original work #kpop fic #aespa #karina #soulmates #slow burn #angst #fluff #twice imagines #mina myoui #myoui mina #haerin #le sserafim #wherethefireliliesgrow #myoui mina x reader

[tiyoin]

Tho this is a different account, I’ll always be a whore for sagau 🫦

ft alhaitham🙈

Kaveh, out and about doing whatever he does- Alhatiham was lucky to have his alone time.

His chest still as he peered down at the capsule. Its brass chill subsided into a comforting warmth as it lay heavy in his palm.

There was a temptation to it. An impulse to just have a tiny peek inside.

Just a singular blurb of information wouldn’t hurt...

He scoffed, throwing the capsule onto his bed.

What a riot. Him? Tempted by some forbidden fruit? Ha! As if!

He paced his room, hands perched on his hips as the sun started to set in the west. Fragments of golden rays slipped through his window and illuminated his room, occasionally getting in his eye. Though that didn’t break him from his thoughts.

He wasn’t like those foolish scholars or that idiotic eremite! He was a scribe- a member of the havarat for crying out loud!

Yet the simmering amber never failed to catch his eye. The sun only added to its brilliance. Its usual crimson shimmer was only enhanced in the light as it glew on his emerald bedsheets.

It looked like a ruby…

He was no idiot. The street vendors knew as much, so they never tried to scam or rip him off. His peers and co-workers knew as much, so they found it useless to engage in small talk with him

But the academy deemed him one. Promising him a look inside as a reward for doing the dirty work for them.

He knew what they were planning- they wanted to get dispose of him. Discard all loose ends and throw him to Aaru village, making a fool of him and his name.

He chuckled.

Was forbidden knowledge really worth the risk? Was it worth losing his mind- his sanity over? To know things only the dead knew?

Like those archons, Khaneri’ha, the scarlet king. Was knowing their secrets worth the price?

His mind felt like lead, the same with his limbs from the impromptu battle with that crazed eremite.

He was no way out of shape, yet he felt like he had just run a marathon without any food or water.

He’s tired, that's all...

The sun dimmed under his windowsill, the capsule back to its usual mixture of shimmering red and ambers. Its casing was still warm. He placed it on his bedside table, shed his coat, and simply laid done, arms supporting his head as his mind still raced with questions; Why did the Akademiya assign him this mission? What were the `sage's plans? Who stole the knowledge capsule in the first place, and why? The Scarlet King…

Whatever. He’ll just worry about those in the morning...

Like an anchor being cast into the sea, his eyes closed. His mind was still a mess as he tried to control his breathing. There wasn’t much he could do besides let those itching thoughts pass and control his breathing. To not grab onto a theory and spend the rest of the night dissecting it. To not grab his coat and snoop in some dark alley.

No, he needed his energy for tomorrow, he convinced himself.

His body slowly relaxed, sinking further into his made bed as his breathing finally stabilized.

There was a quick flash of red. So quick that he almost missed it. Then there was another quick burst, this time of green. Then of silver, then blue, more greens, pinks, maroons, and teals, all until they started bleeding together in a perverted rainbow, constantly moving, changing like a roaring river.

It stopped.

It’s black. Pitch black.

Something you’d only experience in a torture chamber to deprive you of your senses. To drive you insane.

He didn’t move, nor breathe, not knowing what was happening, or what was to come.

“Greater lord Rukkhadvata! You mustn’t kneel like that” a voice? Whipping his head to the direction heard the voice, the abyss only stared back at him as he inched his hand towards the hilt of his blade.

“Nonsense. Only a fool wouldn't bow in your presence or honor” unlike the other voice, this one wasn’t as panicked, instead, held a calming sense of maturity and elegance.

Almost like an Akademiya student. Then again, this was Greater Lord Rukkhadata he was talking about.

Though he wondered. 'Who had Sumeru’s great archon on her knees bowing?'

The voice continued bantering as the stream of colors started again.

“Please, you know that I don’t like you doing that”

“But your grace, it would be-“

“It wouldn't be damaging if I told you not to! You’re my friend, not my servant. Now c’mon.”

The colors stopped as he was now in a throne room. Though this- this wasn’t like anything he’s seen before. He knows all of Sumeru’s buildings and architecture like the back of his hand… yet he's never seen such a building before in his life.

Not in the world, especially not in the textbooks he's burned into his brain

Tall marble walls that were shaped pointing up, like a Zaytun peach sprout. The insides were contradictory to the Akademiya’s buildings. Instead of white with green, they were gold and white. Everything was white, accented with the colors gold and crimson.

