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yandere-daydreams · 2 months

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Title: Intoxicated.

Pairing: Yandere!Fae King x Reader (OC).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Non/Con -> Dub/Con, AFAB!Reader, Aphrodisiacs/Sex Pollen, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Unhealthy Relationships, Orgasm Denial, and Obsessive Behavior.

[Commissioned piece. Donate to Palestinians in Gaza here.]

His chambers reeked of honey and lavender.

A stark improvement when compared to the raw stench of sweating bodies and animal fervor that’d hung over the celebrations still raging on in his banquet hall, but strong thick enough to turn your stomach, still choking enough to leave your head spinning, your vision distorted and dark around the edges. A thick, lilac smoke clouded the air, courtesy of the herbs smoldering in jars of stained glass on a nearby windowsill – only adding to your current haziness. It went without saying that none of it, of course, was aided by the clever, slender fingers slowly drawing lazy circles into your clit, the stimulation too much to block out entirely but not nearly enough to bring you any real satisfaction. It was hard to be frustrated, though, when you considered who that stimulation was coming from.

Aisling had positioned himself behind you, propped against the ornate headboard of his almost comically oversized bed. Two long, hoofed legs stretched out on either side of you – flecks of golden pollen still dusted over his dark fur. His chest was bear and cool where it pressed into your back, and his unoccupied hand alternated between wrapping snuggly around your midriff and prying your thighs apart when they attempted in-vain to shut. His touch, like most other things about him, left much to be desired. You’d lost track of how long you’d spent here, how much time had passed since he carried you out of those wretched rituals his kind called revelries, but couldn’t have been any longer than a few minutes, even if it felt like a small eternity lapsed by every time you let your eyes droop shut. He prided himself on his adeptness in all things frivolous and pleasurable, and you couldn’t imagine him taking this long to bring you to climax.

“I’ve grown quite fond of your meekness, you know.” His voice was a deep rumble, less a string of words and more a prolonged, inflected purr. Cold lips ghosted over the curve of your ear, and his fingers found a new pattern; one with enough force behind to it make your head lull forward, a slight whimper slipping past your grit teeth as the loose knot in your core began to tighten. “At first, it was rather irking to realize I would never be able to make love to you under the light of the full moon to the accompaniment of my finest bards, but I think I’ve come to like how—” A quirk of his wrist, a strange crescent-like motion. You withered against him, your hips bucking stiltedly into his hand. “—reserved your kin tend to be. It feels more intimate, locking ourselves away like this. Like we share a common secret.”

That fucking smell. The sickening sweetness of it seemed to claw and tear at your lungs, to lodge itself in the hollows of your skull and send a warm, steady pulsing down the length of your spine with every slight movement of Aisling’s fingers. You let your eyes fall shut, your hands kneading at the silk of his sheets as the knot sitting in your core coiled ever-tighter, as you came so, so close to that—

As Aisling pulled away, his touch skirting over the inside of your thigh before forcing two fingers into the dripping entrance of your cunt. You couldn’t bite back the fractured whine that bubbled past your lips, arching your back as he spread and curled his digits inside of you. “Still,” he went on, sighing in mock-disappointment. “I feel like our relationship has been far from reciprocal, as of late. I do adore taking care of you, and I don’t mean to sound unthankful, but—” Another pause, another sigh. “I am beloved to all folks of the land and air, worshiped by the valleys and mountains alike, and dearest to all beings with the wisdom necessary to appreciate true beauty. Why is it that the one I cherish most so evidently detests my very existence?”

“Be—” A broken moan cut you off, draw out by a particular scissoring motion of his fingers. It was a fight to find your voice again. “Because you’re a fucking prick.”

“Your honeyed praises will have to wait, for now.” The heel of his palm ground into your clit, but the friction was too soft, too half-hearted to do anything. His lilac smoke seemed to claw its way down your throat and dislodge a pathetic string of whimpers and mewls, filling the new vacancy with a sort of… a sort of liquid heat, strong enough to leave you panting and hot enough to have you squirming against him, eager to get that much closer to his frigid body. Your desperation earned a melodic laugh from Aisling, a tender nuzzling of his cheek against yours. “Oh? Do you have something you’d like to ask for, little fawn?”

He forced a third finger into your terribly empty cunt, and something inside of you seemed to break open. “Please, Aisling, I—” You paused, gasped as his fingers curved against the clenching walls of your pussy. “I need to cum. I can’t take another—”

Whatever you might’ve said dissolved into a broken, pained moan as he drew back entirely, his slick-stained hand moving to your chin and tilting your head back, his lips finding your own before your shock could fade into hurt. Pointed, cat-like fangs burrowed into your bottom lip as his rough tongue laved over your own, the gesture less of a kiss and more of an attempt to permanently attach a part of him to a part of you. His taste was one of fresh fruit and sugared cream, and by the time he pulled away, you were panting, heaving, clambering to stay as close as him as you possibly could, to get as much from him as you possible could. Aisling only laughed as you rushed to straddle him, taking your face in both hands and pulling you into another long, lingering kiss – his mouth just as sweet as his poisons.

“Such a beautiful song,” he muttered, pulling back far enough to speak, but not leaving quite enough distance to disguise the crooked smile spread across his lips.

“Perhaps, by the time we’re finished, you’ll love me enough to deserve to.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere fae #yandere monster #yandere oneshot

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dearesmeray · 2 months

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Character Traits & Quirks (For Writers)

Peace and blessings upon everyone!

I hope life's treating you well. I’m Esmeray and I welcome you to this post on my blog Dear Esmeray.

Ever wondered what makes your OC truly unforgettable? I believe it is the character traits. Character traits are what bring a character to life, or else you just have a flat, one-dimensional everyman as your OC. So today I'll be sharing with you a list of character traits that I compiled to help you develop better OCs.

Positive Traits:

Agreeable

Brave

Caring

Cheerful

Confident

Cooperative

Creative

Dedicated

Devotion

Diligent

Disciplined

Dutiful

Easygoing

Efficient

Fairness

Forgiveness

Friendly

Funny

Generous

Hard-Working

Honest

Honorable

Humble

Kind

Leadership

Love of learning

Loyal

Passionate

Persuasive

Prudent

Principled

Punctual

Reasonable

Reliable

Respectful

Responsible

Self-regulation

Social Intelligence

Supportive

Trust-worthy

Well-mannered

Witty

Wise

Neutral Traits & Quirks:

Raises Eyebrows

Blinks rapidly

Avoids eye contact

Maintains eye contact

Blinks rapidly

Slouches

Stares off into the distance

Shrugs often

Touches their scars or wounds often

Chews lips

Paces around

Smiles a lot

Rarely smiles

Gestures with hands while speaking

Often is distracted

Hums

Negative Traits:

Absentminded

Abusive

Acts superior

Alcoholic

Aggressive

Always plays the victim

Aimless

Apathetic

Arrogant

Argumentive

Avoids their problems

Bossy

Blunt

Boring

Careless

Can't take criticism

Can't take a joke

Clumsy

Conceited

Controlling

Cunning

Childish

Cruel

Deceptive

Defiant

Demanding

Disloyal

Dishonest

Dramatic

Dependent

Disorganized

Disrespectful

Distracted easy

Extravagant

Envious

Forgetful

Greedy

Holds grudges

Makes up excuses for everything

Has a reason for why nothing is ever their fault

No accountability

Hostile

Hypopocrite

Immature

Impatient

Impractical

Impressionable

Impulsive

Insensitive

Irresponsible

Not a team player

Incompetent

Irritable

Inconsiderate

Indulgent

Insecure

Jealous

Know-It-All

Lazy

Liar

Loud

Manipulative

Makes everything about them

Makes everything a joke

Their way or the highway

Mean

Meddlesome

Messy

Naive

Nosy

Obnoxious

Obbssesive

Offended easily

Overdramatic

Overreacts

Patronizing

Power-hungry

Pretentious

Rebellious

Reckless

Rude

Sarcastic

Selfish

Sensitive

Stingy

Sexist

Spoiled

Stubborn

Superstitious

Talks over others/interrupts

Too loyal

Too forgiving

Undependable

Unreliable

Unsympathetic

Unorganized

Unreasonable

Violent

Weak

Remember, there are no one-dimensional characters in real life, and there shouldn't be in your stories either. The possibilities for your characters are endless – so get creative and have fun writing!

With Love, Esmeray ♡

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tarjapearce · 10 days

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Pure Instinct

Symbiote! Miguel O'Hara x Spiderwoman! Reader

Art by Lenin Francis Yu

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Preying behaviors, bickering, ambiguous relationships, breeding kink, objectification, creampies, Monster fucking, overstimulation, prey/hunter dynamics, mentions of period. Canon places, Not proofread.

Summary: A little guest from another dimension has a penchant for ovulation.

Another one for the Miguelverse

Special thanks to this nonny for the wonderful idea ❤️❤️

If you had to hear another word about world domination or how mistaken your views as a hero from another anomaly were, you'd surely rip your hair out.

Miguel delivered the last kick on Doc Oc's variant while you handled the trap.

"God, I swear if he keeps talking about the fucking sun on his hands-"

"Can you shut up and help?!" Miguel grunted as one of the villain's tentacles squeezed his skull, with the intention of leaving his head a bloody pulp, while slamming him against a wall.

"On it! " With a huff you shot your webs and kicked Doc Oc's spine, earning a pained growl from the man, but it was enough distraction for Miguel to pull his talons out and slice through metal and wire in a vicious outburst, destroying the tentacles in several rubble pieces.

With a kick and punch combo, Dr. Octavius was stunted. Miguel's webs tied the remaining automated limbs.

"Lyla, we've got him. Prepare the cell."

The little quiet gave you a bit of peace, bit it was quickly interrupted by the dull cramps on your lower belly.

You had to support on a nearby wall and exhale as another stab was delivered to your insides. If there was something worse than having your period, was being a spiderwoman and having your period.

Heightened senses made everything to be felt tenfold. Miguel's mask disappeared and he threw a brief glance your way before securing the area and pick up the anomaly.

"You alright?"

"Yeah just... Wished my uterus wouldn't have a penchant for committing harakiri every fucking month."

His brow quirked and he pressed some buttons to open the portal back to HQ. Dr. Octavius chuckled.

"You'd need a tantō for that."

"What do you think it feels like, dumbass?"

His lid twitched at your brazen disrespect, but ignored it. The least he wanted was to keep wasting time and prolonging the anomaly's staying in this dimension too long.

But the little conversation was more than enough to create a distraction. Doc Oc pounced on Miguel with his bare hands, securing his steely grip on his watch before pushing him through the portal.

"Shit!" Despite the pain you didn't hesitate to jump after them. You shot a web to gain impulse and kick the villain's head before his fist collided with Miguel's face, but this Octavius seemed prone to a greater resistance.

He punched back on your stomach, blowing all air out of your lungs through a choked wheeze.

"Play nice!" Miguel growled before connecting a powerful uppercut underneath Otto's jaw as the latter used the marred machine as a weapon, creating a set of cuts on Miguel's arm.

The mass of fighting limbs and bodies went through different universes, thanks to the code error to finally land in a foreign looking land.

You fell on the floor with a hard thud, unable to stand due the waves of pain that subdued you remorselessly.

Miguel howevee had grown tired and punched Otto on the side of his face, repeatedly until the villain remained unconscious on the floor.

Miguel's attention quickly diverted to his watch that sputtered in sparks and electric jolts.

"Ay por Dios... Lo que faltaba." His hand immediately rubbed his face, annoyed.

You on the other hand had barely mustered some energies to stand up.

"Fuck..." you whimpered and held your lower belly, as a crawl rolled down your spine upon glaring mistrustful at the alien-like features of the dimension. "Where are we?"

"Earth 616, known as Klyntar." Lyla quipped from your watch before glitching next to Miguel.

The foliage was nothing alike, not even the local fawn. All seemed to be doused in a black goo, that if you looked closer you could swear it moved on its own.

The flower's leafs were either exactly that or white sturdy spines that resembled teeths. As if the plant had a set of elongated teeth that protruded on each petal.

Long and sturdy spines that crawled in twisted spirals in whatever surface they touched. The sky was like glancing at a sunset. But unlike it's pretty hues of pastels, the fiery red and orange and yellows took over. Like if witnessing the very sun burning before you, yet it was cold. Eerily cold.

"Yeah, no. Can we... can we go home? Please? Don't wanna remain another second in one of Stephen King's wetdreams."

"I'm on it, signal over here is quite hard to get." Lyla glitched in several spots, trying to get a proper reception for her data

Miguel secured Otto entirely this time, and as he popped some joints back, you couldn't help but shoot at the sentient goo that was already crawling up his ankle and hand. His face contorted into a scowl before seeing the black puddle scurrying away from him, crawling within the dense alien foliage.

His face scrunched in disgust to then haul Octavius on his shoulder.

"What the hell was that?!"

"A symbiote. Amorphous creatures, I'm still trying to get a full on scan on what they are made of." Lyla's excitement would've been contagious if it wasn't for the icky feeling the whole place gave in it's already bizarre layout.

"Parasites, that's what they are."

