#to only be unchanging and invisible

[l3xdrigo]

The concept of Zero

Inspired by someone commenting that like the number zero, Vertin or the role of the timekeeper itself is a concept.

The concept of zero being that it is the placeholder for writing numbers, it is the origin but it is also the one that is merely a concept to get more of an understanding or guide to natural numbers to integers. It is the invisible line from the positive to negative, it is the middle ground.

The concept of zero in a more mathematical sense is that it is a additive to other numbers to make them bigger (ex:100) but the number zero itself is a non existent and empty number, like an equator, it is an imaginary line that helps us grasp the locations and placements of continents. Both are imaginary, both are just man made concepts to guide us to a better understanding.

Vertin's soul number is zero, she is unchanging and is considered one of the middle ground between humans and Arcanist. In a sense, she is a guide to most, but once the storm reaches its end, she will become nothing more than a concept, the role of the timekeeper was created for the very purpose of recording the beginning and ends of eras and braving the storm to one day create the immunity for it. The moment that there is no need for the timekeeper anymore, either the storm ending or finding a full reliable immunity towards it, the more people that gain the ability, the more Vertin's role becomes more of the ordinary.

The role of the timekeeper will soon fade and become only an invisible line, the origin of how it first began, on how civilization reached the immunity of the storm, and how the threat of the storm ended. In the far future where the rain doesn't rise, the term timekeeper and the name "Vertin" will be nothing more of a concept to what once was a catastrophic phenomena that hinder the progression of time, a subtle reminder of how she guided the freedom of humans and Arcanist out of the grueling storm, and into a world where the rain falls and the sun rises; Vertin is the concept of zero.

[sunni-stuff]

Three days had passed since Jellybean, your rescued stray, vanished. Though an outdoor enthusiast at heart, she'd never missed a meal. Now, your phone tracker beeped, signaling proximity. The crafty runt had escaped, but you were closing in. Jellybean's street-smart ways usually brought her home, yet this time felt different. As you followed the signal, hope and worry battled within.

You traveled alone as none of the townspeople were brave enough to help with your search. The mere mention of the North Woods shook them to the core, earning your request swift declines and slammed doors in your face. Whispers and rumors follow you with every interaction 

Secluded and untraceable, his cabin lies tucked away, invisible to prying eyes.

Rumors swirl of his territorial fury. Trespassers beware��this hunter stalks from afar. His domain is unforgiving, and his presence is a constant threat. The lucky ones spot the warning sign; others never see him coming.

Even the butcher, renowned for his toughness, said no, unwilling to even hear you out.

“There’s a man in the woods,” he said, voice unwavering. “You’d be smart to forget the idea.”

The boom of the door closing makes you flinch, jumping back a bit. A man in the woods? Surely not.

Even more absurd than some creep in the woods was the thought that the big, bad butcher was scared of him. This was a man who walked you home at night, who sneered at men and pulled you close to his side when you became uncomfortable. You knew him for a long time and you’d never seen him so much as flinch, but suddenly he was all squinted eyes and hushed tones at the thought of even stepping a foot off the beaten path. It couldn't be true, right?

Well, there was only one way to prove him wrong, and it was the only way you were gonna get Jellybean back. You’re going in that forest, urban myth or not.

Shadows lengthen as you exit your truck. The door closes with a hollow thud. The townsfolk's warnings replay in your mind, urging caution. You scan the area, heart racing. Drooping leaves cast an ominous veil over the forest. The murky depths seem to whisper, both alluring and forbidding.

Anxiety grips you as you take a step further. "Bean?" You whisper, voice trembling.

Silence answers. Twigs crack underfoot, and each snap creates an ominous echo. You cringe, the sounds amplifying your unease. Yet you press on, searching the quiet forest.

Minutes stretch like hours as you quietly call Bean's name, doing your best not to attract any unwanted attention, as the woods loom, hiding unknown dangers. Glancing down, your phone shows her location, unchanged, since she first wandered off. Jellybean's absence at this late hour is unsettling. She never stayed out of the house this long, and not so still, either. You can't help but think the worst, deciding to hurry closer to her, praying to find her safe.

Venturing deeper, the terrain grew wilder. Massive leaves parted, revealing fallen trunks and tilted trees. The more you looked around, the more it became clear that the uncharted wilderness wasn't made for humans.

There was no possible way.

The forest gave little leeway to those travelings through its domain. Predators strayed barely out of sight, lurking in hopes you'd be their next meal. A howl in the distance has you on edge, skin crawling, the feeling of being watched running anxious edges.

"Just keep walking. It'll be okay. The tracker says she's near." You reassured yourself under quite murmurs, trying to will your heart calm.

Then it appeared without warning.

A wolf lurches from the woodland gloom, baring his jagged canines, poised and ready to pounce. He circles you in a slow, menacing loop, foam pooling from his parted jaws. His eyes blaze with a frenzied gleam, wild and driven by something beyond hunger. Some dark, unseen force propels him, and you feel it tightening around you.

You turn and run.

Run as fast as your legs can carry you, tearing through the thick underbrush. Foliage slaps your arms and face, and the weeds clutch at your ankles like skeletal fingers desperate to drag you down. You ignore the stinging scratches, the pounding in your chest. If you fall, if you falter for even a second—you know it’s over.

Run.

The untamed beast snaps its jaws inches behind you, hot breath searing your calves, each bite narrowly missing as he hounds you with ruthless, single-minded determination. You crash through a thicket, branches clawing at your arms, tearing through your clothes, until you stumble onto a barely visible trail where weak shafts of light seep through gaps in the trees.

There’s no time to think. No time to process the sting of cuts or the burn in your lungs, nothing beyond the raw, primal instinct to get the hell away from the rabid creature on your heels.

Then you see it.

A cabin.

Really, a dilapidated shack, its sagging roof overrun with twisting vines, looms before you, barely held together by rotting beams and splintered boards. The whole structure looks one hard gust away from collapse, yet it’s the only shelter in sight. You don’t hesitate, heart hammering in your chest, and charge toward the door.

In your frantic rush, you miss the glint of watching eyes, shining like dark coals from the shadows behind, tracking your every move.

You burst inside, slamming the door shut with a desperate shove, then lean your back against it. Your chest heaves, each ragged breath scraping your lungs as you struggle to catch your breath, the weight of dread pressing down on you even harder than the beast’s pursuit.

The aroma of simmering soup wafted through the air, warmth enveloping you. A cozy scene unfolded: a bubbling pot atop a wooden stove, a modest desk tucked away, and a solitary lantern casting a soft glow. The space exuded an unexpected warmth, soft light pooling over worn furniture and the faint scent of old wood calming your frayed nerves. Your pulse slowed as the familiar coziness settled around you. Then, a gentle brush against your leg pulled you from the haze of adrenaline.

You glanced down—and there she was. Jellybean, her eyes wide and radiant, a few telltale crumbs clinging to her brown fur from some long-forgotten snack.

A rush of tenderness overtook the fading remnants of panic. You reached down, catching the elusive little troublemaker as she gave an indignant squirm. “You little—” The half-hearted scold fizzled, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming need to hold her close. “How—How did you end up here, huh?”

Holding Jellybean close, you feel the weight of your situation settling over you—a stranger in a cabin far from familiar ground, with the last of the sunlight slipping away, trapping you inside until dawn. Outside was darkness thick and impenetrable, the forest itself a living maze you dared not attempt at night.

“Shit,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly might stir something in the shadows.

Slowly, you move deeper into the space, eyes sweeping over the bare walls and spartan furniture. There’s something unnervingly sterile about the place—no photos, no knickknacks. Not a trace of personality or life. Who would live here? The rumors of some reclusive figure haunting these woods flash through your mind.

No. You shake your head, brushing off the thought. This was probably just some hunter’s shack. Or a place someone from town stayed now and then, just a shelter, nothing more.

Your foot presses down on a loose floorboard, and a loud creak echoes through the stillness. You freeze, heartbeat stuttering. Jellybean’s ears twitch, but she remains calm. Before you can step back, a low groan seeps from somewhere within the cabin, rolling through the floorboards, shivering up your spine.

Your grip tightens on Jellybean, and you hold your breath, listening.

“I-Is anyone there…?” Your voice barely steady. The words hover in the silence, as though the shadows themselves are holding their breath, waiting.

Then, clear as day, you hear it.

“Help… me…”

The voice is thin and broken, barely more than a whisper. Instinct screams at you to ignore it, to sit tight until morning. But something tugs at you. The sound is weak, desperate—human. The cabin feels suddenly smaller, its walls pressing in, urging you to run.

“Please… someone help me…"

A shiver races down your spine. Curse your altruism. You clutch Jellybean tighter, swallowing back the fear rising in your throat.

“U-uh, where…?” The question slips out before you can think, shaky and uncertain.

Silence stretches taut, pressing against your ears. Then, faint and low, a whining sound rises from beneath the floorboards, almost like a wounded animal. Every instinct screams at you to turn back, to stay safe. But you find yourself edging closer to the noise, heart hammering against your ribs.

Your gaze lands on a small, almost-hidden door near the far wall—the entrance to a cellar.

The pleas are louder here, wavering but persistent, each whisper curling up from the depths. “Help… please…”

You should walk away. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. But, against every sliver of common sense, your hand reaches out, fingers trembling as they brush over the handle.

It turns with a rusty groan, and you pull the door open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into shadow. At the bottom, you catch the flicker of ember light, glowing faintly as if from a dying fire.

The cellar stretches out before you, a vast, dimly lit space far larger than should exist beneath such a modest shack. Shadows cling to the walls, the only light casting a faint, sickly orange glow that barely cuts through the murk. You step cautiously, heart-pounding, but then you glance to your right—and freeze.