It was breathtaking. Truly.

Never before had he imagined such craftsmanship. Marble statues of each archon `stood tall on columned shelves, where natural light spilled from the windows above them.

But that was what he was worried about, no. Instead, he could help but stare at the big golden statue in the center of the room where it was in the middle of a pool of water.

Stepping closer, he drank up every crook and crevice of the statute. Their flowy cloth clothing, the natural pose of them holding an orb.. no. It looked more like a star. A star so shiny it looks like it was just plucked from the night sky.

They were stunning. Beautiful. Breathtaking. Anyone young or old, art critic or janitor could tell how much love and care was put into this statue. How much blood sweat and tears the artist took to make sure they got it in the image of this… god?

Slowly, his eyes trailed up towards their arm and to their face.

Hm

That’s odd.

“Sit down, please”

His eyes followed his head as he couldn't tear himself away from the statue's face. He was entranced.

Something was nipping at the back of his brain telling him that he’s seen them before. That they aren’t just a mysterious god, but someone he knew

Oh

Oh

It was like he got burnt, his brain panicked as his eyes widened in shock.

You

You were on the couch in front of Greater Lord Rukkhadavata, who was still on her knees in front of you, though she looked more comfortable than anything.

Leaning down, your hands were in hers as you gently guided her up towards the couch.

He assumed he was invisible, as neither of you batted an eye at him. Continuing your interaction like you were in a play. Lines delivered flawlessly. You both really complimented each other.

Why was he here? How did he get there?

Must have been the knowledge capsule… did it automatically connect to his akksha terminal? Shaking his head to clear up the jumbling thoughts. He decided to ask questions later and just observe.

You two were both now seated next to each other, knees touching and shoulders mushing into one. Anyone could tell that there was a closeness to you. That you'd been friends for a while. But it looked like greater lord Rukkhadvata was trying to merge with you. Her body squished more and more into yours as she listened to you intently. The small smile and intense look on her face showed that she was either drinking up every word you said, or she was doing what he did before; memorizing every pore on your face, watching every muscle twitch as you rambled, slowly getting lost in your own little world- she was enthralled.

“Your grace, why did you stop talking?”

A chill ran up his spine as you made eye contact with him. He must be at least 12-15 meters away, yet he could see every color, every pattern in your eye. It startled him, thinking that it might have been a mistake, and you just spaced out like you usually do. But you were blinking, breathing, conscious.

“Your grace?”

“Why does she call you that?” he blurted out on instinct.

“You shouldn’t be here”

“I- your grace-“

“Then let me go”

“That is not my choice to make, you are in the capsule's memories. When there is everything you need to know, it will bring you back”

“What more do I need to know?”

Your counterpart huffed, leaning back comfortably as Greater Lord Rukkahadvata stared at him, or the vicinity he was in with an obviously stressed face.

“That’s for you to figure out” you broke wow contact, turning back to Greater Lord Rukkahadvata and continuing your previous conversation like you weren’t just talking to thin air

This wasn’t you. It’s not possible. You had such a dignified grace to you. Speaking beautifully and with purpose, yet the real you would stutter and make weird noises when inconvenienced.

This was over 300 hundred years, yet you're alive and breathing now- you couldn’t be an archon or from Khaenri'ah

Yet Greater Lord Rukkahadvata kept calling you ‘your grace’ and there was a gold statue of you, surrounded by a gleaming gold fountain with water so clear it looked like air.

“You’re the creator, aren’t you”

Your eyes met his before you dusted your lap and got up. Greater lord… should he even be calling her that with how dependent she was to you? She was following you like a puppy, babbling about how you should sit down and let her get whatever you need.

“Nonsense” you grew closer to him, eyes never once wavering. “I am simply the person you know as ‘y/n’ “

Like slow motion you walked past him, the wind behind you whispering in his ear as he got punched in the face- huh

That’s what it felt like as the changing stream of color engulfed him again, though, unlike last time, there was a feeling of lightness in the pit of his stomach. His limbs stiff through the harsh windows of the tunnel. Though the wind was pushing him, he couldn't breathe well. Or he had to breathe consciously or else he’d probably die. Never before had he experienced something like this from a knowledge capsule.

The capsules usually show or just insert information into one's terminal- yet this causes him to have an allusion of the past. Nothing he’s ever seen before.

With a startling gasp, he woke up. He was sweating bullets yet it felt like someone (Kaveh) had poured a gallon of ice water over him. Everything hurt. His body won’t listen to him, to get away from that damned thing, the risk that something like that will happen again.