Miguel mumbled gruffly as he crossed the portal, you followed. Otto was put in a cell. And you went to your dimension for a much needed break.

The boss himself went back to his base, ready to get lost in the many upcoming reports his way, ignoring the sudden itch that seeped through his body.

----

Dread crept in your head the closer you got to Miguel's office. The past weeks have been nothing but chaos in the Spider Society.

Anomalies doubling their presence, canon events bein6 almost disrupted, the cafeteria food lowering their quality and Miguel...

Oh no.

The main reason you were nauseous with anxiety as you entered in the threshold of his lab.

Not only your favorite leader and almost lover had been insufferable, but snappier, less tolerating towards Bullshit and mistakes, to the point of believing himself allergic to them. Cause they got him in such a mood the rest rather go to Jessica to report. Even to Peter.

And things were awful if people started to come to Peter for giving reports.

Sometimes you could hear him grumbling spanish nonsense to none but himself. With a deep sigh and a silent prayer to whoever above for you to not be killed in the go, you surpassed the doorframe.

As soon as you did the subtle tinge in your spider senses, thrummed through your body. A shaky breath was trapped on the state of his lab. Nothing but a mix of pitch black darkness and the red, ominous glow from the screens, barely illuminating his way, and outlining his heaving figure.

"Miguel?"

Your voice taunted and beady crimson eyes immediately locked on you.

"Here's the reports from last week. They're already done-"

Your throat gulped involuntarily upon picking up the ragged pants and heaves exhaling from his trembling mouth.

"Leave." he grunted and you frowned. He wasn't only a pain in the ass but a walking contradiction. How he wanted things done asap if he didn't even bother to take a look?

You were about to protest but a pained and shaky whimper from him, alerted you.

"You want me to leave when you're probably injur-"

"Fucking Leave!"

He roared, more concerned of what might happen if you didn't do exactly as you were being told.

"Mig..." Your eyes widened as he wheezed on the floor, the same black goo you saw back at Klyntar, was engulfing your sometimes lover at an alarming rate, that had Miguel grunting and growling as the amorphous creature fought to swallow him whole. But as you stepped closer he hissed your way, stopping you.

"I-I can smell you." He seethed through clenched teeth, struggling to remain in control of his words alone. But the statement made your brows furrow in disbelief. Hands rose in defense as you approached a step closer, to try and get the sentient slime out of him.

"The hell? I took a shower today you ass!." You mumbled while getting Lyla to fetch the Spider doc to the lab, trying to keep him grounded. Your spider senses tingled louder and harder the more you saw him fight against the thing.

"Not that kind of smell, you foolish woman."

But the sudden change of tone made you shiver. It wasn't him speaking, but something more eldritch and dern that finally managed to swallow him whole and overlapped it's voice with his.

The squishing noise ended in a lurid gurgle as a massive and dark figure stood before you. Breathing as if learning the proper way to inhale it for the first time. Drunk in the very air you exhaled, oozing with pheromones.

"M-Miguel?"

Miguel was big, but not this behemoth of a creature, crawling in it's own skin made out of abyss and darkness, in which chest remained your boss' spider emblem, fiery and bright red, like if fire itself emanated from within.

"I can smell you, little spider"

It took a moment for you to understand the implications of such words. You knew in this specific part of your cycle pheromones turned a bit more pungent. A reason why you remained in your dimension.

Even though colorless, the creature's eyes narrowed in a leering and borderline predatory glare towards you.

For every step forward he did, you took two back

"I gotta... Uh-" Your politeness melted into a pool as soon as the dangerous set of sharp teeth stretched over his lips, revealing a twisted wolfish grin that would put any creature to shame.

Your senses reached the peak of their alarmed state with a single thought.

Run.

Your feet didn't need to be told twice as they took you away from the creature's presence. An underworld roar echoed within Miguel's station.

You didn't know if it was a good or a bad idea. But it mattered little when the creature, the symbiote, chased after you. The earth trembled and echoed with every powerful lunge he gave.

You jumped through a window, and swung through the buildings and cars, throwing an occasional load of webs to slow him down that proved a nuisance if anything.

"Run, little spider, RUN!"

The ominous laugh echoed through the night. He jumped through structures, following the delicious scent you left behind.

If Miguel could recall, he had been studying symbiotes ever since the web of life showed him the many bad turns a Spider could take. He knew they were nasty creatures when finding a proper host.

Vicious and harmful parasites that did nothing but corrupt, if the host's willpower was weak. What Miguel couldn't decide yet was if he was being corrupted for giving in into his need to mate, or if the parasite had made him bigger, faster and more powerful because he knew he needed to mate, accepting his current emotions and feeding the creature's crave with them.

And your pheromones and stress only added another delicious smell to the list. The phenethylamine running rampant in your brain made his heightened senses to tingle in wicked delight.

His smile only grew wider.

With a powerful lurch, he jumped through buildings to finally catch you mid air before you shot your web again. His whole hand wrapped around you while he held you tightly over the building's ledge.

Bit by bit the row of sharp teeth appeared within his mask, to unleash his serpent like and slimy tongue out that, didn't waste a second longer and took a taste of your skin by licking your cheek.

"Let Miguel go!"

Voice firm, although your hands quivered while trying to pry yourself out of his steely grasp.

"Let him go?" Miguel laughed, but you knew this wasn't your Miguel.

Was he?

He wasn't harming you, if anything he was just licking your neck with that abnormally large tongue of his

"He's the one in control, spiderling."

The goo spreaded around you, like tiny and sentient webs that grope and tangled around your inner thighs, up your abdomen, breast and arms, swallowing your body, like it did with Miguel.

The ones around your arms secured their grip around your wrist, pulling and locking the limbs immediately behind your back.

Your little cries only ebbed him to inch closer to your face, the web extensions grope tighter, suffocating your suit.

Miguel's sharp talon slid softly on the fabric, giving the creature the perfect chance to rip the remaining linens to shreds off.

A yelp was drowned as his long tongue slid in within your mouth. Coiling and twisting on yours, subjugating the wet muscle effortlessly.

Your eyes clamped shut upon feeling the same sensation in your nipples.

The symbiote's biomass had split and smaller versions of his mouth appeared to immediately latch on each of your nipples.

With half lidded eyes and a swirling mind, your body squirmed at the delicious sensations running rampant through each cell that composed your form.

You were allowed to breath as the symbiote pulled his tongue out. Within seconds you were flipped upside down, head dipping into the abyss of buildings and landscapes underneath.

For a second you thought you'd fall down, but the steely grip in your body was foolproof. Monstrous hands spreaded your supple thighs open, your skin crawled with the deep, demonic growl grumbling in his chest upon taking a deep inhale of your cunt.

You could see him relish in it, as his salivation increased. Tongue teased by taking a deliberate slow lick on your folds.

"Y-You'll let me f-Nnghh!-"

Your teeth clenched in an acute whimper but eventually a shaky and loud gasp came out of your throat as Miguel or rather the symbiote plunged his tongue inside your heat with ease. Slimy texture tasted and twisted within.

His tongue curled and slurped your insides vehemently, tearing lovely and desperate cries from your pretty mouth. Composure cracked with each second as the tiny mouths sucked and kissed your nipples like no tomorrow. As if coaxing the dormant milk out of them was their main and only mission.

The symbiote lapped and gulped down the juices that soaked his tongue. You mewled and moaned, completely lost in the drowning debauchery the creature provided. His tongue felt heavenly as it slithered and fucked your insides with such viciousness you could feel your tightness trembling and succumbing to his corruption game.

The neglect in your body was catching up to his ministrations. It bent and twisted like putty into his mutated hands. A streak of drool oozed from the corner of your mouth as you gifted his ears with your sweet pathetic little cries.

Clit throbbed the more he pressed and curled his tongue against your cervix, teasing it nonstop.

You shouldn't enjoy it. You couldn't be enjoying it, but here you were, secretly begging him to keep going, to quench that urge flooding your rationality even if it ruined you.

Miguel ate like no other, that was much true, but this dark mass of living alien goo had your walls spasming and milking around him, and your brain synapses crazy with raw delight.

And when he had enough of your sweet cunt, the biomass etched you to his chest. To then jump out the ledge and land into a darkened area from another building.

His body spat you on the floor, but quickly propped you on your feet. His darkened giggles crawled underneath your skin, to then gasp as his hand crushed your frame against the thick glass. Hot pants echoed in a foggy cloud on the sheer surface, chest flattened against the sturdy crystal while your arms remained locked behind you. His fingers immediately pulled back your hair, arching your flexible spine to look up at him.

"Such a needy little spider"

His tongue licked your lips, the mouths latched once more in your nipples, earning him nothing but a exquisite sob

"So eager to be ruined."

Deep within your alarms flared upon feeling something hard and twitching behind you, at first you thought of it nothing but another extention of his mutated form until it positioned right in your drenched hole.

A pant turned into a wheeze as his broad tip pushed in, easing inch by inch.

Your eyes rolled back at the obscene size of his invading cock, stretching and molding your walls to his girth.

A choked gurgle came out of your gaping pit, panting for a much needed gulp of air. Your toes barely touched the ground as he bottomed deep, bulging and pulsing proudly inside your womb.

Your brain was turned into nothing but a puddle, swirling inside your head with every breath the creature behind you exhaled, all while he embedded and trapped you against the wall with his monstrous frame and cock.

The Symbiote's hand held your hips firmly, guiding you up and down with powerful yet paused strokes on himself, like a life sized fleshlight. Making sure your walls learned and memorized every curve and tangent of his twitching cock while receiving him whole with a wet squelch.

"S'big-" you wheezed with half lidded eyes, struggling to remain aware and sane. But how could you achieve such feat when air was lacking in your lungs and your brain tingled with the underlying need to procreate. You were in the peak of your fertile days.

And him was more than willing to give you exactly what you needed. Symbiote, Miguel, it didn't matter anymore who plowed you. You truly couldn't care less.

"Enough games." the creature seethed and with a tighter grip on your hair, he smacked your hips in a powerful thrust, knocking out all remaining air in your burning lungs. Then another and another and-

Oh god

You came. And came hard, clenching ever tight around him in violent and ruthless spasms. Shaky mewls and pleas turned into slurred screams but that didn't stop him. Your toes curled in.

His smile twisted upwards, before shoving it's tongue back in your throat as his hips begun ramming in a merciless tempo. Obliterating any remnants of common sense in your frying and overriding brain.

Good was too weak to actually describe the feeling. Something too raw, too vicious, viscerally inexpressible, like the unceasing whomps of his hips. Like, him.

Your mouth was unable to properly vocalize the searing heat the Symbiote's lust stirred within. Chipping away your need to stop him and simply take his swollen and pulsating cock the many times he pressed in.

Cause in truth, what else could you do but take it? To take it fast and remorselessly deep, with no signs of him stopping. Not when his snarls rumbled behind and his hot breath fanned over your face and neck. The mouths on your breast removed themselves with a pop, leaving your nipples puffed and swollen

Tears pooled in the inner corner of your lids, and soon slid down on each side of your cheek. Your voice was reduced to nothing but meek grunts and hushed breaths, to finally dissolve into a stuttering groan as your eyes widened at the hefty load of his seed being shot deep. Hot and spurting directly in your womb.

Your eyes rolled back as he pressed imposibly deep, overfilling you. His frame trembled upon sensing your womb trapping him, drinking and swallowing greedily every last of his drops, choking him exquisitely. A satisfied and animal-like growl rumbled through his chest.

But it wasn't enough.

His tongue pulled out of your throat, letting you have some air as a reward for withstanding him.

Your arms were numb, like your mind, legs too lightweight to support your whole frame. Too fucked out and overstimulated to articulate a proper word as you slumped against the glass wall that fogged in every weak breath exhaled.

Miguel's eyes raked over your body and smirked proudly. The dark and living webs fetched your quivering figure.

His eyes remained on your leaking hole and pushed all the escaping cum back inside with his slimy tongue.

"It needs to be inside" He grunted and pressed your head against the floor, while his webs spreaded your hips again.

Ass up high, he buried deep once again, earning a sweet and needy scream and some of his cum to spurt out in the floor in a lecherous splatter, pooling underneath your poor bouncing hips.

The rough and rhythmic slap slap slap deafened your pleas and begs. Your breast bounced at the wicked beat of his pistoning hips. Throat scrapped raw, breathless. Eyes glossy, too gone to a dark place where he was the undisputed sovereign.

"You spiderlings are so fragile" The symbiote smirked while his hand held your head in place.

"Miguel-"

His name was repeated over and over, like if you were learning it for the first time. Clit throbbed with such intensity it had your head shaking. Fighting to keep your sanity intact as his heavy balls slapped whatever skin they could reach.

"Can't-" you grunted between clenched teeth, eyes danced erratically, like your blown breaths. Your knuckles and toes turned white at the sheer pressure you held them in.

"You can't what?" The overlapping mirthful voices sent another painful throb in your punished pussy, "Is it too much for you?"

The brief and sadistic laugh echoed through the skies.

"How weak."

With a snarl and a deep plow, he sheathed, the webs lifted you and curled you on your own to see how his enormous cock buried inside and pulsated.