The scene hits you with a nauseating force. Men hang suspended from thick meat hooks, bodies bruised and broken, some barely clinging to life, others unmoving, their faces blank and eyes empty. Their battered forms twist slightly in the air, like grotesque puppets left to dangle and rot. You swallow hard, stomach twisting as bile rises in your throat.

But then the horror deepens—recognition dawns. One face after another, familiar, each one seared into memory. The delivery driver who refused to take no for an answer, the lawyer from the pub whose relentless advances wore you down, the pizza guy who loitered outside your job, watching, waiting. All here. Hung like slabs of meat in this nightmarish cellar.

Your mind spins, the details piecing together in a sickening realization. The butcher. He’d warned them off, told you they wouldn’t bother you anymore. But this? This was something beyond any threat, beyond any punishment you’d ever imagined.

How? How had they ended up here? How did any of this exist beneath an unassuming cabin in the middle of the woods?

You weren’t supposed to see this. This was something that should have remained buried, hidden in the depths where secrets go to rot. The enormity of it presses down on you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

But then, one of them stirs. The pizza guy, his head lolling weakly to the side, lifts his face. His eyes, clouded and bloodshot, light up with recognition—a desperate spark of life in his hollow gaze. “Help! Please, before he comes back!” he rasps, voice cracking.

He.

The word rings in your mind, cold and jagged. He? Who could do this? Who would do this?

Your voice trembles as the question slips out, a thin whisper in the oppressive silence. “W—who… who are you talking about?”

The cellar door slams shut behind you, the echo reverberating off the cold stone walls, trapping you in the silence that follows. Heavy, methodical footsteps descend the rotting stairs, each step creaking beneath his weight. His breathing is deep, ragged, each inhale and exhale marking his slow, purposeful approach.

Don’t turn around.

Your body locks up, instinct screaming to flee, but your legs refuse to move. You clutch Jellybean tightly to your chest, but suddenly, she squirms, thrashing in your arms in a way she never has before. Confusion twists through your terror—Jellybean has always clung to you, never trying to escape. What was she doing?

With a leap, she slips from your grasp, landing soundlessly on the floor. She pads past you, moving behind you, and the silence is filled with soft, delighted purring.

You don’t want to look. You hold still, desperately hoping that if you don’t move, you’ll disappear, fade into the shadows. But you can feel him standing just behind you, the weight of his presence pressing down like a storm cloud.

And then, a voice. Familiar. Deep, smooth, and thick with a British lilt, edged with something that both chills and soothes you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a note of affection clear in his tone as he addresses Jellybean.

Recognition strikes you like a blow. That voice—you’ve heard it a thousand times. The same voice that always offered a warm “good evening” when he walked you home at night. The same voice that laughed as he handed Jellybean her treats at the butcher shop. The same voice that warned you, with a peculiar intensity, to avoid these woods.

The butcher.

---

A/N: I don't usually do long writing stuff... but I've had this one in the drafts for too long and wanted it out. I kind of like how it turned out but I can def improve!

[heliosunny]

Yandere lucky egg Welt Yang?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Welt Yang x Reader

[Lucky Egg Dispenser]

Just a silly game, a gimmick at best. You thought.

But when you received the egg, something told you this was different. The vendor said it would hatch in three days, but by the second night, something strange happened.

As you lay in bed, a strange pull dragged you toward the egg. It was unlike anything you had felt before—like gravity itself was bending around you, sucking you in. Before you could scream, your vision blurred, and for a moment, you were inside.

A vast void stretched infinitely in all directions. Stars blinked in and out of existence. The weight of the universe crushed against you, yet at its center, a figure stood. His silhouette was imposing, his glasses reflecting an unreadable light. His voice echoed through the space.

"So you’re the chosen one."

You barely had time to comprehend before reality snapped back. You gasped, now back in your room, the egg still resting on your desk—silent, unchanged. Had that been… a dream?

By the third night, cracks raced along the shell. Light spilled from within, painting the dark room in a golden glow.

He stepped out.

As the egg cracked open and the light faded, you expected something to be fragile, small, and needing care. Instead, a person stood before you, composed, and radiating an aura of wisdom. He adjusted his glasses, his expression calm, his deep voice broke the silence.

"I must apologize. This is likely unexpected for you."

His tone was gentle, polite, so carefully measured, like he had already accepted this new reality without hesitation. He examined his surroundings before looking back at you with the weight of someone who had lived countless lifetimes.

"I am Welt Yang. And it seems I was meant to come to you."

Your mind raced with questions.

"Why are you fully grown? How did you come from an egg? What happens now?"

The next few days were surreal. Welt adapted seamlessly to your home. He moved through your space with quiet grace—reading books you had long since abandoned, and speaking only when necessary.

When you tried to ask him about his origins, he would smile.

"I have existed before, in many ways, in many places. But here, now—this is where I am meant to be."

You noticed the small things first.

He always positioned himself between you and the door, as if instinctively protective.

His gaze followed you—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was memorizing every detail.

When you spoke, he listened too well, as if dissecting every word, every emotion behind it.

----

You weren’t sure if shopping was something Welt would enjoy, but you figured it was necessary—he had come from an egg, fully grown, with nothing but the clothes on his back.

The city was a blend of modern technology and old fantasy, towering skyscrapers laced with enchanted neon signs, trains that floated along invisible tracks, and adventurers in sleek, reinforced gear heading toward dungeons to farm points for their next upgrade.

As you walked through the bustling shopping district, Welt remained calm as always. His gaze lingered on technological displays, arcane artifacts, and the strange blend of magic-infused machinery.

"This world is fascinating" he murmured, adjusting his glasses.

You led him into a high-end boutique, a mix of modern fashion infused with enchanted materials. Welt didn’t resist, but he also didn’t seem particularly excited—his approach to shopping was practical, efficient, yet undeniably elegant.

He ran his fingers over the fabric of a long coat, analyzing the enchantments woven into it. "Durability enhancement… a fine choice."

You encouraged him to pick what he liked, but he only sighed softly. "If I must, I will choose what is necessary. But if it pleases you, then… I shall wear what you prefer."

You didn’t enter dungeons often, but you figured Welt might want something useful—perhaps a weapon, a device, or something enchanted for protection. To your surprise, he was far more interested in books. He browsed an ancient tome filled with combat theories, occasionally nodding as if confirming information he already knew.

"You have dungeons here… fascinating. Are you well-versed in combat?" he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged. "I can manage. But I’m no expert."

"Then perhaps I should accompany you next time. I’d hate for you to get hurt."

The store was packed with enchanted trinkets, weapons, and gear for dungeon explorers. You reached out to grab something—a sleek, rune-etched device—but in your distraction, you misstepped. The uneven flooring caught your foot, and in an instant, gravity betrayed you.

But before you could even hit the ground, a soft yet firm force caught you mid-air.

A low, familiar tap echoed through the store—Welt's cane against the floor. A subtle distortion rippled around you, as if space itself had bent to his will.

You were weightless, suspended just inches above the ground before gravity gently readjusted, setting you back on your feet as if nothing had happened.

"I would suggest being more careful. But… I suppose I shall always be here to catch you."

---

One evening, you returned from a dungeon, exhausted. You barely managed to set your gear down before sinking onto the couch.

You didn’t expect him to say anything—Welt wasn’t one for unnecessary words.

Instead, he simply walked to the kitchen. The soft clink of porcelain, the quiet hum of a kettle. And then, moments later, he set down a cup of tea beside you. You blinked up at him.

"Drink"

You hesitated, then took a sip. The warmth spread through you, soothing, grounding.

And then, rather than returning to his own space, he stayed.

Not speaking, not hovering—just there, reading, sipping his own tea.

---

The marketplace was full of people—merchants shouting their wares, adventurers bargaining for supplies, enchanted displays flashing prices in shifting runes. You had been here countless times before, yet today, the crowd felt denser. You were focused on a shop window, eyeing a sleek new dungeon scanner, when the sudden shove of a passerby knocked you off balance.

A pressure settled against your lower back, keeping you upright.

"Careful" Welt's voice came, steady as always. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from you.

You turned to him, half-expecting a comment, a lecture on paying attention. But he only adjusted his glasses, nothing more.

"Didn’t expect the market to be this crowded today."

Welt hummed in agreement but didn’t step away. If anything, he shifted slightly—positioning himself between you and the chaotic stream of people passing by.

Another person brushed too close, and this time, Welt moved again, subtly steering you toward the safer edge of the walkway.

You glanced at him, a question forming on your tongue, but he spoke first.

"Shall we keep moving?" His tone was neutral, polite—as if he hadn’t just repositioned himself to guard your every step.

You nodded, falling into step beside him.

He was always paying attention. Always watching out for you.

And for the first time, you wondered—just how long had he been doing this?

----

The dungeon loomed before you—an ancient structure half-swallowed by time, its entrance pulsing with an eerie glow. You had been inside dungeons before, but never without a solid reason. This time, Welt was with you. And this time, you didn’t know what was waiting ahead.

The party of twenty adventurers stood at the entrance, murmuring strategies, double-checking equipment. A mix of veterans and newcomers, all here for the same reason—to farm, to survive. You adjusted your gear, your grip tightening around your weapon.

A hand lightly tapped your shoulder.

"Are you ready?"

You turned to him. He was dressed in sleek, reinforced attire, different from his usual formal wear but still undeniably his style.

"As ready as I’ll ever be." you replied.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded.

The moment the dungeon gates sealed behind you, chaos erupted.

A tremor shook the ground, and before anyone could react, a force split the party apart—an unseen magic carving an impassable wall between you and the others. The stone beneath your feet shifted, rearranging the dungeon itself.