“Fuck” he drawled out, chest heaving as he gave up on moving.

His body and mind were in overdrive, trying to figure out what happened. Images of you, a companion of the traveler, were playing on repeat in his mind as questions upon questions flooded his brain, each one he tried to solve would only make 5 more pop up.

Who the fuck were you

hehe i hop y’all like this 🤭🤭

#genshin x reader #sagau #sagau x reader #al haitham #alhaitham x reader #sumeru #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham genshin

[epickiya722]

Okay, thinking back to my "What if that Soul Punching Technique was the technique from Sukuna that Yuji was meant to have" post (that you can read here, feel free) I realized that maybe there was another hint to that back in the Shibuya Arc.

Remember that Jogo and Sukuna scene everyone and their mama constantly makes memes about? The one where Sukuna and Jogo talk in that... vision... realm... whatever the place is?

Okay, that obviously was Jogo having died against Sukuna since he talks to Hanami and Dagon who also died before him and when Sukuna pops up I was like "sir, damn, he can't even die in peace without seeing the guy who killed him" and at the time I didn't even question how he even got there until now. What if that was the scene to hint that Sukuna had a soul technique that Yuji now possesses? Just before then Sukuna shows he can use fire and Jogo was shocked at that. What if that scene was showing us he had not one, but two other techniques?

Now, it's two things.

One, Jogo could just be hallucinating Sukuna in his death. But, two, given the context what if Sukuna actually used a technique in which he can reach into souls on Jogo here?

Hear me out!! Sukuna praised Jogo here, something he has done with other characters and I don't think Jogo would actually dream up Sukuna doing that. He probably would have thought about Sukuba mocking his death instead. No, instead he gets praise. And Sukuna has this habit of praising those he has killed/are beneficial to his plans (Megumi). So him praising Jogo isn't out of character for him.

Also, visual and tone wise! [I bring this up because sometimes the parallels can work as foreshadowing hints.]

When Sukuna confronts Jogo, it's white. A color that Sukuna is often seen in when he's not possessing Yuji. In that scene, the tone, even given what happens, it's more... hopeful in tone for Jogo's end as even though he lost to Sukuna he gets praise from the guy, Jogo didn't fear death and he mentions him, Hanami and Dagon being reborn. The scene is long, and a tearjerker but in a "it's fine for them, at least" way. The white of scene gives it a more lighthearted feel.

Now comparing that to when Yuji finally gets to Megumi, the scene has a dark/black background. Fitting as Megumi's technique is the shadows and Sukuna did sink his soul into an abyss. But also, opposite of Sukuna, Yuji wears a dark colored uniform. In this scene with Megumi, it's more sad, woeful, angsty. Megumi has lost hope and Yuji is speechless when he gets there. It's also last a couple of moments. It's short, abrupt. Barely leaves anyone time to realize what just happen and when we do it's like "Okay, that is terrible". The black makes the scene feel more gut-wrenching.

Maybe with these scenes being opposite of each other, the scene from Shibuya was to serve as a hint of Sukuna having that soul technique and now Yuji has it. It's a stretch, but it's something to me that the scenes mirror each other like this.

#just kiya's thoughts #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk 136 #jjk 251 #jjk manga spoilers #jjk spoilers #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna ryoumen #itadori yuji #yuji itadori #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji

[ticklinglady]

Hi everyone! :D After rereading the BSD novels I noticed a rather interesting pattern and came up with a fun idea!

How about a new impossible drinking game? Take a shot every time you notice Asagiri describing Dazai in the edgiest way possible when you're reading the light novels.

Sounds not so bad at first, however... Well, take a look yourself and have fun:

"I look at the young man. He is just staring at the ceiling. No emotions, no intents. Just a flat expression, like one who is just telling his age. I cannot believe my own eyes. I don’t even feel like there is a human there. If it was late night instead of a refreshing early morning, I would think that he was a ghost or a hallucination".

"His eyes remind me of a burnt black cat, his build reminds me of a burnt black cat, his presence reminds me of a burnt black cat. He has a tone that sinks into the abyss of the spirit, and deep, dark eyes that seem to hold the conviction that the sun will never rise again. He is a man of few words. And his voice has the sound of severance that rejects mutual understanding from the very beginning. No one could understand him. No one ever will. And he himself knows that very well. That kind of voice".

"When Dazai finally says so, his eyes look different from those of any human being. And those of any living things. Those are wounds. A pair of open wounds on his face, from which darkness is peeping out".