Thick and throbbing veins adorned his base, every contraction meant more hot spurts of his seed, flooding your already stuffed womb.

There was no sound from you this time. Your brain had shut off and you laid limp, on the floor, quivering and twitching at the minimum graze of air. The webs around your wrist were loosened, freeing your tingling arms.

The little puddle of cum kept growing underneath the more your muscles spasmed and contracted.

"Ten"

Your breath hitched, while trying to get up.

"Nine."

He sung and you whimpered, crawling away from him.

"Eight"

Your legs didn't move but rather quiver. It was amusing for him to see you gasp while trying to stand.

"Seven"

"W-Wait" You mumbled, feeling the remnants of pleasure toying with your mind.

Part of you knew that if you stayed, he'd destroy you completely, but if you go, you'd gain a bit more of time to let your body heal enough to withstand another round.

"Six."

You tried shooting a web. But nothing came out.

"C'mon!"

"Five"

A chill ran down your spine as you slapped your wrist, finally mustering some strength to stand up with wobbly legs. Your nakedness didn't matter, not when a symbiote had taken over your boss, corrupting him to the point of him playing the mouse and cat through the city.

"Four" He tittered with malice.

And finally you managed to shoot some. Naked or not you supported on the wall to catch some air before shooting again and swinging.

"Three"

He watched you go after covering your bits to spare you some shame in case someone saw you. But quickly frowned when disappearing through a portal.

The symbiote however left Miguel's body to latch on his back. His eyes held a different gleam, teeth sharper.

Soon, his seed would work, but he had to make sure your womb harbored enough of him so his future seedling grew.

"Lyla, where is she?"

"Back in her dimension-"

He cut her off before she kept talking. The alien goo swallowed him whole again, regaining his gigantic frame.

"One."

The hunt was on.

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #symbiote suit #Symbiote! Miguel #monster fucker #Miguelverse #Spotify

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untoldstar · 3 months

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male yandere psychologist x fem patient reader [introduction]

warnings: heavily implied that the reader is a patient at a psych ward, obsessive behaviors and tendencies, abuse of power, toxic environment, yandere themes, might not show in this part but for the future Ivan takes advantage of the readers vulnerable mental state.

There aren’t intense scenes in this at all (as I see it) BUT as for the coming parts of this OC it still has to do with a character who struggles with mental illness, an extremely toxic psychologist who abuses his position and being in a psyche ward so if you feel like any of that sounds triggering or there’s a possibility it could be triggering I would urge you not to read this or other parts of this OC.

pls be careful what you read guys and stay safe mwah🫶

Tick..

Ivan taps his foot impatiently and pushes up his sleeve for the millionth time to reveal his wristwatch.

2:59 PM

Just a few more seconds..

Tick..

3:00 PM

Ivan smiles, his stiff body finally relaxing and just like everyday a knock is heard on his office door and in walks the nurse pushing you forward like a criminal into his office. He only spares the nurse and nod and a polite smile before his attention is directed at you, focusing on your every move anticipating what you’ll do next. You huff and plop down in the chair in front of his desk rolling your eyes "Ah [name], how are we doing today?" he clasps his hands Infront of him and stares at you expectantly.

Just like everyday.

‘Why does he ask the same question every day? What could possibly change in the matter of a single day? They should've made these cheek-up's weekly instead this is becoming such a pain.’

"Fine. Just like always." you answer curtly. He hums nodding "Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut to the chase today there’s something I must discuss with you.” You quirk a brow. You have to admit seeing the serious expression instead of the easy going one he usually has is a bit unnerving “I'm sure you already know that your..leave is to be expected soon." his lips twist in displeasure as if merely saying that has left a bitter taste in his mouth. You nod "Yes..what about that?" he sighs "Well, I'm afraid I've come to the decision that you'll have to stay a while longer, just to be safe." Your heart plummets. Sure you haven't been kissing Dr.Ivan's ass or being necessarily..nice to him but that shouldn’t have anything to do with your treatment. You know you've been getting better so what possible reason could have you stay here "Just to be safe? What is that supposed to mean?" you shoot daggers at him but he doesn't seem the least bit bothered by it "We’ve witnessed many patients show signs of improvement and seem like they’re ready to leave but there were also many instances where patients leave our facility and end up..falling into old patterns. Not that I expect that from you but I would like to guarantee your safety." You swallow the lump in your throat. Can they even do that? Is that even legal? "..How long?" a few beats of silence passes by while he blankly stares at you before answering "A month." Your shoulders drop down exasperatedly. Another month??

You feel frustration bubble up inside your chest. You feel hopeless as if you’re never getting out of here. You can’t take it you can’t take seeing the same hallways the same people this same fucking office everyday.

You don't say anything when you get up from your chair and start charging for the door "Our daily check up isn't quite done, my dear." His voice booms behind you "I don't fucking care." You spit back and go to reach for the door when his hands suddenly slam the door on either side of you, trapping you against it "Why are you always trying to leave me?" he whispers his shaky breath fanning against the side of your neck "..What are you talking about..Doc-" his hand clenches into a fist "Don't call me that!" You flinch trembling slightly "..I'm sorry I raised my voice, but I've told you countless times before you don't have to call me 'Doctor' my dear. Ivan is fine." You stay quite and he sighs "You won't even say my name.." he leans his head on your shoulder his body slumping almost exhausted from the interaction.

You hold your breath eyeing the door handle inches away from you "Why do you hate me so much?" his voice almost breaks "You roll your eyes at me, you barely say a few words in our daily sessions, You can't stand it when I go to visit you in your room.." he steps closer, his body now flush against your back "You throw a fit and almost walk out on me.." he moves his head to the side sniffing your heart and you hear him let out a groan “God I thought you’d be happy about staying here. All I want is for you to love me. Why won’t you love me? hm?” his arms slide down for the door to wrap around you squeezing tightly “Am I just the annoying psychologist your forced to talk to? Is that all I am to you?” he keeps talking almost in his own world too intoxicated by you, having you in his arms body flush against his your scent enveloping him “Damnit why won’t you-“ you take advantage of his vulnerability and decide to make a run for it, using the door to push back all of your body weight to at least have his arms off of you immediately taking a hold of the door handle and leaping out of his office, you run down the hall never looking back. You’re surprised he didn’t pull you back in maybe he was shocked maybe he wasn’t and he just..let you go. Whatever the case was you had to get as far away from him as possible.

Ivan’s left alone in his office panting, cheeks flushed and an obvious tent in his pants. He lets out a low chuckle looking far off into the hallway ‘Soon..i read of running away from me you’ll be running to me. I’ll make sure of it darling.’

#fem reader #male yandere #yandere oc #yandere blog #yandere x reader #obsessive yandere #yandere #yandere fanfiction #male yandere psychologist #patient reader #yandere Ivan #Ivan oc #yandere psychologist #toxic yandere #introductory fic #kinda short sorry lol #I #I think it’s legal?? but he’s doing it cuz he’s crazy soooo

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1nnocentbunny · 2 years

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Every time I start drawing human(oids)s I'm like "this is going to be such a fucking trainwreck and then surprise myself over how okay it looks in the end.

#my art #ocs #digital art #illustration #elf #Context: Lovin (blond) is part demon/devil (after his dad)#The prince (who doesn't have a name yet) is an elf #elves aren't really good but they aren't evil either #they fall in a middle ground like humans #they met while Lovin was trying to understand why and where his powers has come from as he only known life in the mortals world #always thinking he was just human (with a few quirks)

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eoieopda · 6 months

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sweatshirt season | ksy

your fuck buddy is good at a lot of things. taking hints isn’t one of them.

pairing: kwon soonyoung x reader type: one-shot / fluff + smut rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) au: one-night-stand to fuck buddies to ? wc: 4.5k cw: gn! and afab!reader (no pronouns used); time skips; protected penetrative sex (p in v); hoshi is kinda a himbo, lmao; ft. cameo by minghao and roomate!gn!sibling OC; reference to the movie they're watching, which is hereditary (brief mention of decapitation + demonic possession); barely proofread, sorry! a/n: this is based on a headcanon i did a while ago! i've been in such a horrible rut re: writing for the past month and a half, so it was a major struggle to write this because i feel like i don't know how to do that anymore 😵‍💫 i'm hoping that himbo hoshi can save me from this hell. also, this is told in vignettes!

[APRIL]

“Babe?”

The voice from nowhere is barely loud enough to drag you from sleep, but the effect it has on you is far from soft. Those consonants dig in where your dehydrated brain shrinks away from your skull, pressing in so hard that they throb.

Bleary-eyed, you blink as rapidly as you can to adjust to the bright, white light beaming in through your open shades. The sound that escapes you is something akin to a hiss; it gets the point across, nonetheless. You sit up just enough to see the figure standing in front of your window, looming overhead with crossed arms, laughing.

Clearly, your roommate doesn’t give a shit or a fuck about your hangover.

“What’s the deal with the stray you brought home last night?” Mei asks, the corners of their mouth tilting wickedly.

You don’t have the brain power for this conversation, so you respond with a groan and bury your face back in the pillow from whence it came. Never one to give up, Mei drops down on top of you so that the full weight of their body rests against yours.

“C’mon,” they urge. “Spill your guts, chingu.”

Funnily enough, if they don’t get off your guts, you might do exactly that.

Your reply comes in the form of a croak, some pathetic little sound that reads as lifeless as you feel. “Why do you care?”

There isn’t a single reason you can think of for their sudden interest in your bad decisions. You’ve been making them left and right for the past few months without much more than a concerned glance, and until now, you didn’t realize that you’d taken the lack of follow-up questions for granted.

What a fucking travesty it is to be perceived.

“Your business is your business.” Mei shrugs. You quirk an eyebrow, ready to jump in and point out their lapse in logic, but then that smirk comes back. “But your business is currently burning eggs in our kitchen, which makes it my business, too.”

Sitting up quickly, the force of your sudden moves nearly knock Mei to the ground. Beyond horrified, you squeak, “He’s still here?”

Faster than you’ve ever moved before, you clamber out from underneath your roommate and crawl to the edge of your bed, kicking wildly at your blankets until your legs are free.

You’re already up and swaying on your feet, panting from the effort, when you finally think to look down and assess the state of yourself. Thankfully, you’d remembered to dress yourself before falling asleep. You glance upward and salute whatever deity was looking out for you, ignore the look on Mei’s face entirely, and dash out of your bedroom.

As soon as you reach the kitchen, you skid to a stop, socks sliding across the hardwood until your hip bone collides with the corner of the kitchen island. You hiss again, far louder than the last time. The shape standing at your stove turns around wide-eyed; his mouth is frozen in the shape of an “o”.

Just as quick, recognition flashes, and the shock wears off.

“Good morning,” he chirps, and he’s all fucking sunshine.

You blink back at him without a single idea of where to start — with the fact that he’s still here after you could’ve sworn he left, that he’s wearing your apron but has no clear grasp on the simple act of frying eggs, or that you cannot for the life of you remember his name.

Fuck.

You should really start keeping a guest book.

Whatever his name is, he’s witnessing you at your worst — certifiably crusty with your standard bad attitude — and that alone makes you want to wither and die, right on the spot. Unbothered by your ghoulish appearance, he gestures to the kitchen island you just collided with, pointing to a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.

Items he would’ve had to open two (2) separate cabinets to find.

In the kitchen he shouldn’t even be in.

You open your mouth, primed to explode all over him, but the way he’s looking at you disarms you immediately. His expression is so chipper — so friendly and childlike in its innocence — that you swallow down the shit you’d readily hurl at anyone else. You gulp, and without saying a word in acknowledgement, you grab what he’s laid out for you.

He smiles when you choke down the aspirin, then turns back around to pull the scrambled, half-burnt mess off the burner.

“You must have a pretty low alcohol tolerance if you’re this hungover after three drinks,” he muses.

It’s an accurate observation — a harmless one, too — but you did not ask. Once again, he shoots you a smile that prevents you from snapping at him. Instead, you set the now-empty glass back down on the island and stare vacantly over at him.

Seonghwa?

“You’re still here,” you say flatly. You may be stating the obvious, but that fact speaks for itself. “You’re still here, and you’re also in my kitchen.”

Seokjin, maybe?

He smiles at this, either unaware that he’s violated the unwritten one-night-stand code of conduct or unfazed by his own rule breaking. Rubbing the back of his neck, he laughs awkwardly, “It was the least I could do, you know? After all you —”

What the fuck is your name?

“Sungwoo!” You cut him off with a gasp and a palm raised, all but begging him not to recount what he’s grateful for within earshot of your roommate. “Really, you don’t need to do this. Any of this.”

He corrects you gently, “It’s Soonyoung.”

Then, without even a hint of offense taken, he nods his head towards one of the stools tucked under the counter of the island. Your eyes flit between his hopeful face and the seat, frozen solid with indecision.

You see two options, and both feel like a trap:

Holding the line risks squashing this clueless boy’s marshmallow heart; and you don’t want to be the gash that ruins his day at the very outset. If you feed the stray — rather, if you let the stray feed you — then you’re an enabler, contracting a residency when the show was supposed to be one-night-only.