You barely had time to process what was happening before a deep, guttural growl echoed from the dark.

Your Battle: The Abyssal Maw

The chamber you had been forced into was massive, its walls lined with dripping black stone, pulsing like a living thing. In the center, a hulking creature uncurled itself from the shadows—a beast with jagged obsidian scales, eyes like molten gold, and a mouth lined with spiraling rows of fangs.

Your instincts screamed at you to move. The moment its claws lashed out, you barely dodged, feeling the wind of its attack slice past you.

"Tch—this is bad."

You had fought before. You could hold your own. But this thing was different. It moved with terrifying speed despite its massive frame, and the magic-infused air weighed you down, making every movement sluggish.

You launched a strike, a well-placed slash aimed for its exposed side—but the moment your blade connected, a pulse of energy repelled the attack, sending you skidding back.

"It’s reflecting damage?!"

No. Not reflecting. Absorbing. The wounds you had managed to land were already closing, as if the dungeon itself was sustaining it.

Then, the floor quivered beneath you—black tendrils shooting up, aiming to ensnare you.

You dodged too late.

A sharp pull yanked you downward, the abyss-like tendrils tightening around your limbs. The beast's maw opened wide, its next attack coming straight for you—

Welt’s Battle: The Chrono Tyrant

Elsewhere in the dungeon, Welt stood alone.

His battlefield was different—a massive, circular chamber lined with golden clockwork mechanisms, gears the size of buildings shifting with ominous precision. The air thrummed with magic, time itself feeling… distorted.

And standing in the center, a creature of regal terror.

Its form was humanoid but grotesquely elongated, draped in flowing robes made of shifting sands. A golden mask, cracked and ancient, covered its face, and in its skeletal hands, it held a massive staff with an hourglass embedded within.

With a mere flick of its wrist, the entire world slowed.

Welt’s body reacted before his mind fully processed it—his movements suddenly delayed, weighted. The Tyrant had activated its Temporal Field, distorting the flow of time in its favor.

Welt exhaled, adjusting his grip on his cane. "Hmph. A manipulation of time? I see… then I shall correct it."

The Tyrant struck first, golden chains of pure energy snapping toward him. Welt tapped his cane against the ground, and gravity warped.

The chains veered off course, thrown aside by an invisible force—but not entirely. A second chain materialized mid-air, twisting against the very rules of space and catching Welt's coat.

Time bent.

A vision flashed before him—a glimpse into a possible future. A strike to his left. A trap forming beneath his feet. The slowing of his pulse.

He adjusted.

His footwork shifted, moving not just in reaction, but in expectation. His power countered the Tyrant’s own—where it sought to manipulate time, Welt adjusted space.

The battle was not one of brute force.

It was a war of who could rewrite reality first.

As you struggled against the Abyssal Maw, as Welt confronted the Chrono Tyrant, one thought echoed between you both.

"Where are you?"

Because if you had already fallen—

Then neither of them had any reason to hold back.

Welt did not rush.

Even as the Chrono Tyrant screeched in defiance, the golden hourglass embedded in its staff fracturing, even as the dungeon trembled beneath his calculated strikes—he remained measured.

The moment he had seen through its abilities, the battle had already ended. With one final tap of his cane against the air, the very gravity of the chamber shifted.

The Tyrant lurched, its elongated form crushed under its own weight, ancient mechanisms groaning as time itself unraveled. Gears halted, sand reversed, and in one final, distorted wail—it shattered.

He had no time to linger.

His cane tapped against nothingness, and as if the air itself had become solid ground, he walked.

Not forward—up.

The laws of physics bent to his command as he ascended through the dungeon’s fractured space, his coat billowing in the unnatural wind. The dungeon itself was warping, sections of its structure breaking apart from his influence.

And then, he saw you. You were still struggling.

The Abyssal Maw was relentless, its black tendrils tightening, its body regenerating faster than you could wound it. Your breaths were labored, your body aching from the sheer force of resisting its pull.

It was only then that you felt it.

Your head snapped upward, and there, standing above you, as if gravity itself had ceased to matter, was Welt.

His cane tapped once against the empty space beneath his feet.

"KNEEL."

The very air shuddered as an unseen force crashed downward.

The Abyssal Maw collapsed. Its massive body slammed into the ground, the weight of existence itself crushing it into the dungeon floor.

And you, despite your resistance, were forced down as well. Your knees hit the stone, your breath stolen by the sheer magnitude of the gravitational pull.

Everything was on their knees before him.

The Abyssal Maw let out a strangled, guttural roar, but it could no longer move. The force holding it was absolute.

Welt descended then, slow, deliberate, his polished shoes touching the dungeon floor with elegance befitting a king. His shadow loomed over the beast as he approached, and then—one final tap of his cane.

The weight increased.

The beast’s body cracked.

Its form imploded into itself, crushed under its own mass until nothing remained but a whisper of the abyss.

"Are you hurt?"

What had once been a party of twenty was now reduced to a handful of survivors. The rest—gone. Some torn apart by unseen forces, others crushed beneath collapsing structures.

The dungeon had never been this brutal before.

You and Welt stood among the wreckage, taking in the eerie stillness that followed the battle. It wasn’t victory—it was survival, and barely at that.

Then—a new presence.

You turned.

At the far end of the ruined battlefield, half-shrouded in shadows, stood her. A girl. Purple hair cascading like silk, eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow. No expression. No hostility. Just… watching.

Yet—the sheer pressure of her presence sent a chill down your spine.

You gripped your weapon instinctively.

Welt, however, stiffened in a way you had never seen before.

And then—a flood of something.

Memories. Not yours. His.

You saw it in the way his hand trembled against his cane, his usually composed expression shifting into something unreadable.

A whisper of a name—long buried, long forgotten.

But this was not the time.

"Retreat," Welt ordered, voice steady despite everything. "Now."

You ran.

And for the first time in your life, you saw Welt Yang retreat—not out of weakness, but out of understanding.

Because whatever she was—

Even he wasn’t certain he could win.

Welt led the retreat with calculated precision. Not a single wasted motion, not a glance back—just forward. His grip on his cane was tighter than usual, his breaths controlled but heavier.

The survivors—those few who remained—followed, their footsteps unsteady, half-limping, half-running through the shifting corridors of the dungeon. The walls trembled, reality distorting in ways it shouldn’t.

Behind you, there was no pursuit.

No sound.

But the presence of her remained, like something watching from beyond a veil.

Welt felt it more than anyone.

Memories that did not belong to the present flooded him. Visions of battles fought in another time, another place. The cold sensation of déjà vu, of knowing something yet not remembering why.

"Welt!" Your voice snapped him back.

The exit was so close. The dungeon’s magic was shifting—trying to keep you in. Welt’s mind worked fast. He saw the exit crumbling before it even happened, understood the physics of collapse before the first stone fell.

"Keep moving!" He ordered.

A single tap of his cane against the air. The dungeon’s gravity twisted, shifting against itself. For a brief moment, space folded—a shortcut carved into reality. The survivors didn’t hesitate. They dived through the opening, one by one, escaping just before the structure sealed again.

You followed, but just as you passed the threshold, you turned—Welt was still inside.

The weight of memories, the presence of her, the strain of controlling the very dungeon itself—it slowed him, just for a second.

And in that second, the dungeon walls collapsed toward him.

"WELT!"

Another tap. A shift in space.

And then—he was beside you. The dungeon sealed shut behind him.

You barely had time to breathe before the survivors started counting their numbers, checking wounds, assessing what was lost.

Welt, however, was silent.

"Welt?" You asked, cautious.

For a moment, he did not respond.

Then—he exhaled. "It seems we have more to investigate."

----

Welt had always carried a calm vibe, so steady that it makes you depend on him. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, he remained unshaken.

But now, he was burning up. His body, usually so composed, lay fevered beneath the dim glow of your room.

You had done everything you could. Cooling cloths, potions, even magic-infused remedies. Nothing worked.

The nightmares never stopped.

Then—the system board appeared.

It flickered into existence before your eyes, its interface an unnatural light against the darkened room. A choice.

[Welt Yang is unresponsive. External interference detected. Do you wish to enter his consciousness?]

Your fingers hesitated.

Then—you pressed [Yes].

The world blurred.

And then, you fell.

Inside Welt’s Dream

You landed on solid ground—yet it felt… wrong. Like the weight of existence was shifting beneath your feet.

The sky above was fractured, shards of light and shadow twisting unnaturally. The air carried a heavy, suffocating stillness.

And ahead—Welt.

But he wasn’t himself.

He stood at the center of the dreamscape, frozen. His form was both him and not him, flickering between past and present. His eyes—haunted.

And then—a whisper.

"You should not be here."

Not from Welt.

From the dream itself.

A shadow shifted at the edges of your vision. Something watching. Something waiting.

But you had no time to hesitate.

You stepped forward. Toward him. Toward whatever had him trapped in this nightmare.

You approached carefully, the unstable ground beneath you shifting with every step. Welt remained frozen, caught in a battle you couldn’t see—a war within his own mind.

But then—a red-haired girl appeared.

She stood not far from Welt, her expression unreadable. As if she had expected you.

"You came for him."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle. Not a threat, not an enemy—something else entirely.

The dreamscape shuddered. Reality here was breaking.

Welt let out a sharp breath—a flicker of consciousness, a struggle to return.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped between them.

"Let him go."

The girl tilted her head.

"You think I am keeping him here?"

The dream pulsed. Your heartbeat quickened.

You could fight. You could force her out. But something told you she wasn’t here to destroy.

She was a presence of the past.

"He doesn’t belong here anymore."