"Dazai’s face when he says that reminds me of the end of a culvert, or a black wall at the end of the road that leaves you no way to go".

"Dazai looks at me. Those eyes are like the bottomless see at night. Dark, cruel, quiet, endlessly sucking people in and never letting go".

"Dazai looks down at the opponent. Even people who look at the pebbles on the riverbank would show more interest than that".

"Dazai’s gaze towards Hirotsu turns dark instantly, as though representative of the gravity of his next words. If it were any ordinary person being stared at, they would be seized by nightmares for the next few days. Dazai’s eyes foretell the impending blood and violence about to come".

"I look at Dazai. There is something invisible within that can’t be seen with the naked eye, like a breeding ground for spirits that will raze everything to the ground".

"I look at Dazai intently. Although we have known each other for very long, this is the first time Dazai has spoken about himself. One can see something as sharp as a giant fishhook piercing and gnawing into Dazai’s life".

"“No.” I say. “I don’t think so. At the beginning, I thought you and Dazai were very similar, unable to see the value of your life, hoping for death, hence jumping into a world of violence and fighting. But that’s not the case. That guy is just a child who’s too smart. Just a crying child who’s been left alone in the darkness, a world of nothingness far emptier than the world we can see”".

""I know. There's a certain anxiety, anxiety about whether the previous boss's assassination was leaked". Dazai's expression was still unreadable. It was quiet as a freezing lake".

"The boy's gaze quietly penetrated Mori. Like a medical device that looked through the human body".

"The doctor and boy exchanged a silent gaze for a while. The Shinigami and the Devil seemed to glare at each other as the room filled with their spirit. In Mori's head, a word that he didn't know flickered many times and echoed like an alarm".

"The nightmarish thoughts Dazai sometimes showed through his observing eye was like an unprecedented, frozen eagle in the mafia's demonic nest".

"His expression returned to his usual Dazai thing. It was a gray expression that wasn't interested in any concept".

"I’m not a person with an excellent observation skill. But even so, just by looking at those eyes, I understand a few things right away. He probably has killed before. Not one or two digits. Hundreds of people. When you have killed that many people, you will reach the other side of the mentality that ordinary humans can possess, beyond the other shore where neither light nor gravity can reach. The spirit of those who have reached that state will be seen first in their eyes, then in their mouth. Their eyeballs become black holes, and the muscles around their mouth become organs to show the depth of their sin, not their facial expressions".

"I ask again. There is no answer. I don’t even know if he is listening. Because the light in his eyes show no reactions to my question. No matter how cold-hearted a person is, if you look at him in the eyes and throw words at him, you can still see some kind of responses. But this young man does not have any of that. Just black eyes looking at where my figure is".

"There is no heart here. Just a heart-shaped emptiness".

"He doesn’t reply. Those eyes are filled with a quiet emptiness. From that, I assume that he is listening. Because if he is deaf, there should be a reasonable amount of confusion and signs of claiming that he cannot hear".

"I say, my words echoing in the emptiness and dropping into the corner of the room, in the middle of nowhere".

"Dazai is standing in the corridor of the bunker, where it is completely dark. The distance between him and Odasaku is more than ten meters. Because of the darkness and the distance, Odasaku and the other guy cannot see Dazai. In fact, they wouldn’t even notice Dazai if he came within an arm’s reach. That is how much Dazai has melt into a dense shadow and become one with the darkness himself".

"Seeing that violence doesn’t even make his eyes move. His eyes are as still as those of a dead man, not showing the slightest flicker of emotion".

"Dazai has become one with the darkness. That is why no one is able to find Dazai".

"There is only darkness. As if no one was there from the beginning. It’s as if darkness has taken the form of Dazai, and has finally turned back to the original darkness and disappeared".

"The voice is intimidating, assertive, and filled with raw danger like a bleeding wound. It is high-pitched as that of a young boy, but it lacks the human-like characteristics a young boy should have".

"The cop can feel cold sweat squirting from his whole body. This young man is not lying. It shows in his eyes. That this young man is only seeing him as a fly in his kitchen".

"The cop’s body trembles in fear. This is the fear of pain, the fear of his imagination. But the most frightening of all is the young man in front of him, the king of the Pain land, the one who creates pains and controls pains".

"When Dazai finally opens his mouth after a long pause, that voice completely lacks emotions. No mockery, no cruelty, not even a carnivorous smile, nothing. A complete hollow".