More perceptive than you’ve given him credit for so far, he senses the conflict inside your skull and attempts to tip the scale with a bread-cheeked smile and a shoulder wiggle. “Your breakfast is getting cold,” he nudges in a soft, sing-song tone.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Begrudgingly, you dump yourself onto a stool without a word. With your elbows now propped up on the countertop, you drop your chin down to rest on the heels of your hands. More than anything, you try like hell to ignore the way it all makes his face light up.

“I don’t understand how you went from demonically hot to…” Your voice trails off as you try to find a word for whatever this is. A beat passes before you give up, waving dismissively. “Domesticated, or whatever.”

And his cheeks go pink.

“You think I’m hot?” He all but gasps, like this is brand new information to him.

Like you would’ve brought him home from the club if he wasn’t — and goddamn, was he ever. Carrying himself with the kind of confidence that made your knees wobble; saying all the right things in a low, smoky tone with his lips at your ear; moving his body in ways that still fluster you to think about.

And yet, here he is.

Adorable, if not completely obtuse.

After grabbing plates from a nearby cabinet, he snags two pairs of chopsticks out of the drawer to the left of the sink. It takes all you’ve got not to roll your eyes. He shouldn’t know where either of those things are, but he does.

A satisfied sigh slips out of his mouth when he takes the seat next to yours and scoots a plate full of eggs and kimchi in front of you.

“Here you go,” he sings as he holds out a pair of your own chopsticks to you.

He’s beaming when you accept them into your hand, and it leaves you with no choice but to take a bite of the food in front of you. Intently and chronically hopeful, he watches you pluck a piece of scrambled egg from the plate, like the trajectory of his life hinges on your approval. There’s no turning back now. Reluctantly, you pop it into your mouth.

While you chew, he leans in a bit closer. From this distance, you can see your own reflection in his irises; there are tiny flecks of honey brown amidst the dark, you realize. Little details you didn’t notice last night when he was much, much closer — like the heart-shaped curve his upper lip takes when he smiles as big as he is now.

“How is it?” He asks, walking the borderline between eager and unbearably shy.

You swallow hard as you snap back to attention. If letting him stay for breakfast was a bad call, getting caught gawking at him is a flagrant foul. Somehow, you need to get the point across without being too cruel; to remind him that you signed up for the night and not the morning.

“Um. Well,” you start with a grimace, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Are eggs supposed to… crunch?”

[JUNE]

“Oh, fuck, just like that —”

Your back arches off the bed as you grip uselessly at sweat-drenched sheets. Between your spread thighs, Soonyoung and the punishing pace he’s set make quick work of pulling you apart, again. His right arm loops under your left leg to anchor you to him while his left palm presses down on your lower abdomen, making damn sure that every thrust drags over your g-spot.

This — this right here — is why you keep calling him back. He may overstay his welcome, but that’s an occupational hazard. His perpetual presence is a risk you’re willing to take, so long as he fucks you like this.

“Shit. You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”

He’s panting as he says it, which surprises the hell out of you. His stamina is unearthly, and when you manage to keep your eyes open long enough to look up at him, you don’t see any hint of effort. It's just the ragged sound of his breathing, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“I think this might be a new personal record.”

Unfortunately, his little announcement is genuine. He’s merely stating a fact, not trying to tease you, because his only concern outside of making you cum is outdoing himself.

To Soonyoung, sex is a performance he’s trying to perfect. He approaches it like an Olympian — an athlete or a god? — and the bar he sets for himself raises every time you see him.

You find it the tiniest bit endearing how focused he is on self-improvement.

Kind of.

That doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes, though.

“Not if you keep —” A moan that you didn’t mean to let out cuts your sentence in half. “— talking.”

Your head crashes back against the pillows, which only spurs him on. Deeper, more deliberate strokes leave you writhing underneath him, babbling like a fool. He grins so wide that his eyes almost disappear.

“I’m just saying…” Another thrust, a thousand more stars dotting the periphery of your vision. “If you hit five, you owe me dinner.”

There it is, right on cue: another piece of evidence to prove that Soonyoung still doesn’t know what he signed up for.

It’s a conversation you’ve had more than once — never because you want to have it; and never because he seems to be consciously seeking something more than what you have.

At some point over the past few months of scattered nights with you, a seed seems to have taken root in the back of his brain. A zombie parasite, more likely; one that’s overridden the controls and completely undermined his understanding of the situation.

Whether he means it or not, these throw-away comments make you wonder if, deep down, he’s not wired to fuck without feelings.

Not like you, anyway.

Your self-preservation instincts don’t let you get that far. Risk-averse to your core, you don’t see the point of gambling when the stakes are that high. And even if you weren’t wary of getting yourself hurt, it wouldn’t change the fundamental truth that you enjoy your own company enough not to need anyone else’s.

The way you see it, Soonyoung can have a cameo in your weekends, but the plot of your life right now doesn’t need anything more than that. Changing the lineup now could fuck your whole season. So, why try?

To his credit, he seems to get that there are currently more pressing matters at hand than the same old conversation. He pats your hip and says, “Let’s switch it up.”

You’re as grateful for the subject change as you are for the hand he extends to help your boneless body sit up again. Thankfully, the one lesson he has learned is that no one can compete with his perpetually full battery. If he’s going to change positions as often as he wants to, he has to be the one to position you.

This time, you wind up with your back flush against his chest, skin slick against yours. To keep him close, you reach back until your hand finds the nape of his neck. After weaving your fingers through the damp hair at the base of his head, you tug slightly, pulling a low groan out of him.

“Fuck, yeah,” he grunts breathlessly. “Pull my hair.”

You do as he says, albeit a bit harder than you meant to; you can’t help it. That’s the exact moment he chooses to grab your hips and slam your ass back against his pelvis, perfectly in time with his forward snap. He’s in your guts now, there’s no doubt about it, and you’re falling to pieces.

Wailing, you have to squeeze your eyes shut to survive the surge of pleasure coursing through you. “Oh, my god,” you choke out.

The only way you manage to stay upright through your orgasm is with Soonyoung’s arms caging you in. Without him, you’d be a trembling fucking mess, collapsing face-down onto your bed in a useless heap. He keeps holding you even when he lets himself go soon after, spilling into the condom with a moan you feel as it leaves his chest.

“Goddamn,” he sighs, voice rough. The heat of his breath on your neck almost makes you want to cling to him, curl up and let your eyes flutter shut. “Every time I fuck you, I feel like I should thank you.”

That flicker of affection goes out in a flash as the memory of consequences comes back around. You snort. “Please don’t cook for me again.”

You leave it at that, and so does he. When he finally pulls out of you, you give into the safer urge; the one that can’t possible give him the wrong impression. Slumping forward, you hit the mattress so hard that you practically bounce, like the dead weight you are.

Soonyoung misses that spectacle, thankfully. He’s already on his feet, tying off the condom before dropping it into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. You hear it drop against the plastic bag, then the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way back to you. You unbury your face from the pillows and crane your neck to look over at him.

In a rare display, he looks exhausted. Moments like this might be the only time he ever finds himself depleted, and you figure he’s earned that right. Part of you wants to let him lay here with you — maybe even let him sleep it off — but you can’t let him get tangled in the strings you refuse to attach.

He’s halfway to you when he finally looks up at you and catches you watching him. You’re not sure what he sees in your expression; you’d bet it’s as confusing on the outside as it feels on the inside. Whatever he finds there, it makes him pause. There's a quick nod, like he’s reacting to something neither one of you has said out loud, then he changes course.

“You have to be up early,” he says, like he’s finally learned the script. “I’m gonna head out.”

You nod but say nothing else. You just watch as Soonyoung grabs the clothes you’d tugged off of him earlier, piece by piece, and puts everything back to the way it was before.

The way you want it.

Once he’s fully clothed, he shoots you a smile that only uses half of his mouth. Neither of you offers a word as he walks over to the door, although you can tell he’s moving more slowly than usual. Hoping you’ll stop him, maybe.

You don’t.

It’s not until he pulls it open that he looks back over his shoulder at you; and this time, when he smiles, it looks like he means it.

“Sleep well, yeah?”

[OCTOBER]

“I’m just saying that if her shithead brother bothered to include her in his night, maybe she wouldn’t have been decapitated."

You tear your eyes off the television screen in time to see Minghao’s eyes roll all the way back into his head. Across the coffee table from where you sit, he and Mei occupy the couch; his head crashes against the back of it with a muffled thump while his younger sibling continues their rant.

“I’m being for real,” Mei urges, jabbing their finger emphatically through the air in his direction. “If you ever bail on me like that, and my head ends up falling off, you deserve whatever consequences come next.”

You snort. “Up to and including… what, demonic possession?”

“Absolutely,” Mei sniffs.

Minghao sits upright again slowly. He chews thoughtfully on his lower lip, leaving you and your roommate in suspense. Knowing him, he’ll lecture you both on karmic energy and how Mei shouldn’t fuck around with it. To both of your surprise, he frowns. “Is it bad that I kind of want cake now?”

You and Mei respond at the same time, although your responses are nothing alike:

“I think we have some left over.”

“Yes, you’re a monster.”

Despite what they just called him, Mei is nothing if not a good host. With a beleaguered huff, they push themselves off the couch, step carefully over the legs Minghao doesn’t move out of their path, and stalks off towards the kitchen to forage for food.

Left alone in the living room, you and Minghao fall into an easy silence, eyes glued once again to the screen. It’s always been easier to get through a movie without Mei’s commentary; this one would’ve been finished an hour ago if they hadn’t kept pausing it to ramble. You’re so immersed in it that you hardly hear the way they’re tearing through the kitchen like a cyclone. You almost miss the soft knock at the door, too.

Immediately, your optimistic eyes flick over to Minghao. He’s closer to the door, and if you stare at him long enough, he might let you stay in the armchair you’ve all but fused to.

“Nope,” he says coolly, without even looking.

Whining, you peel off the blanket you’ve wrapped yourself in and unfurl your knotted legs. You shiver when your bare feet touch the cold wood below, but bravely, you don’t retreat. You push forward on tiptoe and skip across the living room until you reach the front door.

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead when you open it to find Soonyoung standing there for the first time in several weeks. While overstaying his welcome is his signature, showing up uninvited never has been. That’s apparently one line in the sand he won’t stumble over.

“Hey,” you peep.

For reasons unknown, you have to pause to let your gaze sweep over him, like something might’ve drastically changed about him since you saw him last. There’s a tiny flutter in the center of your chest that begs you to greet him more emphatically than that, but you ignore it.

Soonyoung looks more apologetic than you’ve ever seen him, which makes your pulse quicken even more.

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” he swears. “I think I left my headphones here last time. I’ve looked everywhere, I promise, but they’re just — gone.”

Your first instinct is to ask why he brought headphones to a dick appointment in the first place, but you talk yourself out of it. The next is to find out why he came all the way over here on a hunch, rather than simply texting you; he hasn’t in a while, not that you’ve taken it to heart. But you don’t do that, either, which strikes you as odd.

Instead, you step back and push the door open wider, once again letting the stray inside. “No worries,” you breeze.

Since when?

As it turns out, letting him in doesn’t bring the sky crashing down around you. Taking a single brick out of the wall you’ve fastidiously built doesn’t bring about the end of days. It just brings a shy bow and a quiet “thank you” while he toes off his shoes.

He turns to head toward your bedroom with you following behind him, but he stops short after a few steps. Crashing into his back — god, he’s broader than he looks — you grab his biceps to keep from bowling him over entirely.

“Shit — I’m so sorry.” He wheels around, failing to realize that you’re as close as you are. You can see panic light up his eyes, now mere centimeters from yours. “I didn’t realize you had somebody over.”

What is that scribbled all over his face?

It’s not anger, you know that much. Nothing about the way he’s looking at you reads like jealousy, either. If anything, he seems genuinely torn-up over what he assumes is date-crashing. Guilty, maybe.

So, why do you feel bad?

“Mei’s brother,” you explain quickly, as if he’s owed one. “Our annual horror movie marathon. We — all of us — do it every October.”

Why did you add that qualifier in there?

Soonyoung’s face brightens immediately, and you feel the tiniest bit warmer now that the corners of his mouth aren’t curved downward anymore. You wish that surprised you, but it doesn’t.

Why should it? You’ve given into him more often than not, haven’t you?

All he says is, “Oh,” in the tiniest voice you’ve ever heard, like he’s embarrassed himself for the first time in his life.

It grows quiet while the two of you continue to stand there in the half-light. If you discount the screaming, the flickering colors coming from the television screen make it feel almost — cozy?

But you’ve been gazing up at him for far too long, so you clear your throat. “Your — umm — your headphones. Do you remember where you left them?”

You nudge him slightly to get him moving, which he does without complaint.

“I think they jumped out of my pocket when you…” Soonyoung’s voice trails off. As you pass by, he glances over at Minghao, who either can’t hear your conversation or doesn’t give a shit about it.

With that indifference confirmed, Soonyoung looks back at you with a smirk. “You broke my zipper, you know. I had to take those jeans to a tailor to fix it.”

Immediately, your cheeks start burning.

Resident fuck monster, reporting for duty! Here to rip clothes to shreds and —

He touches your wrist, just for a second. “It’s cute,” he assures you, even though you haven’t said a word.