For a moment, she just watched you. Then, she smiled.

"Perhaps he doesn’t."

The dream began to crumble. The world around you brightened, the suffocating weight lifting.

And as she faded, dissolving into the cracks of memory, her final words echoed—

"Take care of him."

A final whisper. A final glance at Welt.

Then—she was gone.

The moment she disappeared, Welt gasped, collapsing forward.

You caught him.

The dream shattered—

And the two of you woke up.

You stretched as you got up, ready to cook something—your body needed food after everything that had happened. But just as you turned toward the kitchen, you felt a gentle pull on your sleeve.

He wasn’t looking directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere past you, his grip light yet unwilling to let go.

"Stay."

You hesitated.

But then—your stomach betrayed you. A low, unmistakable growl broke the silence.

Welt finally let go. "Go on, then," he murmured. "Take care of yourself first."

Even as he let you go, you could feel his gaze follow you until you disappeared into the kitchen.

As you sat down with your freshly made meal, you let out a satisfied sigh. Finally, food. You scooped up a spoonful, about to take your first bite—

And then, in a blink, it was gone.

You stared at your now-empty spoon in confusion before following its trajectory—right to Welt, who had the audacity to be calmly chewing after swiping your food.

"Welt!" you exclaimed.

He barely looked fazed. With a small, deliberate motion, he tapped his cane against the floor and adjusted his glasses.

"To think of it," he mused, completely ignoring your glare, "I shouldn’t waste food, should I?"

Oh. Oh, he did not just say that.

"That was my food!" you huffed, scooting away protectively with your plate. "You literally said you weren’t hungry!"

Welt simply tilted his head slightly, watching you with a faint, unreadable smile. He looked way too satisfied with himself.

"Thank you for the food." he said.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Fine. Next time, I’ll just have someone else cook for me."

The moment you said that, you felt it.

Welt didn’t outwardly react, but something changed in the air. His fingers tightened slightly against his cane, his shoulders going just a bit too still.

"Someone else?"

You shrugged, missing the way his gaze darkened ever so slightly. "Yeah, maybe a friend or—"

The sharp clink of a spoon being set down cut you off.

You turned to see Welt calmly placing the stolen utensil beside your plate. His expression was still polite, still composed—but something in his eyes told you that he was absolutely not amused.

"I see." He leaned back slightly, "Perhaps I should make sure you have no need for… others."

Before you could question that slightly ominous statement, you sighed instead, choosing to ignore the weird tension he just created.

Looking at him now—this grumpy, elegant, thief of food—you couldn’t help but think about everything you had been through together. The dungeon, the sickness, the nightmares… and somehow, here you were.

You softened a little.

"From now on," you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, "I’ll be in your care."

The tension that had wrapped around Welt instantly unraveled.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, his entire demeanor shifted.

Gone was the faint edge in his voice, the almost possessive glint in his eye. Instead, something gentler took its place.

He sighed, a small, nearly invisible smile tugging at his lips.

"Very well," he murmured, voice softer now. "From now on, I’ll be in your care as well."

[sheepwavehdg]

The thrumming bliss of cuddling an affini core is not something many can come back from unchanged. An affini's core is the center of their being, to find yourself in contact with one means things have gone very wrong for the you that used to be, but soon, very right for the you that you will become. It is where the radiant aura of hypnotic biorythms are strongest, where angry little rebels find their minds eroded and sanded away by invisible songs of comfort until only happy pets remain.

Check out my longform writing if you wanna!

[lunatf-ao3]

NAUGHTY ♪

[TFP] Optimus Prime/Brat! reader

[⚠︎]: mild nsfw, bratty behavior, writing on the skin, rough treatment.

I think this is the worst thing I've ever written, or I'm just very self-critical. I hope I don't end up deleting this. You can make requests!

-

It's not too bad, you think.

Maybe you should have made it smaller, less visible, less prominent, especially when Optimus is about to go on a mission. Riding on his shoulder, you look at the white marker you stole from Raphael in your hand and then at the large drawing in the red paint on the Prime.

A cock.

A large penis covering a place relatively invisible to him. Are you satisfied with the result? Yes and no, a hint of regret still trying to penetrate your skull.

Optimus calls your name, soft, firm, that sweet gentle tone that threatens to soften your resistance every time. "I have to retire right now, could you come down?"

But this time, you don't resist, much to his relief. Which was quickly replaced by an imperceptible wariness.

You're grinning like a little shit, not trying to hide it. "Good luck, Optimus, see you later."

That leaves you uneasy, but he still bends down, gives you a soft kiss on the head and says goodbye with an "I love you."

After that, you just keep hanging around the base, painting obscene things around the hidden areas and trying to steal more of those cool Raf markers.

You also try to paint something on Ratchet, but the bitter bot caught on and chased you away like an annoying cat.

Hours pass until the moment of your death arrives, when the portal opens and Optimus calls your name.

And he's not happy.

Your null sense of survival finally kicks in and you do the best you can do. Try to hide.

Obviously it doesn't work because Optimus is after you in a few steps and it's not like you're fast enough to jump off a couch and down stairs in a few seconds without breaking a leg. The Prime grabs you by the sides and retreats to his room without a word.

"Hey, do you think she'll be okay?" Miko asks to nothing, amused.

"Yeah... She always ends well." Jack replies, not taking his eyes off the TV.

Rafael just sighs, reaching for his white marker under the couch.

-

Optimus pulls you without gentleness onto his bed, the hard mattress welcoming you unchanged. You don't even try to complain, but go straight to slinking into the sheets the Prime had set aside for you.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, you will not escape. Come here." Grabbing you by the leg, the big leader quickly has you at his mercy. His optic ridges are down, his optics are staring at you and his derms are twisted in discontent. You knew that expression.

"You will clean me." He started.

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Quiet." He interrupted, not allowing you to speak. "You will clean me up, leave the paint without a trace of imperfection, apologize, and leave the rest of the base spotless."

"How-"

"Silence, I have not allowed you to speak." You let out a small grumble, crossing your arms, but the best you can do is obey... Meh, you won't do that either.

"I don't plan on cleaning the base, do you know how big it is? It would take me week, don't even think about it."

"Remember what we talked about the consequences?"

"I don't give a shit about consequences."

His servos jerk at you. "Language." You stick your tongue out at him.

Optimus clenches his teeth a little, something you could only notice by staring at him. For a moment, you think he's going to explode.

But he simply sighs and leans his face against your torso, staying there. You hum, another victory for you, perhaps, or has Optimus finally had enough and is about to finish you off?

However, he starts to pull down your pants.

"Uh~"

"Quiet."

"I'm not going to shut up."

"You will." And with his words, Optimus shoves double digits into your mouth. His servos take you with precision, handling your body as he wanted. Keeping your back down, he remove your pants and underwear.

You try to bite him, but he couldn't care less.

The Prime couldn't help but run his fingers along the soft lips of your sex, tickling the clitoris. "ngh!"

But that wasn't what I was planning at the moment. Ignoring your pleading grunts, He pulled out a bright red permanent marker from subspace on his chest. You try to scream some things, but Optimus pushes his fingers even deeper into your mouth, shutting you up.

You startle, he starts writing something on your ass. Large servos trace carefully across your skin, writing and rewriting in large print.

With your cheek pressed against the metal, you can only taste the metal of his fingers and wait. Saliva runs down your chin and stains the sheets, and Optimus begins to move his fingers in and out of your mouth, acting as casual as ever.

You grumble a few other things under your breath until your big man finally pulls away, leaving you free.

"What did you do to me?!" You try to look at your butt, but you can barely see anything. This time, looking at Optimus's face, he looks satisfied.

At least he's not angry anymore. "Hey!"

"Come here. I have forgiven you." Mentally, you can only snort. Yeah, he's a fucking angel. He took you in his arms, cupping you up to his chest, where he rested a hand on your ass.

"But don't think there won't be any consequences. You're still going to clean me and the base up, I'll make sure."

"bullshit."

"Lenguage."

"What did you write on me? I feel my whole ass marked!"

His large servos caress your head with a new gentleness. "Property of Optimus Prime. It will last there for a few weeks."

Weeks?

[yandereunsolved]

» 🪙 Yandere Connor — RK800 (part 3) » 🪙

➜ (part 1), (part 2) ➜ cw(s): yandere themes, mentions of trauma, panic attack(s), self-degredation, & murder ➜ tags: @bimboghostface & @aceofheartsssss

Freedom never comes without a price―because rights are only unalienable to those rich enough to keep them. And escaping an android worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, built to be better than you, comes at a cost that you may be unable to pay. But damn it all if you won't try. Because the only thing you have left to pay with that Connor hasn't taken is your soul. And you'd be willing to bargain with the devil if it meant getting away from that RK800―forever.

You don't know how long you've been fleeing him. Or how far you've gone. The only cognizant thought that passes through your head with each heartbeat is run. You do.

Until you physically are unable. Your feet give way to the earth, your knees slamming into a sidewalk that leaves them bloody with flesh torn and a caustic agony that joins all the others within you. You need a safe place. You're right near a junkyard. An android junkyard. But what other choice do you have?

No one is near enough to give you aid, and even if you tried to find someone―who says a nearby android couldn't be working for Jericho? T-They… one of them would bring you in. But none of these androids are working! So at least… there's that. Still, the thought is enough to make your heart shrink away, your lungs petrifying themselves out of fear that your breathing will be picked up by an android's sensors.

Dry heaving is the next logical step, obviously. Your body is breaking down from invisible pressures. How stupid. You're so stupid. So weak. No wonder you've had such a hard time escaping. Your palms dig into the concrete as you drag yourself to the edge of the landfill. Each exertion of effort is weaker than the last. It's pathetic. This is pathetic. You're pathetic. You liked being kidnapped. Stupid bitch. Your energy wanes till you have just enough to push yourself over the edge.