"“You really don’t listen to others.” There is nothing left in Dazai’s voice, not even the ruthlessness. There is nothing in there. Not even a sign of someone holding a gun, nor talking to a human being".

"Suddenly, I feel like someone who got lost in the freezing cold weather at the top of a mountain, with only his underwear on. Having nothing to cover for myself, nor a way to escape. Far beyond the pale darkness, a mysterious monster is waiting to tear me into pieces".

"That voice had the dignity of a king and the mercy of the devil at the same time".

"When he saw that cold look heavier than a hundred eloquent words, Atsushi tensed his back".

"From the main office you could see the sunset of the city. In the middle of the room, Dazai was sitting alone at the desk with his arms crossed. He had a thin smile on his lips, and in his only visible eye the light darkness of the world".

"Because in the depths of his eyes lay a jet-black darkness deeper than any of the nights found at the disposal site".

"Dazai’s expression didn’t change whatsoever, and he spoke in a gritty voice devoid of any emotions".

"“It’s simple.” Dazai smiled faintly. His voice was low, as if it were the sound of a growl in a nightmare".

"Dazai smiled after he said that. It was like you could hear the sound of his broken soul with that smile".

"Dazai smiled and held out his hand to help me stand up. He saw through everything with the eyes of a sage, seeming to stare at a place that wasn’t anywhere on Earth". 

And etc.

*reads all this through*

*tries to proceed the information properly*

*inhales*

GODDAMIT, ASAGIRI. WE GOT IT.

#I'm still hysterical #when I noticed a pattern I had to make a list of it all #this gets close to akutagawa's level of edginess honestly XD #and oh don't get me wrong I love both the novels and Dazai #and I understand that it was necessary to show Dazai's darkness #but like #at some point such descriptions become comedic #yeah yeah for dazai's soul is dark and full of terrors #what's next? #also btw i'm rather surprised that there wasn't much of this in the beast #but probably as a compensation we get this gem #His coat and black shoes were so fine that even kings and nobles in Europe would envy him~ #LMAAAO I CAN'T- #Asagiri ffs 🥲 #p.s. there were probably more quotes like these above but i haven't noticed them sorry #bsd #bsd dazai #bsd meta #bsd dark era #bsd stormbringer #bsd fifteen #bsd beast #bsd spoilers #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #ticklinglady talks

[thehollowwriter]

Warnings: Blood, gore(?), violence, cannibalism

Key: Regular text is for the present, bold is for journal entries/writing, italics is for flashbacks

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

Lamentations Pt 1

Silas did not start writing immediately. It was only when he was finally given the opportunity to be completely alone that he summoned the pen and paper he planned to pour his life experiences into.

Seated at the desk in his study, he cocked his head to the side and pressed the tip of his pen against the thick waterproof parchment and gnawed at his lip. He felt... unsure. This was... new. An alien experience.

XX/XX/XX

My name is Silas Clearcove.

No. No, that wasn't right. A line went through the sentence.

Hey, I'm Silas. I'm a butcher.

Sea Witch no, that sounded like he was setting up a social media profile. Another line.

I was born in the abyss below the Coral Sea.

That didn't work either. This was his life story and he couldn't think of anything better to start with? ...Well it wasn't like be was writing a book, was he? This was for him, not anyone else.

The abyss itself has no name. If it did, it is now long forgotten. It is ancient. Far far older than the Coral Sea itself. Some say it was once a powerful nation that boasted magical prowess rivalling that of Briar Valley, though the history around it is too murky to confirm the truth.

Nowadays, the abyss is viewed as the slums of the Coral Sea. The unwanted blemish you desperately want to hide. An endless pit of black promising your end if you just swim down.

I digress. My family resided within the abyss for generations, deemed undesirable and driven out of the Coral Sea, forced into isolation.

It was a far from stable living. Money was difficult to scrape up and it was far from safe down there, were the desperateand depraved resided. Nonetheless, they survived. And when I was born into one of the worst famines we had ever faced, I had to survive as well.

My memory of those times is blurry and muddled. There are some things that stick to me, clear as day, but they are few and far between.

As far as I recall, much of my childhood was spent watching my family fight for scraps and clash with other mers almost constantly, snatching money from Coral Sea residents and hunting on grounds that most certainly did not belong to them.

There was no time for peace or rest, as ambushes from others looking for fresh dinner were not uncommon. The little caves or holes we squeezed ourselves into were often attacked and raided, and we had to move to find somewhere else to live.

I could never do much but simply observe. I was too small, too frail, too... malnourished.