And it doesn’t do a damn thing to keep that heat from rising up your face.

You step into your bedroom before you can think of what to say in response, so you let the moment pass and flick on the light. Just as soon as he joins you inside, Soonyoung lays eyes on what he came for — which is a miracle. That thin, white cord is practically invisible under your dresser.

“Ah!” He chirps, bending down to grab it.

Looking triumphant as hell, he tucks it into the pocket of his joggers and shoots you a grin. Suddenly, you find it hard to mimic his smile, although you don’t know why.

He got what he came for, didn’t he? He’ll be out of your hair in a matter of moments, which is exactly what you’ve been demanding of him for months. You had to train him to get in and get out, and when he eventually learned, the relief was immediate.

So, why don’t you feel relieved now?

Soonyoung must hear your trains of thought derailing because he comes in hot with a distraction. As usual, it’s out of left field, just like the soft brush of his fingers on your bare arm.

“You’re cold.”

It’s not a question.

There aren’t even goosebumps on your arm; and there’s no reason why he should know by looking at you that you are, in fact, freezing. But he does, and before you can ask how the fuck that’s possible, he spins around to the dresser nearby and grabs the handle jutting out of the bottom-left drawer.

How does he —?

You open your mouth to speak. The words disappear when he stands upright again, now holding out a sweatshirt from the drawer you keep them in. He’s only seen you open it once before, and the fact that he remembers is making you dizzy.

Soonyoung’s expectant eyes lock on your face, looking at you the same way he did when he handed you those burnt fucking eggs. This time, though, you don’t hesitate to accept what he’s giving you. You tug that sweatshirt over your head without missing a beat, instantly learning that it’s much bigger on you than you remember.

Stunned, you blink back at him from underneath the hood, which obscures most of your forehead. “Is this —?”

You grab the fabric from the front of it in your hands as you look down. At first glance, it looks like the million other white sweatshirts tucked into your drawer, but —

“This isn’t mine.”

Your eyes flick back up to Soonyoung, who’s fighting for his life to bite back a smile.

Six months ago, you might’ve knocked him on his ass for this, but now, you can’t keep it together, either. You crack wide open, laughing so hard that your eyes almost disappear.

“When the hell did you sneak that in there?” You wheeze, wiping tears as they spill over your lash line. The smack you land against his arm is cloaked in a sweater paw, dealing no damage except to crack him open, too. “God, I was never going to get rid of you, was I?”

Beaming, he slips his hands into the kangaroo pocket on the front and tugs you closer; you let him. “It was just in case I get cold, I swear.”

“Is that it?” You narrow your eyes playfully. “Are you sure?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, although you don’t believe him for a second. “It does look good on you, though. Maybe you should hang on to it.”

“To the sweatshirt?”

Watching him blush like that may never get old. Still, he maintains his bluff and nods.

“Yeah. I mean, why not? Right? It’s comfortable.” He shrugs, not even the slightest bit casually. “A cotton blend, I think. Pre-shrunk, so… It’ll — uh, never be your size, I guess. That’s — um — that’s kind of a bummer, but…”

“Soonyoung!” You cut him off with a breathless laugh, prompting him to shut his rambling mouth.

The rare use of his name seems to startle him. His eyes go wide with that typical, hopeful anticipation that he never seems to leave home without. That look hasn’t disappeared after six months of getting shot down on a weekly basis, and neither has the way he hangs onto every word you say.

This time, it might actually be what he’s been waiting to hear.

“Do you….?”

It might be a new personal record, you caving like this after holding someone at arm’s length for so long. The relief is automatic, spreading through muscle that you didn’t even realize had been aching.

“If you’re not busy, do you want to stay?”

#svt #hoshi #kwon soonyoung #hoshi x reader #soonyoung x reader #hoshi smut #soonyoung smut #hoshi fluff #soonyoung fluff #svt fic #svt smut #svt fluff #jade writes #re: sweatshirt season #ksy #kvanity

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cas-kingdom · 7 months

Text

The Art of Parenting

A/N: This took a lot of time and motivation to finish, so it isn’t my best, but honestly I’m just glad to have it up and posted at this point, haha. Hopefully you enjoy it all the same.

In my OC’s (reader’s) world, our fave seven are no longer together by the time she officially becomes a member of the BAU. But let’s imagine for the sake of this fic that they are. <3

As usual, reader is Spencer’s sister and this fic is entirely platonic.

Title: The Art of Parenting

Summary: On the jet home, you find Hotch in need of some reassurance. And a blanket.

Words: 2634

As unexpected as it was to see the youngest of the unit walk sluggishly down the jet’s aisle, wrapped from head to way behind your toes in a heavy duvet and clutching two pillows to her chest, nobody could say with certainty that it was surprising.

And, frankly, as sudden laughter and teasing remarks shattered the previously dismal atmosphere of the jet typical after a case, nobody could say it wasn’t appreciated.

Between Rossi’s almost disgruntled “Why’d I never think of that?” and Emily and J.J.’s pleas to toss them both a pillow each, Derek pushed his headphones back and breathed a short burst of laughter.

“Oh, Princess, you did not.”

“It’s an eight-hour flight home,” you stated matter-of-factly, “you can bet your ass I did.”

You sat between him and Spencer, the latter absorbed in a book about insects, and crossed your legs beneath you. With little reluctance, as though you’d been expecting as much, you threw the pillows in the direction of Emily and J.J.. A stream of thanks and praises came your way immediately. Sleeping on a long plane ride home was bad enough, but sleeping after five days of running, shooting, yelling, punching, and powered by nothing but caffeine was rough. A pillow was capable of making that sleep the best damn sleep they’d ever had.

“Y/N—” J.J.’s voice was muffled by the pillow she’d stuck her face in—“you’re my lifesaver right now, and I love you.”

Emily pushed herself up on an elbow. “Do you happen to have a sleep mask back there?”

Derek waved her off and sat forward as you made yourself comfortable, spreading your duvet out around you. “Forget about that,” he said, “tell me you brought enough for all of us.”

A general hush encompassed the jet. Rossi leant forward expectantly, one brow quirked, and even Hotch, thus far silent in his own corner as he bent over a pile of paperwork, paused for a moment, his head tilted to await your answer. J.J. was utterly gone, it seemed, though Emily was still waiting for confirmation of a sleep mask.

You gave Derek a look. Derek clucked his tongue and shook his head, sitting back against his seat. You, because you were you, immediately unwrapped yourself from your blanket burrito and handed him a corner so he could pull it across him. Derek’s teasing look of misery dropped in an instant, and he accepted the corner with a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart.” With that, he pulled his headphones over his ears and shut his eyes, sinking down the couch enough that the duvet touched his chin.

“Sooo…that’s a no on the sleep mask?”

“Sorry, Em.”

The jet settled again after a sigh and a wave of the hand from Emily. Soft snores were just about audible from underneath J.J.’s pillow, Rossi had made himself comfortable in his seat, head in the palm of his hand, and Hotch’s momentary distraction had not thwarted his determination to finish his work before you landed. You watched him for a moment, noting the trademark crease in his brow as he hunched over documents.

And the man wondered why he got so many headaches.

“Did you know that a ladybug will prepare for a food shortage by laying infertile eggs for her young to eat once they hatch?”

Spencer hadn’t taken his eyes from his page, completely immersed, and wouldn’t have noticed if his sudden statement didn’t even gain a response. Still, instinctively, you turned away from Hotch and towards your brother, peering in total interest down at what he was reading. “Creepy,” you said.

“Resourceful,” Spencer corrected.

“You’re telling me you’d procreate and go through nine months of pregnancy and hours of painful labour only to give the baby away to be eaten by your other kids once it’s born?”

Spencer looked up. A puckered brow temporarily marred his features. “Actually,” he said, “the time taken by ladybugs to lay eggs after mating varies and can sometimes be as little as seven days or as long as two to three months. Once the eggs are laid they can take between three and ten days to hatch.” There were a couple beats of silence, both of you staring at the other, before Spencer sniffed and turned back to his book. “And I can’t get pregnant.”

Years ago, before and at the beginning of his career, sarcasm had been alien to Spencer. Since then, you were proud to say he’d become one with a few more human traits. Teasing being one of them, as was proven when he glanced at you from the corner of his eye and let a playful smile slip onto his face. You breathed a quiet laugh and leant your head against his shoulder when he snuck an arm around you.

“Your pillows have been taken hostage,” he reminded you. His eyes were still following the words in front of him, but he’d slowed his pace. Still an exceptionally abnormal pace, but normal enough that he could read while talking. He lowered his voice a bit, well aware the rest of the plane, save from Hotch, was deep in sleep. “Do we plan a rescue attempt?”

You hummed. “You’re comfy enough.”

Spencer smiled and glanced at his watch. “How about utilising my comfiness and getting some sleep?”

You rose an eyebrow at his subtlety. “You know I stopped being twelve over ten years ago?”

“One of the parenting books I read when you were little said that parenting is a lifetime job and does not stop when a child grows up.”

You looked critically up at him. “What about you?”

“Uh, I think I’ll stay up for a bit and read.”

Needless to say, you knew when you next woke he’d be beaten by sleep. You shuffled down the length of the couch so you could put your head in your brother’s lap and curled your legs beneath you so that you didn’t accidentally kick Derek.

An as yet undetermined amount of time later, you woke to Spencer deeper in sleep than even you had been. His book still in his hand, so close to the end, the genius was slumped against the side of the couch, head lolling uncomfortably back. He had his free hand on your shoulder, an instinctual thing, and as you blinked away the residual drowsiness you squinted at the watch on his wrist. 2:30 am. You hadn’t been sleeping long.

You sat up, careful not to jostle your brother. Derek was still tucked beneath his end of the blanket, his headphones halfway to falling off. You reached across to gently tug them from him before he ended with an ear cushion in his eye.

Emily and J.J. hadn’t moved from beneath their pillows, and Rossi seemed to have stretched himself out across the opposite couch while you’d been asleep.

The gentle hum of the plane’s engine would have caused you to doze off again if it weren’t for the sight of Hotch, still in his corner and hunched over his work. The man was unbelievable.

After a hefty amount of blinking and rubbing, you let loose another yawn before standing to your feet. You noticed Hotch glance up at the movement, and he offered a tired smile as you walked down the plane’s aisle towards him. You had intended on slipping into the seat opposite him but at a sudden remembrance slowed halfway. Hotch frowned lightly and you pointed a finger at him to wait before walking past him and towards where you’d all stored your bags before flying.

When you reappeared with a second duvet even thicker than the one now spread evenly across Spencer and Derek, even Hotch couldn’t refrain from chuckling. He still held his pen in his hand but let his eyes move from his papers for a moment as he sat back.

“What’s this?” he asked.

You smiled as you passed him the duvet, feeling some sense of victory when he didn’t hesitate before taking it. Sitting opposite him, you watched him settle it around himself. It was some solace to see him visibly relax beneath it.

“I knew someone would need it,” you said. Then, after fleeting reluctance, “How much do you wanna bet I knew that someone would be you?”

Hotch, because he truly was not as harsh as those on the outside would consider the permanent lines in his forehead and coarse glint in his eye to mean, chuckled softly. “Nothing, thank you,” he said, resigned.

You breathed a laugh. “How much longer do we have?” You turned in your seat and stretched your legs out across the length of it, leaning back against the wall. The shutter had been pulled down over the window, but you reached over with a finger to crack it open slightly. No light flooded onto Hotch’s workspace, so you imagined there was still a while to go. It didn’t bother you, of course. You knew there was always the possibility that a new case would land in your faces the moment you stepped off the plane. Any slither of solitude in the confinements of the jet was precious.

“Four hours, give or take.” Hotch was silent for a moment, but you had a sense you were suddenly being scrutinised as you continued to peer aimlessly out of the crack in the window. Keeping your head in place, you flicked your eyes to the side, gaining uneasy confirmation when you noticed his gaze on you.

Hotch rose an eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked.

Your eyes involuntarily widened. “Huh?” Hotch let his lips twitch knowingly upwards, and you decided after a moment to reciprocate it. With confidence built up over almost fifteen years in his company, you leant forward and clasped your hands on the table in front of you. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” you said.

He sat back. “I know.”

“I know you know.”

Hotch put his pen down. He absently glanced around the jet, as though assuring himself everyone was still asleep. Then, sighing, he returned his gaze to you. “Jack asked about his mother on the phone this morning.”

You frowned. “I’ve heard Jack talk about Haley before.”

“He has. Really, I encourage it. I wouldn’t want him to forget her. But he…” Hotch hesitated, the words so obviously clinging to the end of his tongue. For as much as he encouraged his team to talk to someone when they were struggling, he certainly didn’t act upon his own advice. Still, the rarity of it and the love you held for him made you the most patient you’d been.

“This morning,” Hotch continued quietly, “he asked specifically about her death.” Another pause, though only so he could take an encouraging breath. “He asked if Haley was shot in the head or the heart. Said he couldn’t remember which.”

You couldn’t say you weren’t taken aback, and Hotch noticed it immediately. He sat up straighter, apprehension entering his posture. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, “I shouldn’t be saying this to you. You don’t need this.”