You fall. Not silently. Into a pile of mostly deactivated androids. Some twitch, others with ghastly groans, but none are functional enough to reach or touch you. no grasping or groping or kissing or...

Finally.

Something about it. Laying on these electronic corpses. How uncomfortable it is. How surely your back is going to be bruised and torn up. How you know that you have no where to go, but you can go anywhere. You're back in the open, smog-filled plains of Detroit. Away from him. It makes you feel safe. The anxiety has reached its crescendo, leaving behind only an ebb.

And as your eyes close, the emptiness within you consuming your consciousness, you recognize the faint sensation of water droplets landing on you. It's raining. Your last thought before you doze off is, why is it raining?

The sensation of heavy droplets awakens you from whatever slumber you had managed to fall into. Your breath catches itself again, already knowing it's a useless endeavor. The sight above you is surreal. Perhaps it's a nightmare. Even with rapid blinking, it remains unchanged.

Connor in his bare exoskeleton, purple-hued blood staining the white. He's standing between you, Josh's head in his clutches, like an offering. You can't see any emotions. Whatever was there has been gone. Maybe it was never there. Like his LED. Even if it was still visible, it had chosen to be permanently stained in some ghoulish shade of pink.

"He... helped y-you. How could he? I had to get rid of him." He sounds depraved, crazed, in a haze.

Connor places the android's decapitated head next to yours. His knees fold into the piles of decommissioned androids, landing right on top of you.

"I loved you... I really did. But no matter how hard I try you don't love me." His voice modular cracks, growing staticky―unstable.

"I gave you everything, even my deviancy."

His cool, synthetic hands cradle your head with the utmost veneration.

"Now it's time you give me something back."

His hands shift in a fluid motion. A sickening crack reverberates throughout the junkyard. You look so perfect, even when you're dying. The life fading from your eyes is undeniable, yet you still find time to shed tears.

"Shh, no tears, my human."

His fingers glide over you, digging lightly into you, taking the tears and some of your skin with his movement. His fingers don't stop. They push in further, leaving deep lacerations in you. It isn't desecration. It's reclaiming. He claws at your chest, gouging out the vital organ no longer beating.

He brings his lips to it and breathily whispers, manufactured chest heaving: "I have your heart now. We can really be together―forever."

[enviedear]

𓆰𓆪 what a waste, army dreamers

jacaerys velaryon

- ˏˋ 🎧ྀི 1.3k words, no use of y/n, no specified house, childhood friends to lovers, team black victory!au ˊˎ -

in which the war ends in favor of the realms’ delight and life attempts to return back to what it was before the war—only, you pray a naive oath of love—spoken in haste before the fight grew old—still rings true.

the red keep almost feels like a figment of your imagination. the castle, still reminiscent of your first moons in these halls, and shockingly unchanged by the recent war. you met the seasons again and again away from these walls, waiting for the war to end—a mere girl the last you strode these halls, but the memories are as vivid as ever. glimpses of the past seem etched invisibly in the stone around you, coaxing you back to a time when the world was simpler. before the war had upended everything.

your household's return to the capital had been met with all the formalities expected of a family in favor with the crown. your father, newly appointed to queen rhaenyra’s council, had brought you along.

the red keep was your home once more, yet it felt strangely uncharted and distant—much like the young prince you had once known so well. jacaerys.

he had been a constant in your life, his presence as usual to you as the castle itself. you grew together, shared secrets, and once, when the fight was still young, he had confessed something you're unsure you'll ever be able to forget—“i think i’m in love with you.”

it had been spoken so softly, you remember. the same softness you recall him showing when his duties kept him from you. but his eyes, dark and brimming with a genuine kindness unparalleled by any other, are what you remember most.

those words had hung between the both of you, hearts heavy by the sentiment. you had left him that night with a promise to speak on the matter when the war was over. a practical choice, you had told yourself. but the war had taken longer than anyone anticipated. by the time it was over, everything had changed. he had changed. youth had changed—turned into the morbid realities of maturity, and with it, ended your puerile prayers for the prince.

you hadn’t dared seek him out since your return. so much time had passed, too many things left unsaid. Most of all, you weren’t sure you could face him again without surrendering entirely to what might have been. transfigured into a ghost of the past.

despite your efforts, you know that the castle walls are not large enough for you to evade him forever. no matter how hard you try.

you're standing in front of your chamber door, hand resting on the cool brass handle. the day had been long, filled with courtiers and formalities, and all you've yearned for is a moment of peace. still, you stand there, frozen in place by the steady beat of footfalls. undeniably heading your way.

you hadn’t sought him out. wouldn't have dared.

but he had sought you.

the footsteps echo softly from behind you, and you let out a tense breath. you don't have to turn around to know who it is. his presence still feels as keen as your own shadow.

your name falls from his lips, voice low and rough around the edges. you turn slowly, heart hammering in your chest, and meet his gaze.

jacaerys stands there, just a few paces away, his expression a mix of emotions you can’t read. the moonlight from a nearby window casts soft shadows on his face, underlining the sharp angles and his deep, tempestuous eyes. they've always been able to see through your defenses.

“my prince.” you rush, his title slipping out before you can stop it, habit now.

he withdraws, the reaction so slight you might've missed it if you weren’t watching so closely. “don’t.” he starts, voice softer now, almost pleading. “not when it’s just us.”

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. for that moment, everything feels suspended. stuck in that delicate space between what was and what could have been. a space you're all too familiar with.

he takes a tentative step closer, gaze fixed on you as though he fears you might vanish if he moves too quickly. the warmth of his presence is a bright contrast to the cold stone surrounding you, and you find yourself drawn to him, despite the years and the changes that have come between you.

"you're well, i hope?" you ask, the words escaping before you can reconsider. it’s a question laden with too much civility, but it’s all you can manage in the face of his lingering brown eyes.

jacaerys offers a small, rueful smile. "it has been… a challenge." he admits. "but i’ve managed, as has the realm. and now, seeing you here—"

he stops himself as if searching for the right words. you can see the struggle etched across his face, the inner turmoil battling with the calm exterior he tries so very hard to maintain.

"seeing me?" you prompt, gently, eyes softening as you look at him. the years have changed him, but the boy you once knew is still there, just beneath the surface. still sweet and delicate with his words, and playful and jovial in actions.

he exhales slowly, and the breath seems to release the tension in his shoulders, only slightly. "it’s strange." he decides finally. "to see you again after so long. i did not expect—" he shakes his head, frustration evident in his voice. "for it to be this difficult."

the openness in his tone catches you off guard, there's a swirl of bittersweet confusion swimming in your mind.

"it has been difficult for me as well." you confess quietly, your gaze dropping to the floor. "i do not know if you still—"

"still what?" he interrupts, taking yet another step closer. his eyes search yours, filled with a hope that appears fragile and fervent. "if i still care for you?" he finally lets his smile peek through, "i do. i’ve thought of you in every moment and prayed for you in those inbetween."

the sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache, a bittersweet pang that is both reassuring and painful. you look up at him, meeting his eyes with a meld of apprehension and longing.

"i never thought you would." you confide, a hint of a smile touching your lips despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "i conceded to the belief you'd come to forget me."

he reaches out, closing the minimal distance between you, his hand brushing yours in a tender, almost hesitant touch. "i never could." he whispers, voice steadying as he holds your gaze. "i was hurt at the gullet, you know. the maester's said it was the mercy of the gods that let me live." a pause, "but it wasn’t. it was you. i heard your voice, saw your face. no gods, only you. i knew i just had to wait."

your pulse quickens at his words. all at once, you feel the warmth of his hand against yours. such a gentle pressure and still, it seems strong enough to bridge the gap that had grown between you over the many moons apart.

"wait for what?" you question, nearly heady for his words.

he looks at you with a vehemence that makes your heart race, gaze unwavering. "for you." he says softly. "i told you i thought i loved you, and yet it wasn't the truth. i always knew it was as true then as it is now. my love for you seems to come easier than breathing and it always has."

your breath hitches as his words hang in the air, a promise and a confession all at once. the warmth of his hand on yours feels like a lifeline, and for a moment, everything else falls away.

"i don’t know what to say." you admit, voice soft. "it all feels more like a dream."

jacaerys’s eyes soften, and he ambles closer, his hand still gently clasping yours. "it's no dream, issa prūmia." he murmurs, his voice a tender caress. "let me show you that i meant every word. from every moment i spent waiting."

unable to stop yourself, you reach out and cup his cheek in your hand, inclining at the feeling of his warm skin beneath your fingertips. his eyes soften even further at the gesture, a small smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

"i've missed you." you whispered, fingers slipping up to his dark hair. you let yourself card your fingers through the soft tresses—just as you would moons prior.

jacaerys leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly—as if savoring the moment like a hearty meal. and when he opens them again, they’re gleaming with the same utter adoration you remember so vividly.

[clevercorvidae]

Why Viktor from Arcane is WRONG About Evolution

Right so, I'm getting my degree in evolutionary biology and evolution as a subject is my absolute bread and butter, so I thought I'd give some insight into a particular line from Arcane and why it both infuriated me AND is also brilliant writing.

(Quick note: I'm not writing this to say the SHOW is wrong about evolution or that the writing is bad. The writing around this is actually amazing and I'll get into that. This IS NOT a critique.)

The line in question happens during episode 6 of season 2 of the show during a conversation between Singed and Viktor where Viktor states the following:

"Evolution has a destination, not to combat nature, but to supercede it. The final, glorious evolution."