Silas trembled and pressed himself into a corner, watching the blurry shape of his mother try to coax him into getting up.

He didn't want to. It hurt. He hurt. Inside. Stabbing burning pain raged in the very pit of his stomach and he curled up righter, shaking. He could feel his ribs pressing against his arms. Feel his skin stretched taught over them.

Living in such an environment, I had enough near death experiences by the age of eight to rival that of a soldier in battle, though the only battle I was fighting was that of life.

Too many times had I nearly been eaten. Too many times had I felt teeth sink into my skin and claws rip at my flesh, saw my blood leak into the water.

It was because of this, my malnutrition and various other problems my magic manifested late. We weren't even sure it was possible for me to have it, as the only member of my family who had it was my grandfather.

My magic lay dormant for many years. Hidden. Unnoticeable. I dare say, inconceivable.

Until it made it itself known in a rather violent manner.

Silas felt lightheaded. He could feel his consciousness slipping away, black bordering on the edges of his vision.

His gills flared and fluttered as he thrashed and clawed wildly, bubbles flying from his mouth as he gasped uselessly.

The large frilled shark mer that had him in its grasp did not budge. Horrific teeth far worse than his own clenched tightly around his midriff. It wasn't fatal, not yet. Only his skin was pierced to keep him in place, but blood still flowed into the water in whisps of wine red.

He was too slow. He couldn't get away. His claws, tiny and useless, did nothing. He was so much smaller, so much more skeletal in comparison to the hulking frill shark that clearly suffered no shortage or prey.

'I'm going to die.' Said a little voice in Silas' head. A voice no nine year old should ever hear. 'I'm going to die here. Unless I-'

Silas thrust his hand toward at the snarling maw of the frill shark and a burst of dark purple light forced it release its hold with an ear-splitting cry.

It reared back and covered its face, wailing in pain as near black blood began filtering into the water. The cries and wails, gurgled and wrong, were so horrific Silas felt an icy dread run down his spine.

He watched it swim off, still screaming and crying and leaving a trail of blood in its wake. The sound echoed through the open waters, filling the empty space with the sound of pain far more excruciating than he could ever comprehend.

Silently, he turned to gaze to his trembling hand. Purple magic fizzed around his fingertips.

I still remember what happened when it pulled its hands away in order to swim for cover.

It looked right at me, blood leaking from almost empty eye sockets, mixing with the fluid pouring from its missing lower jaw.

The image was... haunting. Forever burned into my psyche. Even nowadays I still get flashes of that gruesome scene.

It was quite a shock to my family when I returned home with magic flowing freely through my veins that day. It was wild and difficult to control, bursting out of me in a vicious flash whenever my emotions became too intense.

My grandfather, however, was delighted. He was happy to have someone to pass his knowledge on to, someone around to learn the old spells collecting dust in his own mind

I learned many things from him. Wise and skilled at his age, he taught me spells that ranged from simple and efficient to powerful to horrific. He taught me just what sigils to draw, what words to chant, what images to imagine.

I learned the very essence of the deepest depths of the ocean, the coiling lurking darkness that resides within. It is old, and it is powerful.

If it weren't for those spells, both the mundane and the twisted, I doubt I would be alive today.

Magic was not the only thing my grandfather taught me. He, alongside my grandpapa, enlightened me to the art of the hunt. A silent, elegant dance that tested your wits and your skill. In doing so, I learned how to stalk, how to fight, how to prepare fresh meat and so much more.

I love them dearly and I miss them every day. They made me what I am today, and for that I am eternally grateful. If you were to ask me who my parents were, their image would be the first thing to come to mind.

There-

The sudden sound of knocking on his door made Silas pause and take a moment to look at what he had written. There was far more than he ever intended, in fact he expected to only get a few paragraphs in.

He couldn't deny that, although his heart was beating like an aggravated drum in his chest from the memories, he felt... lighter. Better.

Sighing, Silas put his pen down and carefully put the large piece of parchment under a stack of balancing sheets.

"Coming, coming!" He called, deep voice reverberating off the coral walls of his study.

He would continue tomorrow.

......................................

Guide: Previous Next

A/N: And into the nitty gritty we go! I hope you guys enjoyed the Papa Clearcove tidbits, there's even more to come

Tagging: @distant-velleity @krenenbaker @theleechyskrunkly @kitwasnothere @cynthinesia @elysia-nsimp @officialdaydreamer00 @whspermy-name @jaylleoo14

#papa clearcove #silas clearcove #finn clearcove #octavinelle #twisted wonderland #twst oc #writing