“Hey.” You shook your head to make sure he knew he’d gotten the wrong idea. “Neither do you. Share the load a bit. It’s okay.”

His gratitude was obvious as he relaxed a bit, sitting back against his seat and staring out the crack in the window. It was still dark, but the light from the moon highlighted the clouds as you passed. He found it easy to focus on them as he arranged his thoughts.

“He’s growing up,” he concluded eventually, “and he’s becoming more curious about his mom…it’s natural, I know, but it’s…”

“Terrifying?”

Hotch shrugged in defeat, yet a smile still pulled at his lips. “I’m not sure how Spencer did it with you,” he admitted.

You lifted yourself slightly to peer over the back of the seat. Your brother was still deep in sleep, utter innocence on his face. You found yourself smiling still when you sat back down to look at him. “You did it too, you know,” you said. At Hotch’s silence, you continued. “It wasn’t just Spence raising me. Of course, he did the majority of it, but I was nine when I met the rest of the team. You all raised me, you all had to let go of the fact I wasn’t a kid anymore at some point. If you can do it with me, you can do it again with Jack, I promise you.”

Hotch hadn’t thought about it like that, but your presence in the team always brought about new angles. It was true that Spencer’s addition to the team had included his younger sister, and it was also true that, whether prepared for it or not, they had all been surrogate parents to you in at least some way throughout your life. They had watched you grow up, imparted their own life lessons, and, yes, at some point, they had had to accept the fact that you didn’t need them quite so much anymore. He seemed to remember his own awakening had been when you’d come into his office at eighteen with a mug of coffee after claiming for years the taste was too bitter. Somehow, seeing you sat opposite him with one leg crossed over the other and occasionally sipping at your latte, realisation had snuck up on him that you absolutely was no longer the nine-year-old he’d used to have to clean chocolate from.

In more ways than one, the reminder soothed his soul, the parts of it aching for his little boy to remain little for just a while longer. He had always been afraid of the process, perhaps because each year Jack grew older marked another year without Haley.

With a hum of acknowledgement, Hotch ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Really. That’s helped.”

“Sometimes you just need a reminder,” you said. “You’ve done it before. Sure, this time will be a little different, but you’ve got the tools to make it work.”

Hotch frowned playfully. “Haven’t I said those exact words to you before?”

“No comment.”

He laughed then, with not much regard to the others sleeping on the plane, before stretching an arm out in obvious invitation. You felt a warmth immediately settle within you as you got up to sit beside him, settling in between him and his arm and accepting the bit of the duvet he passed along to you. You were a creature of habit, and since a child you had always found your comfort in the arms of one of the BAU team members, whoever happened to be closest. Such a comfort had naturally been less sought after as you’d grown older, especially from Hotch, but it only meant each offer from him was appreciated more.

“And don’t worry about Jack’s questions,” you whispered, shutting your eyes. “I remember having the same curiosities about my parents when I was growing up. I just wanted to know more about them, about myself.”

“I have a feeling I’ll be getting more.”

“Hmm.”

“Thanks again, Y/N.”

You yawned, the lull of the plane catching up to you once again. You leaned further into Hotch’s side and absently pat his hand sitting at your shoulder. Already half asleep, you murmured an “It’ll be okay”, not even reacting when Hotch pressed a small kiss to the crown of your head and pushed the documents he’d been working on to the other side of the table. He closed his own eyes, feeling somewhat at peace, with, really, the first of both his kids in his arms.

And if the team’s next go bags were mostly stuffed with pillows, blankets, and sleep masks…none of the jet’s staff ever mentioned it.

Criminal Minds Masterpost

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spacebarbarianweird · 12 days

Note

For the parental HCs prompts:

Hide and seek with the amazing Alethaine? Vampire vs. Barbarian vs. Dhampir and

see who wins (I bet on Alethaine because she sneaky!)

Summary: Astarion plays hide-in-seek with his daughter but it doesn't go smoothly.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, dadstarion

Alethaine's age: 6-year-old

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Dadstarion prompts

“Now my turn to hide!” Alethaine squeals as she waves to Astarion from the ground.

Astarion chuckles and jumps from the branch. There is no point in hiding from Alethaine – as a dhampir, she just knows where he is.

Sometimes Astarion thinks it’s a blessing – his daughter will always be able to find him, no matter what. But then he remembers the 7000 spawns released in the Underdark. How many of them have already conceived children? Pale half-vampires, born one foot in their parents’ graves?

And how many of them have decided to hunt vampires?

Will Astarion ever be safe, after all? Or will his mercy towards his victims be the end of him?

“But I will hide very very well, much better than you!” the six-year-old elf’s ears twitch in anticipation.

It’s a dark night, way past midnight and the dark woods of the Unicorn Run are as unsettling to mortals as possible.

But Astarion and his daughter aren’t mortals; thus, the woods have become their playground. Here, in the dark of the night, Astarion can forget about his vampirism and his limitations in the daylight. Here and now, he is the father of this little girl and he plays hide-and-seek with her.

What can be more normal?

“Alethaine, don’t run too far away, '' he tells her strictly.

She nods and grins. Another weird quirk of the little dhampir. Astarion can’t catch her scent, so he tracks her the same way he does with Tiriel. Her heartbeat is so quiet he can’t hear it. She is invisible to him the same way she would have been if they were mortal elves.

“Count to… twenty!” She tells him and once Astarion turns away she disappears in the woods.

Astarion tries to hear her footsteps but they soon fade away. He stops counting and slowly moves forward.

There is something natural about this game. Something that appeals to his predatory side. Astarion makes no sounds looking for the hiding girl.

Thanks to the dark vision he sees perfectly – and he also catches heartbeats and breathings of different night animals that hide in fear sensing the presence of the undead.

Alethaine is nowhere to be seen or heard.

Astarion feels the wave of panic but suppresses it. She just hid somewhere in the bushes or in the leaves. Soon when he fails to find her she will run to him laughing and mocking him for “failing such a simple task”.

But it doesn’t happen.

“Alethaine!” he calls her out. “Alethaine, are you all right?”

No answer. His daughter has just disappeared.

Old habits that refuse to die heighten his new fears. He lost his daughter. Something bad has happened to her. What is he going to tell Tiriel? What if Alethaine is wounded? What if someone kidnapped her?

What if she’s fallen down on the rocks and died?

“Alethaine!” Now his voice trembles and he feels his body freeze.

Mistakes mean punishment. Punishment means pain. Even now when there is no one to torture him, his mind can perfectly do it.

Astarion calls for Alethaine and searches her across the area, but she is just gone as if taken by a fey. Maybe she has been? There are so many dark creatures who love to mess up with little kids. Well, whoever and whatever did this must know that Astarion is very good at breaking contracts and beating the shit out of powerful bastards who deceive and manipulate.

Another wave of fear makes his skin itch.

The sunrise.

He looks to the east and sees that the skies are turning lighter and the stars start disappearing.

“Fuck!” Astarion’s voice is already hoarse. “ALETHAINE!”

He needs to come back to the town. Run to their home that was built in the underground part of Daggerlake and tell Tiriel what has happened. He is embarrassed, he hasn’t felt so much guilt since…. forever.

He had one job – to take care of their daughter. And he failed. He’s lost his child in the woods.

Of course, he couldn’t be trusted. Who the fuck would think he could be a good father?

Astarion rushes home driven by a terror only the undead know. The fear of burning.

“Astarion!” Tiriel who’s spent the whole night in the tavern in the upper-town and probably has just come back stares at him anxiously. “Where… Where is Alethaine?!”

“I am so sorry… She… just…disappeared…” Astarion sits on the porch and grabs a fistful of his hair. “It was sunset… I couldn’t… stay…”

Tiriel casts a glance at him and he subconsciously expects anger but sees nothing but motherly fear.

“It’s all right… I am going to look for her. She has probably just hidden somewhere”

“What if something bad happened to her? I will never forgive myself!” Astarion sniffs.

Tiriel, still dizzy after the merry night, takes her two-handed ax. “I will find her. Don’t worry. How far were you from the tunnel?”

“Maybe half a mile. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have taken her to the woods”

“Don’t be stupid, love. You can’t be outside the lower town in the daylight. When else are you supposed to play and walk with her?” she kisses his cheek.

Astarion nods but he knows Tiriel is scared to death, she just never shows it up when he is afraid too. And he is sorry for that, too.

Alethaine has cried her eyes out.

At first, it sounded like a good idea to hide a bit further in the woods. Her dad is a vampire and he can find her! But then she saw a weird-looking butterfly and followed it, enchanted by its blue wings.

And the dhampir got lost.

She started calling for Dad, but he couldn't hear her and she had no idea how far she wandered. Then, Alethaine decided that maybe Dad returned home and she needed to do it too but the narrow pathways of the dark woods took Alethaine even further.

She has never felt so lonely and scared in her life.

Alethaine cried hoping her dad would hear her, but no one came. Now, she is sitting on a small boulder in the center of the clearance and the sun is showering the woods in its light.

Alethaine is hungry.

And tired.

It’s way past noon, the last time she ate was when she left home with dad – mother told them she would go to drink some ale in the tavern.

The dhampir sniffs.

She wants home. She wants to eat. She wants to sleep. She wants her parents. Her stuffed toys.

Alethaine starts crying again.

“Alethaine!” She hears her mother’s voice from a distance.

“Mum! Mum!” Alethaine jumps on her feet. Her dhampir hearing immediately identifies where Tiriel is, and the girl rushes there.

The red-headed woman lifts her up and hugs her. Alethaine wails and presses her little face to her mother’s shoulder.

“Where have you been?!” Tiriel pulls Alethaine away and starts looking at her arms and legs trying to see if she is wounded. “Dad told you not to wander too far, how come you’ve disappeared?”

She sniffs.

“I wanted… I wanted… To hide better… And then… there was a butterfly…”

Tiriel squeezes her lips and Alethaine senses how her mother’s fear is being replaced by anger.

It's not easy to make Tiriel angry, but Alethaine, like any child, managed to do that.

“Your father is scared to death. I was scared to death. What if someone took you?”

Within the next half an hour Alethaine hears all the possible stories about children who were taken by feys, and hags, eaten by wolves, kidnapped by giants, frozen to death, drowned in rivers, and died of open wounds. Every story feels like a slap and, even though none of her parents have ever gotten physical on her, Alethaine suspects being spanked wouldn’t be that scary in comparison to the horrors her mother tells in the barbarian voice she uses against her enemies.

“Let’s go home” Tiriel lifts Alethaine up again. “No sweets till the end of the week. And you aren’t going to play outside until you learn how to follow the rules.”

“But mum!”

“You heard me, Alethaine.”

Alethaine places her cheek on her mother’s shoulders. The fear is taking its grip on the dhampir’s half-dead heart and she just wants to hide under the blanket at home.

Astarion tries to occupy his mind with something at least. Worrying won’t do him any good. He needs to wait till Tiriel is back and, gods, he hopes Alethaine has just got lost. And that nothing bad has happened.

It’s been too long.

Tiriel left at the early summer sunrise. And now it’s almost evening.

Astarion takes one of his books out. It’s a collection of short stories for kids he found in a dungeon a year ago, but, once he opened it for the first time he realized it’s actually a guide on how to join the thief guild written in Thieves Cant. It’s been years since he practiced the language for the last time and it feels like a good mind exercise.

And then he hears the familiar scent.

Tiriel is coming back.

Astarion can’t understand if she carries Alethaine or not, and he’s afraid his wife is coming back alone.

He rushes outside and sees Tiriel coming back with Alethaine in her arms. The fear lets him go and he runs to them to truly make sure she is fine.

“Where did you… Gods…” he gasps, taking Aletaine from her hands. The girl's face is puffy because of how long she’s cried.

“She ran away. And got lost.”

“I told her not to…” Astarion presses Alethaine to his chest as if fearing she would disappear.

“Well, I suppose she’s learned her lesson. And will learn it even better,” Tiriel repeats what punishment Alethains is going to receive.

Astarion places sleepy Alethaine on a bench and helps her to undress. It's obvious the girl needs to bathe and eat, but she is barely conscious so he decides to bring her night dress and let her do the rest once she wakes up.

The word “punishment” ties a knot in his stomach.

“Tiriel, she almost died! I think it’s enough punishment,” he says once Alethaine is put to bed. The girl hugs a plushie dragon and immediately falls asleep.

“It's not enough, '' Tiriel says, closing the door. “Astarion, please, I know what it reminds you of. Punishment, disobedience. Running away. Your master twisted the idea of a family making you call him his father and other spawns your siblings. But there is nothing internally bad about punishing a child for breaking rules.”

“She almost died!” Astarion insists. “She is scared.”

Tiriel shakes her head.

“Alethaine is much stronger than me. She can already take my ax! She is stronger than you and, soon, she will understand it. And if she decides to run away in the daylight you won't be able to stop her. Imagine her hooking up with someone older than her, who can manipulate her? Alethaine will just go not knowing what dangers lie ahead! And we won’t be able to do anything! We need to punish her for what she did. Because what she did could have killed her. Actions have consequences and we both have to be on board with that. You can’t be “the good parent” in this scenario. Because if you spoil her rotten and I try to impose rules, she will just do whatever she wants.”