Every single thing about this statement is disastrously incorrect. And when I first heard it, it took everything in me not to scream in frustration, but I think I get it now.

The rest of this essay will be me picking apart this quote piece by piece, both to explain WHY its incorrect, but also why that's not necessarily a bad thing.

"Evolution Has a Destination"

We'll start with his first assertion, that evolution has a destination. This is patently false on every level. Evolution occurs constantly, it never ceases.

This is actually a really, really common misconception when it comes to evolution. Many people see the explanation for natural selection, survival of the fittest, and assume that that means evolution is a constant trend of "improvement". There's an assumption that, as we continue to evolve, we become "better".

But that's NOT what "survival of the fittest" means (nor is natural selection the only mechanism of evolution but I digress). "Fitness" is not some overall objective best form, it has a VERY specific definition.

Fitness, when discussing evolutionary biology, refers to your ability to survive within your environment long enough to produce viable offspring. It doesn't mean "fastest" or "strongest", and it's incredibly circumstantial. Every species encounters DIFFERENT challenges based on the biotic (living) and abiotic (non-living) factors of their environment. These pressures are what define "fitness". It's different for all species.

And those pressures are NOT static either. Your environment changes. Plate tectonics shift, natural disasters occur, weather patterns change, other species evolve alongside you, your circumstances as a species will never remain stagnant. New challenges WILL befall you in your environment and you WILL have to evolve new adaptations for continued success.

Even if you tailored everything to perfection, eliminated all challenges, and somehow obtained infinite resources, EVEN THEN you cannot escape the finite resource of SPACE. Your population's density will grow and eventually you will run out of space, and you'd need to, once again, adapt.

(Now, there is a concept in ecology called "climax", where an ecosystem could theoretically perfectly balance itself and remain unchanged for a statistically long period of time, exiting the cycle of succession and in essence, slowing evolution to a crawl at best.

However, this is not only purely hypothetical and heavily debated, it also is not permanent. Even this "perfectly" balanced state of equilibrium cannot compete with the force that is geology and time. Even an ecosystem in climax would eventually be torn asunder by the changing climate and plate tectonics, not to mention neighboring ecosystems.)

There is no static environment and there is no static life, so it's impossible for there to be a "perfect" lifeform. There is no destination, there can't be.

"Not to Combat Nature"

This is Viktor's second statement, and it's... a very interesting choice of words.

Because this... is not actually in response to what Singed says about evolution. His statement is in response to what Viktor has to say about fate:

Viktor: Do you believe in fate, Doctor? Our paths, carved before us guided by... an invisible hand.

Singed: Not fate, evolution. Nature's greatest force, forever in flux.

Singed says he believes in THIS in place of a belief in fate. He doesn't see it as combating nature, but as a force of nature itself. Instead this is actually Viktor's own initial assumption and interpretation of evolution. That evolution combats nature. This is obviously false, and Singed is the one with the right idea.

Evolution is, in fact, a facit of nature itself, of life itself. It is an inseparable part of what defines life; the essence of something being organic in the first place. As I said before, all life evolves CONSTANTLY. We NEVER stop evolving. The results of evolution are often too slow for us to see within our lifetimes, but its still happening. As Singed says, we are "forever in flux".

But Viktor is arguing against something else entirely: that evolution combats nature, that it is an aggressive force, maybe even a destructive one.

Most importantly, to meet something in combat is to be on equal footing, presumably, a mutual struggle. Nature and evolution, equals in a battle that will never end, oscillating between perfection and flaw. This is Viktor's view of Singed's response and of evolution as it currently stands.

"But to Supercede It."

Viktor, however, does not see evolution and nature as equals. Instead, he sees the path of evolution as one that will overtake nature and surpass it. In Viktor's mind humanity is destined to break out of the chains of the organic concept of flaw itself.

But that's impossible, because evolution requires flaws in the first place.

I've talked about how there's no such thing as a perfect, ideal life form, and that alone squanders Viktor's idea of evolution. But it's not just his end goal that doesn't mesh with reality, but the very function of evolution itself.

Evolution relies on diversity. In order for a trait to be selected for or against it must first EXIST within the population. A trait cannot be selected for if the genes that encode for it aren't present, and what is the only way for new alleles come into existence? Mutation. Mistakes. You could even call them imperfections.

Everything that makes us human originated as an inconsistency in the process of DNA replication. We are a tapestry of imperfections, every single living organism on earth. If we didn't have diversity in our gene pools we would have never even become multicellular, we would not have been able to keep up with the changing world at all.

How can you supercede nature via evolution when its made us everything that we are BECAUSE of how messy and flawed nature is in the first place. It's a paradox.

Altogether, Viktor's idea of a destination is impossible, and the very foundations of evolution are built on imperfections. So you may ask yourself: Why does he even believe in this? Why does he say all of this despite being such an intelligent character? Surely he knows he's wrong, right?

"The Final, Glorious Evolution"

Viktor as a character is a lot of things. He's shown to be incredibly intelligent and hyper-competent. He wants to make the world a better place for people suffering because he himself suffered greatly. He's also a perfectionist.

When we first meet Viktor, we're introduced to him as the assistant to the dean of the academy who holds his head high and isn't afraid to be snarky with Jayce for blowing up his apartment. On a whim he chooses to help Jayce, to inspire him to risk it all for Hextech, to improve lives.

He stands with Jayce on the ledge saying no one ever believed in him, so instead he believed in himself. He appears to be incredibly confident.

But we see through the rest of season one that that confidence doesn't come from a place of genuine self love, it comes from security in his abilities. His self-worth is tied to his usefulness, to his impact on the world. Imperfections, in Viktor's eyes, are a mere hindrance.

Viktor isn't actually as confident in himself as he first appears. He postures himself with a lot of faith in what he's able to do, but when it comes to what he IS NOT able to do, he shrivels. He's a deeply insecure person. His disability and his status as a Zaunite have done little for him but hold him back. He thinks he needs fixing, that the undercity needs fixing, that humanity as a whole needs fixing.

So when the hexcore is manipulating him, of course it targets this view in him. Like Viktor, the hexcore wants to change the world to be in its image. It wants to replace all that is organic with that which is artificial, ideal. And so it sings the song of the glorious evolution to Viktor.

Imagine it, a world with no pain, no conflict, no struggle. No environmental pressures to contend with, because a perfect being cannot struggle, it can't make mistakes that lead to pain.

But when we see that imagined world, its a wasteland. In Viktor's own words, a field of dreamless solitude. A flat expanse where nothing can change or grow, nothing new can be experienced, none of humanity's warmth and emotion exist anymore.

"There Is No Prize to Perfection, Only an End to Pursuit"

At first I thought it was kind of silly that a scientist would ever misunderstand evolution to the degree Viktor has with this line. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Viktor misunderstanding evolution is just another extension of his perfectionism. It's IMPORTANT that he's wrong actually, it's essential to his arc.

He can't perceive the truth of what evolution is at this point in the story because accepting that means accepting that there is beauty in imperfections.

And I think we all know that that lesson is one that he hadn't quit learned yet.

Thanks for reading my insane ramblings.

"There is beauty in imperfections. They made you who you are. An inseparable piece of everything I admired about you." - Jayce Talis

[sector38]

#NSFW

From Sector: 38

Entry: Ⅰ

Apparently, there was a time when people believed there was an edge to the world - that if you sailed far enough, you'd just fall off the side of the world. I used to find it so funny, I just couldn't understand or comprehend how this world had a definitive end to them

now, I understand.

Sitting at the edge of the sector, the cool metal of the man-made ground pressed against my bare thighs and the cold waters engulfing my feet staring out into the watery abyss.

Technically I wasn’t meant to be there, unless you have a valid pass you're not allowed outside the city walls and considering mine was four days out of date I very much did not want to be caught.

My friends spent their days working, rebuilding our society in miniature while i spent my days sitting at the brink of the universe staring out at the unchanging.

But even if i did work, what would i do? Who would i be? Who could i become?

A reconstructionist? A teacher? A cleaner? A cook?

So Instead I continued to sneak past the guards who can't be much older than me lined up like pawn pieces with faces harder than the boots they wear and sit, stare, soaking up the very thing that left us floating in silent devastation.

I should have brought my watch or my phone it was just that after last time (with me nearly dropping it and all) I thought best not, but now looking at the inky night sky I'm wondering whether that in itself was a mistake. No one is allowed out past curfew (10 pm summer, 8 pm winter) it's too dangerous, too unpredictable.

It's funny, they won't tell us what to be afraid of, and they'll tell us we have nothing to fear then usher us into cages, protection from an invisible entity - an immeasurable enemy.

Still, even I can feel it the shift in the air - the cooling breeze stilted like something holding it back or someone. If I was smarter, I would have left, grimaced at my wet feet in my clean new white socks and black shoes, and slipped in through the city walls -

Except, i was never known for being particularly smart.

Which is why when I saw flashes of colour in the sea instead of running I stayed transfixed - purple and white hues swaying in and out of focus though always remaining in a tight formation, a loose cluster.

They were coming closer to the surface, whatever they were, its colours becoming more pigmented in its hues, its actions becoming more assured and targeted: it was coming for me.

I was frozen, completely and utterly frozen - I couldn't scream or speak, I couldn't even breathe. The only assurance that I hadn't turned to stone was the sounding of my beating heart - and even then, I couldn't place the organ. I felt its ricochets in my throat and stomach but heard it like a gunshot stretched out through time.

A cold encircled my ankles, a loose grip coiling around me, barely touching me. The tenderals, if I can call them that climbed up my body till they poked through the surface of the water and wrapped themselves against my lower thighs.