Astarion clenches his fists. Rules. Disobedience.

And now one more terrible similarity.

Many of his victims, the ones who weren’t just lonely travelers or drunkards, were those careless young people, girls and boys, who, for some reason, thought nothing would happen if they got wasted with a handsome stranger in a shady tavern. Or someone would save them from vampires if they fucked up.

Kids who knew no dangers were coddled by their parents from this dangerous world and were killed for that.

“I agree. She needs to learn,” Astarion finally says.

It doesn’t go smoothly. Alethaine, probably being sure that it was all just words, asks for gingerbread after dinner and starts crying after a rejection.

“No sweets,” Tiriel reminds her.

Alethaine looks at Astarion with her puppy eyes but he shakes his head showing that there can’t be any disagreement between him and Tiriel.

Then, they don’t let her go to play with the neighbor’s kids who come to pick her up on their way to the river which causes another meltdown that stops the moment Alethaine realizes her cries aren’t working.

Unluckily for her, both her parents can withstand much worse things than the meltdown of a six-year-old.

The young man in a rich red doublet looks anxious. All his arrogance and pride have disappeared the moment he realizes people call Astarion a vampire for a reason.

“Will you… Will you do what I ask?” he cocks his head. The heir of one of the local jarls, the boy has gotten used to getting what he wants. And now he is bound by a pact with a hag who will turn him into a gnoll if he fails to deliver her his bride, and he needs to ask a vampire for help.

“One hundred and fifty gold. And you pay the half right now. I will come to your father for the rest once we’ve done” Astarion plays with his dagger trying to look as distraught as possible.

“That’s insane! Eighty gold!”

“I have a family to feed, boy. '' Astarion chuckles. “Besides, you were dumb enough to make a pact with the hag. What did you want? Money? Power? More lands? Didn’t your parents teach you not to meddle with things you can't understand?”

The young man huffs. Then he notices Tiriel, who watches the whole conversation in silence – and cringes at the sight of a fresh bite mark she hasn’t hidden.

Astarion suppresses the desire to beat the guest.

“I was dying in the swamps… She… It…”

“Offered you salvation because you told her you would do anything?” Tiriel finishes the sentence.

“I can hire an adventure party to slay the hag! I thought you were going to help me with the contract but you aren't the only one who does this kind of work!”

Tiriel laughs. “There will be at least six adventurers and each of them will demand a fair share. And if they make it out alive, there will be one with good intimidation and persuasion skills - and you will end up paying much more. Oh, and there is a big chance they will make a deal with the hag and will bring you to her because hags usually have more things to offer.”

“They… They won't!”

“I've been an adventurer since I was fifteen. Trust me, I know my kind. I would have made a pact with the hag.”

“To be fair,” Astarion adds. “You murdered the hag.”

“Wyll dealt the final blow. And I was staying in the corner of her lair contemplating what choices led me to have a tadpole in my brain, a vampire in my bed, and ‘killing the devil’ in my to-do list.”

“The devil you’d made a pact with, which I told you not to do,” Astarion reminds her.

“Hm, it ended up well, didn’t it? I was also advised against giving you blood and meddling with your master. I did both,” Tiriel presses the young man’s shoulder causing him to yelp in pain. “Astarion is your best choice. You don’t need a monster hunter. You need a magistrate.”

The young man looks absolutely defeated and then calls his bodyguard, a half-orc woman who puts a few small sacks of gold on the table.

“Don’t involve my father in this, once you’ve done, come to me and I’ll pay the rest”

“No,” Astarion bares his fangs. “We go together. And you follow my every order”

Tiriel takes the money and leaves the room to store the gold in the basement of their house.

Suddenly, the guest looks up at the ceiling and mutters something incomprehensible. Astarion follows his sight and sees Alethaine standing right above the table upside down. She wears her black dress and her long hair is braided.

“Is she a vampire?” The bodyguard asks.

“Dhampir. This is my daughter, Alethaine. Princess, don’t scare my clients. Come down and say ‘hello’.”

Alethaine does not react. She just sits on the ceiling and observes the visitors. Astarion shrugs.

“Not very talkative today,” Astarion continues. “We go at sunset through the underground tunnels. Don’t worry, I won’t drag you to the Underdark. Unless you really piss me off. Wait for me in the tavern. Now go, I need to prepare for the road.” Astarion bares his fangs again, enjoying the fear on the guests’ faces.

Alethaine jumps from the ceiling once the strangers leave.

“I don’t like them,” she says.

“I don’t either. Did you want anything?”

“Daddy, are you going to be away for long?”

“Maybe a month. Don’t worry, I will be home before the winter starts”

Alethaine frowns.

“I am sorry. For running away. I won’t do this again. Can we play in the woods when you are back?”

Astarion studies his daughter’s face. There is an honest guilt in her pitch-black eyes.

“Apologies accepted. Come here.”

Alethaine wraps her pale hands around his neck and he enjoys the sound of her heartbeat for a few moments.

“Can I go out with my friends while you are away?”

“Yes. But only in the town.”

It takes Astarion an hour to get ready for the trip into the wild. He knows Tiriel wants to go with him, but they’ve agreed not to leave Alethaine on her own while she is so small.

“When you are back, I will give you a very good rest, if you know what I mean,” Tiriel playfully smiles and kisses him goodbye.

Such a normal thing, he thinks.

A father is going to do some work in the wild.

His little family will be waiting for him.

Such a normal thing and so precious to him.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka

@herstxrgirl

@herdarkestnightelegance

@vixstarria

@not-so-lost-after-all

@marcynomercy

@theearthsfinalconfession

@starlight-ipomoea

@micropoe10

@astarion-imagine-archive

@veillsar

@elora-the-slutty-songstress

@fayeriess

@lumienyx

@tallymonster

@caitlincat-95

@tragedybunny

@valeprati

@lynnlovesthestars

@marina-and-the-memes

@waking-eyes

@ayselluna

@connorsui

@asterordinary

@darkarchangel96

@locallegume

@brainfullofhotsauce

@coffeeanddonutscafe

@my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

@queenofthespacesquids

@ednaaa-04

@dajeong

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

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kittblush · 2 months

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This is my chapter 3 secret boss oc, her name is Boo Quette and she is the care taker of the garden area I had her since june 2023 I was just lazy to post her lol. I have a lot of stuff written about her that I'll share eventually

Boo is the secret boss of chapter 3, her appearance in game being in an optional area called “The Garden” (it differs from the supposed theme of canon chapter 3 themed about Mike. Or make her do a TV gardening show lol) The Garden could be a representation of the garden surrounding Kris and Toriel’s house.

Boo is the characterization of the flower bouquet given by Asgore to Toriel (the one that Kris brings her). The flowers being tossed in the trash and starting to die/wilte, given that she became a ghost.

In the Dark World, Boo is the caretaker of the Garden. She was created by the Knight with his power and charged with protecting the Garden and its inhabitants.

On the first day she arrived, she asked to help the Darkners living there to restore the garden into the beautiful place it is today. Its habitants now consider themselves as her people as they admire her ever since.

Long after her arrival, the Knight broke into the place with bad intentions, causing chaos all around the Garden. Boo confronted him, as her only role was to protect the Garden and everyone, but she failed as she was too weak, she got killed in battle.

Seeing how much she has grown, the Knight decided to give her a gift before leaving, a reward. It was a Shadow Crystal. After receiving it, Boo was able to come back to life due to its power, but a lot of memories had to disappear with it. She then became the coo coo crazy lady she is now.

To this day, she’s keeping the Crystal inside her head, hidden behind the rose that’s replacing her eye and hiding the crackles. If the Lightners confront her, that means she’s going to see the Crystal taken away from her, as well as her life support.

Personality-wise, Boo kind of acts like Muffet in Undertale (greedy, intimidating, hypocritical, …) she genuinely seems pretty nice and sweet to everyone. Her text quirk is often having tildes “~” at the end of her sentences. She also speaks with normal caps (no uppercase).

She has a second form where she actually speaks in all caps, like Jevil and Spamton.

#deltarune #undertale #illustration #deltarunefanart #fanart #artwork #oc #original character #secret boss #deltarune secret boss #reference sheet #lore

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tainted-sweet-meats · 4 months

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More oc lore from my fursona's universe "We are, as I am" this time of Nishou the Doppelgänger. Definitely read tags before clicking the click more for his info. Read more of his info under the cut vvvvvv

Full name: Nishou S. Coding: Jamaican/Chinese Gender/ sexuality: Masc/ Pansexual Pronouns: He/Him Size: 6"3' Species: Doppelganger BirthPlace/Birthday: ???(Never born but created) Zodiac Sign: ???

Voiceclaim:N/A (supernatural/distorted voice is bolded)

Speech quirk

" You are the worst of us and I'm the better of you.....there is no reason for your existence.." " You never say what's on your mind..maybe that's why you're always in trouble..pity you, it couldn't be me...I know how to get what I want and how to destroy what I don't need." "Did you hate yourself so much..that you cast me out..now look at you..a lesser..than what we both are...what we both could of been....I'LL ALWAYS HATE YOU." "One day I will devour you and when that day comes.. I'll make it enjoyable for the both of us.. remember...our oath...blood in..and blood out..right..."

personality music

N/A

General info

Nishou is the forced out utmost extreme negatives and positives of Nish, the best and worst. He was originally a part of them but grew tired of how placid Nish was with themselves. He is the pent-up aggression of all they were throughout their life joined together. He is blunt and doesn't hold back from anyone or anything. His words are as visceral as his fangs and he's proud of the handy work his jaws can do, metaphorically and physically.

Despite his high aggression he also has a high passion and a dual personality. This is also believed to be a product of Nish hiding most of their feelings in situations resulting in unintentionally creating a personality for their doppelganger. Unlike the original, Nishou is not lovey-dovey and seeks passion through intimacy in the most primal of ways. Due to his ferocity, they can confuse the lust for the flesh.. for the hunger they yearn for and easily make quick work out of lovers. Very contradictory to their original that seeks love but can never act on it.

Though consuming their lovers isn't the same as taking their original's place in life. It is an easy way to sate the hunger and craving to fully feel like their original in some twisted way. To Nishou their original stands in his way to having an actual presence in life. It is very well known that a doppelganger must kill their original in order to take their place. To take the originals, they have to consume their heart. And in doing so, living the life he could never live through theirs.

Stand-alone they seem intimidating, harsh, and overly confident. He is the only one to assume many forms, the feral, anthro, were, beastrial, a penghou, as well as a semi humanish creature called Final fatalis. The original can not assume the last three forms. These forms are solely for the doppel. The last tree forms are said to be transitional forms of his supernatural powers. Forms slowly define him farther away from his original vessel. The humanoid form is his strongest out of the bunch. You can tell the doppel is present by the eyes. Only he has red and blue eyes swirling in rings. He could never mimic the original's eyes for some reason. Something having to do with the lack of their soul contained within the heart. Which is what he has to consume from his original vessel to take the life back he helped create.

Though Nishou is not evil, he is the product of the original vessel. When the original could not confront internal struggles with themself, it caused a rift creating him. Nish's subconscious cast him out of their body by throwing up a supernatural black substance that formed Nishou. When formed he was hateful to be abandoned instead of accepted. He formed.....resentful...distorted and vowed to devour every aspect of Nish to regain some peace in his lack of sanity. Which he is slowly losing the more time he remains out of the original's body on his own. He knows only the extremes of the original and acts according to his basic instinct. He believes full heartily when you betray your true self, your real self will be vengeful to regain what it helped you build. You can never escape yourself.

Powers

Slit split- A power only useable in his final and stable form known as "Final Fatalis". A supernatural power where he will slit his wrists to cause the black substance that makes up his very being, to create physical puppet-like replicas of his past forms. These forms can retain memory and take heavy damage in battle. The puppets can be killed but all memory is gained back to the doppel. The damages done, work as a memory function. The doppel will absorb the pain inflicted, which causes the final form to be invincible, indestructible, and distorted over time. This distortion is permanent to him.

Heart inflict- The more time the doppel spends outside the original's body can cause deterioration effects on him entirely. Heart inflict allows him to devour the hearts of those who love or lust after him to keep him stable. This extends the time he has in the physical realm in order to consume the heart he needs to live his life in absolution. The original's heart is what's needed to be fully alive and of the physical realm the original vessel inhabits. Any heart he devours must have the initial intent in wanting him. Though the want doesn't always have to be positive towards him. To the doppel, even if the meat is soured by unjust distortion, meat is all the same to him.

Shadow waltz- Is a teleportation power. The doppel can walk through shadows, even your own. The doppel however does not have a shadow himself. He uses the shadows around him to his advantage. This power can also detect energy. Once in your presence, the doppel is very calculating to not only you but the energy you give off. This makes it easier for him to teleport to your location to find you in an instant.

Vanta pressure- The same feeling you get when you are in the presence of a shadow person or anything paranormal, is the same presence the doppel gives off. This particular move also can cause paralysis when the doppel is tired of hunting you. If you are in close range, your movements cease. Once you stare into his eyes, you will feel the pressure that slowly tears down your emotional and physical barriers. At this point, you are powerless against him and he will devour you.

Catalyst break- This power is used constantly. The doppel can take in high amounts of physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual damage. The more he takes in abuse/damage.. the stronger he gets. There isn't much that can hurt him since he isn't exactly physical yet. Though this power has side effects. The more power used against him, the more he has to consume to stay stable. This sometimes means friends may be on the menu.

Dream Inflict- When trying to keep a low profile, he can actually tamper with your dreams and cause you mental harm that will reflect on you physically. In this state you are fully powerless because once he has broken your mind you are done for. The harm he has done to you in your dreams will reflect on your body in the physical. He can use this power to his advantage in a non violent manner as well to just talk with you. Though many will assume it is a vivid or lucid dream.

Vanta Canon- A flameless thrower attack that can rot the flesh off of bones. This attack is in fact not flames but the same creational fluid that acts like an acidic blast through the mouth. The fluid is a focus of acidic trauma distortion once held within the original vessel. Once said trauma was absorbed by the doppel to protect the original vessel when they were in one body, he focused it into a physical attack. The mock flame is the purest form of black and can deteriorate someone from their very core consciousness.

But not before replaying said victim of said attack to relive all their life's trauma through their minds eye. Before melting slowly to death. Ripping you entirely from existence not just in a physical sense. This attack isn't used lightly since its one of the doppel's most vindictive and hate filled attacks. You must of did something horrible/personal to bring this upon you.

Vanta Dismantle - Not many know beyond the original vessel, but it is very wise to not cause any splitting injuries to the doppel. This attack can only be used if the doppel is split in half. He can never fully split and usually the split will stop near his pelvis. He is very dangerous in this mode and can use his internal liquids as hardened weapons before he regenerates his body back in place. Unlike the original vessel, the doppel has no internal organs, bones, muscles or anything. What he has is a creational black fluid that can be molded at his will. He can even trap you within the middle of his split body which can easily crush you to death..leaving zero traces behind. Though when absorbed into him due to his supernatural link...all traces, memory, and you as a whole cease to exist. He can not feed off of you using this attack.

Minor miscellaneous powers such as:

Hyper regeneration

Supernatural strength

Imperceptibility

Psionics

Voice manipulation

Immortality

Inaudible movement

Haunting

Darkness Aura

Darkness Empowerment

Darkness Manipulation

Enragement triggers:

High-frequency noises

Reacting physically violent towards him

Weakness

His original vessel showing self love/forgiveness

Connection to Self-Nishou has retained all information and memories from Nish, and uses them against his original vessel. While what he says isn't exactly wrong, it is presented as aggressive, angered, and distorted. They have seen through the eyes and sorted through the feelings of the original when they were once one in body and mind. With his forked bluntness, they verbally lash at his original with their shortcomings. Using family, friends, relationships, and life traumas against them. To show without him they would have been dead in their teenhood.

Reminding them it was him who kept the noose from around their neck for so long. It was him who broke the rope at the last minute when they tried. An how ungrateful they are for abandoning him when they felt he wasn't needed or would cause hardships in their life. Nishou knows every aspect and every hole the original tries to hide to seem strong. The strength was all him and only his doing. He reminds the original vessel.."It's easy to hide from others but not from one's self".. and he makes sure the original never forgets it.

----

Friendship with a Doppelganger

Though he knows loyalty and values it, unlike their original he is quick to pick up on the lack of it. The minute you let slip you have ulterior motives you are as good as dead. He plays the dance of course. He lets you believe you didn't slip. He enjoys watching you lie, just to see how far you're willing to go. You feel some form of false safety as he still shows you loyalty while you show deceit.

He likes the game even if you aren't aware of it. The minute you initiated it by lying and trying to use him. He doesn't gain much other than fun and quick blood from the play you started. Unlike his original, it's not above him to be vindictive. In fact he takes pleasure in it by giving you pay back. He is very eye for an eye in that mind set. A head space the original vessel quickly abandoned deeming it a toxic trait. An thus the doppel adapting it, seeing it useful to those who sought to harm or use him.

He is the extremes of his original..so like his malice and hate..his love is equally so. Turning on him or using him will hurt him severely, but he will never show it. He doesn't understand forgiveness, because he can't even forgive his original, which in turn he can not forgive himself. He simply will get rid of you permanently to stop the pain you have caused him. He knows no other way to cope with emotional pain of betrayal and abandonment.

----

Spot the difference

Nishou has a distinct look. While he is Nish's doppelganger, his markings are more pronounced and jagged. His demeanor is a bit more serious, aggressive, and forthcoming. He always seems to have a scowl on his face or an expression of hunger and happy malice. He has a swirl to his eyes that seems hyper-focused and intense. Though this is an assumed adaptation so you can not focus on his eyes, since he believes that the eyes are a window to his inner workings. Thus he feels if you can't focus on his eyes it will not leave him open to vulnerabilities. He is the only one able to assume many forms. His height is also way taller than the originals. Unlike their original..they can not bleed red, only black. They were never born...but created. So they do not have flesh and blood like their original does. Everything about them is an intense mimicry. Nish has a bit softer quality in looks and markings, they also do not carry the intense bearded chin fluff. They can be seen with a solemn or emotional face. Though they can be serious in the face it is never the same as their Doppel. Nish's eyes are just red with a hint of blue.

Face to Face-Nishou when confronted with Nish is highly volatile and aggressive. He tries to kill and devour them to claim a life he feels he helped create. And in a sense he did. Without him or his ferocity..his original could not have made it in life when he was a part of them. Nish fears their masculinity more than anything. He represents a part of them they try to hide and destroy to be accepted by their loved ones. Unbeknownst to the fact trying to rid yourself of yourself breeds hatred within self. This hatred bred their doppelganger's personality throughout their growth. They forever are in turmoil with each other until Nish accepts them or succumbs to them.

If Nish shows Nishou any form of love...he seems to be in pain and tries to get away from their original. Being created and cast out from their original's body has caused a jaded mind set. When confronted with affections and acceptance, he doesn't know how to react. He will either run from them or try to injure their original to stay away.

----

Nishou's representation

He is the physical manifestation of the extreme fear of the original vessel accepting their repressed shunned masculinity within themselves. An a physical representation of the original vessel's childhood through the eyes of manipulation and abuse. He is the warped aggression that has been done to the original vessel from their parental units, trusted loved ones, life experiences and harsh environmental adaptation. His actions with lovers is a severed hate for toxic masculinity in a relationship from experience of the original vessel's dating habits in past men.

These relationship natures are twisted into extreme vulgarities that are not normal. Usually the devouring of the flesh in a carnal manner is symbolic to giving oneself entirely both in body and emotions for the sake of another. An getting nothing but desecration in return. This repressed feeling is the unrequited love the original endured up until their early 20's. At this time Nishou was cast out from their body.

He is the only one from the two that can assume a multitude of forms. It is believed by the original vessel that this multi-transitional process of Nishou, is representations they helped create through self repressed feelings and trauma.

The feral, a form both have which represents basic and lesser instincts of mental adaption to situational issues. The Feral form is known as the emotional shield. It is a form used commonly to avoid emotional backlash within self. To see him in this form is to realize you are being monitored and if you can be trusted. In this form, he doesn't fully trust you. It is a neutral form towards anyone and everyone.

The anthro, is also known as the physical shield. Is a form that is the most mocking to the original vessel due to variations of similarities to Nish. The only difference is this form is bigger than the original. As well as markings being slightly more jagged and rougher in look. The rough look is believed to be akin to Father. This is the form the original vessel always wanted but could never have due to the fear of backlash from loved ones. This is also the most common form to see him in.

The were, otherwise known as the mental shield. This form is the unchecked repressed brutality of the original vessel. Unlike the beastrial, the doppel's were form is highly aware mentally. Something the original can not control in their form. It is unknown why Nishou can mentally be in control while in this state though. It's believed the were is more a form originally for the doppel. The were being a physical manifestation of a mental safeguard to emotional pain and abuse, when he was still within the body of the original vessel. It is believed that once he was cast out from the original, Nish could still resume their form but lacked mental clarity like the doppel. Since it was his form to originally achieve. A form he shared with the original vessel to overcome mental trauma from others.

The penghou, known as the trauma shield, is a form only the doppel can achieve. This form is said to be the head of a humanoid man and the body of a canid. This form is believed to be a representation of the original's repressed fear of accepting themselves due to parental resentment. The eyes in the mane are a form of paranoia developed from Mother always asserting dominance in their offspring's life. The eyes themselves are the colors of Mother's eyes. A constant reminder of being watched and stigmatized for trying to achieve being one's true self without her toxic help. This state like the beastrial is semi transitional. Unlike the other transformations, there is something eerily humanoid about this form.

The penghou is the doppel's most intense form. The doppel in this state is highly vengeful due to being abandoned by the original vessel. While the doppel is a manifestation of self-hatred entirely, the penghou is a distorted result of primal aggression to oneself through parental abuse. For favoring what others think before what the original vessel thought of themselves. It is known to mimic voices of those the original trusts in order to coax the original to get closer to harm them. The black ooze from this beast is the same creational sludge that helped form him. This fluid is highly toxic and if bitten could mean certain death. This fluid is what makes up the doppel's body and is also what he bleeds.

The beastrial, known to be the transitional shield. It is a were stuck in mid shift. It is believed this form only happens when the doppel is in a high aggressive emotional state. While it rarely happens, when it does Nishou is not in his right state of mind and will even harm friends without a second thought. This form could be forced out as a retaliation of the original vessel trying to accept themselves as well as their doppel. Another theory to this form is the original vessel's lack of trust for those who actually care for them. It is well known the original vessel holds no trust despite having others trust in them.

This residual is warped within the doppel entirely into something more physically aggressive. Thus the lapse in judgment in this form for turning on those who may actually love them, lumping said friends in with those who hold ill will towards them. This is the only form to also semi resemble "Mother". He is more feline than he is vulpine in looks in this state. Depending on the emotional state, the face of said form can vary.

This form holds no empathy nor time for negotiation within reasonable sensibility. It is all terror and all hatred from both the humanoid and beast in its utmost form. In this form he can no longer speak human tongue and regresses back into its most primal of languages. It's instinct is to destroy and kill everything that has harmed it and everything that is in its way, be it friend or foe. He will not show mercy in his wake and this form can not be halted until what ever caused this shift is destroyed or far within reach to be seen or sniffed out.

This form is easily irritable and highly sensitive to noise of high pitches and low baritones. Sudden noises that irritate them can send him off in a rage. [No images at this time, they aren't scanned oh lazy me :p]

The humanoid, is the last and strongest form of the doppel. It is known to no longer be a shield form for the original vessel, but a form fully for the doppel. An offense form known as "Final Fatalis". Surprisingly even compared to his were or beastrial form, this form's strength is unimaginable. In this state the doppel is impenetrable and can not be harmed in any manner. This is the fully transitioned form of the doppel. In this state he is known to even shift out animalistic parts to his advantage at will. Though he keeps a lot of his markings and animal attributes, his face is no longer animal. The original vessel has no known defense against this form.

The humanoid is very large, hyper-aware, and at best unpredictable. They have a natural charm that can allure anyone to them unintentionally. The semi-humanoid is also alluded to have supernatural powers. Such as being able to teleport within and through darkness, pick up emotional intent, hyper-physical and emotional regeneration, high pain tolerance, and strike fear into those who challenge him with a simple glance. One of his most powerful tactics is splitting his skin open to release some of his black creational sludge to replicate walking puppets of his previous forms to do his bidding. They hold all powers of said form while sharing a mental link with him since they are him. Just now weaponized extensions. These puppets have blackened eyes, unlike his swirled eyes.

Nishou is a physical walking vessel of the original's self-hatred. His very imagery is a mockery of what the original could have been had they loved themselves, before pleasing and loving others. Though due to being forcefully shunned, Nishou has distorted from what he once was. This creature is walking self-hatred manifested as a doppel. Each form represents multiple pieces of the original's traumas and not being able to confront them to accept self.

Relationships- It's rare to see Nishou in a committed relationship-type setup like it is to see Nish in one. Nish can be seen holding their heart away from their partner or lovers constantly. There is a lack of trust to fully give themselves to a partner while still showing love fully. A huge contradiction but doable only by Nish. However, this is a glimmer of Nishou's nature still within them. When it comes to friends, they can be confident and flirty.

But don't mistake it for the commitment of a lover. You will never get this from them and they will make sure you never get this close to them. You will always feel something is off while dating them. While you feel loved, there is a slight distance, as if the minute you mess up they will disappear from your life as if they were never there. There is some truth to your feeling. It is not that they don't love you, they do. What they will not lose is themselves over you. They don't value you enough to put themselves in that predicament. This is a unique residual of what their Doppel left behind within them. There is a huge fear within Nish that they will lose themselves entirely within you. They already regret casting their doppel out, they do not want to lose anything else with what little they have left of themselves. This part is their heart. An organ the doppel is believed to be missing. The only perk to them having fun with you is your safety is 100% guaranteed. Unlike their doppel, where you are walking on eggshells due to their extreme natures. An a potential threat of death if you cross the doppel emotionally.

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