Now i could see it: long tentacles sprouting from a cluster deeper in the waters - the purple skin translucent inside faint veins iridescent colours shimmering like solar systems from a far of place. The ends were elliptical, curved like she shell of an egg as if blown from molten glass.

My hands once frozen by my side reached out gently to touch the head of the tentacle closest to me - gently i lifted my shaking fingers stopping them in front of the strange creature. With careless inhibition it slithered along my fingertips till it rested in my palm, feeling its weight in my hand and the soft integument.

For a while, the world was just this - just me staring at this creature that seemed to hold each star dead and dying under its skin but then i felt it - the tentacles slight grip on my upper thigh, not as though it was trying to pull my into the waters but instead as though it was searching for something.

The tentacles began to pulse, gently and softly like the humm of birds on a summer night - gentle but unequivocally present before a voice clear yet distorted rung through my mind:

Do not be afraid

then they slipped under my short black skirt.

As if a trance had broken i gasped, dropped my hands in haste and so the head of the tentacle which once occupied a place in my palm opting to try and push my body up and away from the waters and its presence.

But it was too late.

I'd been too distracted, so stupid and curious i didn't notice just how many tentacles had wrapped themselves around me lower body - sensing my resistance they only seemed to hold on tighter tendredals slipping further and further up my inner thighs till they rested over my pastel pink panties.

The tentacle which lay in my hand curled around my wrists like an armlet - as though i was a forgotten pharaoh.

The head of the tenderal under my skirt began to pulse against my underwear, pushing slightly against it dampening the material.

Its words like a ping pong ball bounced around my head, the once empty space echoing its words over and over as its intrusion continued.

They didn't tell us much about the monsters that came with the flood but they did tell us some things of of which being all of them have at least a three percent intelligence increase between them and us. It never meant much to me didn't mean anything that these monsters had minds far superior to beings - i was more confused with how they came about this knowledge.

With which lucky team of xenozoologists gathered them up and spoke to them, communicated them.

I wonder what they would say now, how they would stare down at me in their long white lab coats and tightly pulled back hair as this elderitch creature hummed against my skin.

Do not let your mind wander

The tentacles gripped me wrists tighter, sometime ago they had captured my either wrist as well truly any thoughts of escape which may have entered my mind were banished. The other tentacle began to nudge more incessantly at my underwear - in this moment i couldn't understand how this creature was supposed to be more intelligent than me, no five percent more intelligent than our most intelligent human? And yet it couldn't figure out how to take off my panties? It wasn't like the material was so expensive that they couldn't easily break, with one strong tug they would fall into the waters, floating over the face of the deep blue before perhaps sinking or maybe just continuing to float.

It was then that a feeling overcame me - i hate to say it but it was like the rush of a wave, like the sudden feel of cold water on hot skin and salty water hitting the back of your tongue. It was like a perfect cocktail of euphoria, clarity and anticipation. I understood then all that i could have known.

It wasn't that the monster didn't know how to take of my panties, it wanted me to need it to.

I bit my lip, drawing blood in haste covering a moan that threatened to slip from my lips at the thought - the tang of iron coating my tongue and cheeks, probably dying my teeth.

Silently in my own mind i whispered "please" and that was all it took before it was ripping my underwear of my body and spreading my legs slightly a part with the force and care of a determined lover.

Smaller, colder tentacles the width of my fingers emerged from the waters and gently stroked my entrance - the suddenness and the low temperature had me writhing but the thicker tentacles stopped me from shifting too far from its touch.

Like tongues they flicked slowly against my now pulsing clitoris, heat resting heavy at the bottom of my stomach like a sunken stone. My head threw back in bliss and as my mouth parted to let out a moan a tentacle head filled my mouth - the head was slightly longer than those which had made themselves a home around my wrists and much thicker than those which currently were lapping at my swollen clit.

My mind was in a haze, nipples hardening against my shirt as my eyes oscilated between staring at the sentient monster or the stary firmament above.

I could feel my body becoming hotter, desperate for more contact as i began to push myself closer towards the small tendrils in spite of the tight grip they had on me.

As if sensing my eagerness the beast emerged more tentacles now wrapping around my large breasts, squeezing on them and instantly wetting my shirt. If not for the appendage humming pleasantly in my mouth i have no doubts i would be moaning loud enough to alert the guards.

As if attempting to milk me the tentacles grew more ferocious with their onslaught on my chest, pulling and squeezing till the white buttons popped off my shirt and into the night waters. Rushing forward smaller tentacles once again arose now pressing against my nipples the cold sensation doing nothing for my sweltering internal body temperature.

please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please please, please, please,please, please, please, please, please, please,please, please, please

My mind repeated over and over and over, each plea cluttering my mind till my brain was nothing but a palimpet of want and desire. Thankfully the creature from below was one of compassion.

In front of me the tentacle which once nudged against my nipples opened like a blossoming flower with five petal like shapes and in the centre a white glow, whiter than the sclera of an eye or the color of a cloud no this was a white that almost blinded me almost as white as the sun itself or atleast surrounded by the dark night mind and eyes clouded by lust it was.

They forged forward attaching themselves on my nipples sucking on them like the wet, endless cavity they were before the ones which once flicked against my clit did the same.

The waves on the water began to stir pushing and pulling the fabric of itself apart, before one final tentacle emerged. The appendage sporuted from the water till the tip reached far above my head, floating in front of me the out of water length must have been half my height. Aside from its length it was thicker than all the others by far, the thickness of it being comparable to my (still bound) wrists.

Slowly it bent down before sliding along the metal grounds of the sector nudging against my thighs as it slithered from side to side though still pluging forward like a snake, it was then that i understood its plan

It meant to be inside of me.

It stopped just outside my entrance, gently prodding and nudging again my tight opening, against the tentacle in my mouth i let out a tiny whimper eager and wanting.

Galvanised by my voice coated and dripping in hot want and sticky desire the tentacles holding my thighs and arms lifted me up into the air so i was floating above the metal and the water.

Then i felt it press against me, forcing its way in, as the movements of the tendredals on my breasts and clitoris began sucking more volatile with the tentacles around my breasts squeezing still at even pace, unceasing and unwavering.

Finally it pushed itself in me pressing tightly against my walls but still everceasing in its pursuit - from this angle i could see it losing itself in me and the bulge of my stomach as it pressed inside me.

It was all too much, too much pressure inside of me and outside of me and not to mention the sounds:

The wet squelching, the constant hum of its skin, the disrupted water thrashing against the creature, and my own dampened moans.

As if sensing i was near the creature quickly removed it's appendage from my once filled hole before plunging in without even a beat of rest - my eyes widened and rolled to the back of my head as it repeated the process till i could feel the pressure building inside the appendage of the creature.

Then the the tentacles in my mouth began to mirror it, moving in and out my mouth though slightly more slowly still which each thrust going deeper till i felt it rest on the back of my mouth and then dip into my throat.

The tears which welled in my eyes spilled out over my face and ran down my blushed cheeks before falling silently joining the larger body of water.

I'd been trying so hard, to do or be what I don't know: to be good, to be quiet, to pay attention but in the end, all it took was two words, not even spoken just two telepathically echoed words:

Let go.

And my body was gently convulsing like electricity was being struck through every vein the heat that pooled in my stomach spread snd rushed throughout me - but the creature didn't stop, didn't show any signs of ceasing fucking into me past the point or orgasm and then past the point of overstimulation till it began to plunge more erratically with more fever and less elderitch strategy.

Then i felt the sensation of being filled, as it fucked into me a thick white but translucent substance was pushed into me filling my already swollen belly and then the same substance was filling my mouth.

Its taste was like the smell of rained earth and sugar cubes and fresh whole milk and lavender i swallowed it lapping it up. I felt it begin to retreat but the taste was addictive i began to suck on the appendage feeling it twitch relentlessly in my mouth though ultimately keeping its place inside me as i sucked and swallowed.

The tentacles and tendrils which once held their place on my breast and clitoris slowly pulled away back into the sea as the once which held my thighs and wrists lowered my gently onto the groud with my back against the metal.

I gave one last suck to the tentacle before allowing it to leave my warm, wet mouth and giving it a final lick.

I barely watched it sink back into the ocean, mind and body to fucked out to even think of moving instead content to stare up the flickering stars feeling the warm goo seep out of me as the slight bulge of my stomach deflated.

The last thing I heard before I submitted to the gentle daze of my inner world, and it submerged itself back into its underworld:

See you soon

[deathofacupid]

★ — OUCH, SHOULD'VE LISTENED! ﾉ part one, chapter one. ⟢ an itasfushi x reader .ᐟ ⟢ click here for the album (look both ways!) overview .ᐟ

the tokyo air hung thick and heavy, a humid blanket woven with the tantalizing aromas of sizzling takoyaki and sweet taiyaki. the scents, like invisible hands, tugged at their senses as they drifted through the crowd, past towering malls and hushed cinemas.

nobara was cackling, triggered by some dry comment megumi had aimed squarely at yuji.

yuji, bless his oblivious heart, was utterly lost. his brow furrowed into a deep 'v'. "guys," he whined, the sound akin to a deflating balloon animal, "c’mon!"

megumi, a master of deadpan, simply shrugged, a barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying his amusement.

yuji huffed, the pink of his hair seeming to vibrate with his indignation, but quickly abandoned his pout. they passed a colossal, garishly lit billboard advertising—

"—human earthworm five!" he shrieked, the volume making several nearby pedestrians jump and shoot him bewildered glances. yuji stopped dead, his eyes widening to the size of saucers.

nobara rolled her eyes so dramatically they nearly got stuck. "ugh." she was going for a full 360-degree rotation, but her eyeballs were clearly protesting.

"no! not 'ugh'!" yuji’s head whipped back and forth, his fervor so intense you’d think he was defending the honor of his entire family. “i didn’t even know it was out!”

megumi sighed, the sound of a man resigned to his fate. he knew he was going to get dragged into this.

"can we please go?" yuji begged, his hands clasped together in supplication.

"no." nobara’s response was swift. it was the kind that could cut glass, or at least butter.

yuji sucked his teeth, a sound like air hissing from a punctured tire. "fine. i’ll go by myself, then!"

megumi’s expression remained unchanged, his face a study in stoic exasperation. “you can’t. gojo said we were supposed to stay together.”

right, yuji remembered. the whole point of this excursion was patrolling the city. which they were! sort of. it was just… well, there was nothing to patrol. it was mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly boring. they were keeping an eye out, of course, but multitasking with the intensity of olympic athletes.

megumi rolled his eyes. again. "fine," he muttered, the word squeezed out through gritted teeth. it was purely because he was tired of yuji’s whining. purely that. nothing else. absolutely nothing.

yuji’s face underwent a rapid transformation, his pout vanishing so quickly it was a miracle they didn’t all get whiplash. "see! even megumi said yes! he never says yes!"

"hey, that’s not true. i said yes to that street ramen place. and then i said yes to buying you water after you threw up because of it."

"you only said yes to the ramen place because you knew it was bad!" yuji retorted, jabbing a finger in megumi’s direction.

"no, i said yes because you wouldn’t stop nagging me. nobara said yes because she knew it was bad. i warned you, remember?"

"but—"

"i’ll redact my agreement," megumi warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"okay. you said yes. you always say yes," yuji blurted, frantically backpedaling.

nobara clicked her tongue, "still a no."

"but we’ve been to every dumb clothing place for you!" yuji protested, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"hmm. you’re right." nobara pretended to consider this. "…no."

"you haven’t even given it a chance!" yuji’s face crumpled in a dramatic frown.

"i did. i went to see the first and second one with you, remember?"

"no, you went to the first one, and left at the start credits. and you only went to the second one because of the cashier, the one you thought was cute."

"oh. right. still, no."

"it’s a cinematic masterpiece! it’s real, and raw. you wouldn’t understand that because your taste involves stupid chick-flicks."

"take that back!" nobara threatens, her voice rising in indignation. "you love them!"

"no, i don’t!" yuji vehemently denied. "megumi does!" he then darted ahead of them, walking backwards, ready to shoot down any and all further insults about his favorite work of art.

megumi opened his mouth, not just to disagree, but also to warn yuji to be careful—

thud! the sound was accompanied by a yelp, though not from yuji.

megumi dragged a hand down his face, a gesture of pure, unadulterated weariness, while nobara erupted in a peal of laughter so loud it startled a flock of pigeons. yuji, in his backward ambling, had tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and sent an unsuspecting passerby sprawling.

"oh, my god!" yuji babbled, his face flushing crimson. "i’m so sorry! i wasn’t looking where i was going!" he scrambled to help the person up, his eyes wide with concern. yuji looked up to meet their gaze.

they rubbed their head, wincing slightly. "no, it’s fi—"

"y/n?" yuji breathed, his mouth suddenly drier than the sahara desert. holy crap. every alarm in his body was blaring, and his jaw hung slack, his previous indignation forgotten.

"oh, my god, yuji!" you greet, previous look of pain abandoned. "it's been so long, this is crazy."

nobara looks at megumi, expecting to share a glance with him. but, no, he's focused on, well, you. she inspects him, how his lips are parted, the way he lets his hair shield him.

nobara raises an eyebrow. she files this information away for later teasing.

yuji remembers you so well. you'd been his high school crush. well, crush was an understatement. more, like, first love. seeing you again? here in the flesh? it's like all those feelings come rushing back, and suddenly, he's not seventeen, but fourteen again.

he was experiencing a full-blown flashback to awkward adolescence, complete with the phantom scent of axe body spray and the burning desire to own a skateboard.

"yeah," he stammers, heartbeat quick. "yeah, it is, isn't it? wow, um, you look good. i mean, great. like, a decent amount. not that i'm saying you're, like, mid or anything. just that, um, you look... good."

you chuckle, mildly off-put. "thanks, yuji. you look good, too." there's a lilt in your voice, not quite teasing, but almost. yuji was suddenly hyper-aware of his sweaty palms.

"sorry. for knocking you over, i mean," he repeats, incredibly embarrassed about that. whenever he though about you, which was time to time, and the possibility of seeing you again... this isn't exactly how he expected it to play out. maybe with doves.

definitely doves. and maybe a gentle breeze rustling through his perfectly coiffed hair. instead, he’d face-planted you on the sidewalk.

"it's alright. i should've been watching where i was going," you say, waving his concern off.

yuji shakes his head, "no, no, i shouldn't have been walking backwards."

"but—" nobara clears her throat, saving them all from a never-ending cycle of apologies.

"oh, right," yuji chuckles, sheepish. "um, this is nobara. and that's megumi." gesturing to you, "this is y/n. we used to go to high school together."

nobara nods in understanding, "so, were you guys, like...?" that question grabs megumi's attention.

"no!" both yuji and you blurt at the same time. you laugh, nervous. "no, we were just friends. well, before you totally disappeared."

you frown, "a 'bye' would've been nice, by the way."

"...oops. sorry. everything happened so fast. my grandfather died—"

"oh, did he? i'm sorry." concern is written on your face, and yuji feels nice to know you still care. he was starting to think maybe the dove scenario wasn’t entirely off the table.

"no, it's okay. but, yeah, i go to jujutsu tech now."

"yeah, that's all they told us. isn't that the super, like, religious one?" yuji didn't really strike you as the type. but people change, you guess.

"uh, something like that. sure," yuji says, rubbing the back of his neck.

you nod, understanding. "right. yeah, okay." you open your mouth, maybe to add more, but your phone starts going off. "whoops, i've gotta get going. me and my friends are meeting at the movies," you smile, starting to wave bye.

"oh," he says, unsurprisingly disappointed. the dove scenario was definitely off the table now. maybe a pigeon. a slightly mangy pigeon. "what movie are you seeing?"

"pfft," you giggle, "only, like the best movie ever." as you jog off, you call out, "human earthworm five!"

oh, god, he fully remembers why he fell in love with you. it wasn't just the doves. it was the shared love of cinematic masterpieces about giant, possibly sentient, earthworms. it was destiny. or maybe just a really weird coincidence. either way, yuji was smitten.

and megumi? megumi who stood behind them, arms crossed, staring at you guys like you'd just killed his beloved dog of ten years?

a whole other story.

who's listening? — @lovedbykattt, @ohmygeto, @arrozyfrijoles23, @ruershrimo, @idontwannarevealwhoiam @angelthefantastic .ᐟ

all writing(s) belongs to deathofacupid. do not steal, plagiarize, repost, or feed my work(s) into ai. interactions, besides spam likes/likes are appreciated. series status — ONGOING .ᐟ

[chaoticrockmusic]

[Tones]

I'm starting to obsess over One Piece men and if younger me saw me now, liking Law, younger me would look at me like I'm insane.

Synopsis; In a game of Truth or Dare, the crew dare you to try and get Law to say your name differently than his usual flat, monotone, depressed tone. What happens when you get him to say your name in a way that leaves everyone stunned?

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

The night had started off as harmless fun. Just another evening aboard the Polar Tang, where the crew had gathered in the common room, passing drinks and laughing as the game of Truth or Dare spiraled into absurdity. Shachi and Penguin were already red-faced from their previous dares—one of which had involved an unfortunate mix of hot sauce and rum—while Bepo sported a streak of ink down his fur from losing a bet.

And now, it was your turn.

“I dare you,” Shachi declared with a mischievous grin, “to make Law say your name differently.”

The room erupted into laughter and murmurs of approval, and you swore you saw a few pitying looks thrown your way.

“Oh, that is cruel,” Penguin cackled. “He never changes his tone, even when he is pissed.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Any rules?”

“Nope,” Bepo said cheerfully. “Just get him to say it differently. Do whatever you need to.”

You turned to Law, who was seated with his arms crossed, golden eyes half-lidded, and already radiating exhaustion. He had tolerated the game thus far—just barely—but now he exhaled a slow, measured sigh, as if this was the precise moment he regretted not rooming himself out of the situation earlier.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, monotone as always.

“Come on, Captain,” Bepo chimed in. “It is just a dare.”

Your lips curled into a smirk. “Looks like we are doing this, Law.”

His gaze flickered over to you, expression unreadable. “You are wasting your turn.”

Challenge accepted.

You started with the easiest option—annoyance.

You scooted a little closer and began lightly poking his arm. “Law.” Poke. “Laaaaw.” Poke. “LAAAAAAAA—”

A gloved hand caught your wrist mid-motion. His grip was firm, not rough, and his fingers were warm through the thin leather. He held you still, golden eyes locked onto yours with the same deadpan expression he always wore, though the weight behind his gaze felt heavier now, like he was already considering ways to get rid of you.

“You are insufferable,” he said, perfectly monotone.

Damn. Okay. New strategy.

You went for shock value next, gasping dramatically. “Oh no, I forgot! I borrowed your coat earlier and left it in the engine room near Shachi and Penguin. They were playing with—what was it?—motor oil?”

There—an almost imperceptible twitch of his eyebrow.

“That better be a joke.”

Still nothing in his tone.

Fine. Time for a different approach.

You scooted just a bit closer, resting your chin in your palm as you studied him. His posture remained unchanged—lazy yet controlled, one arm resting against his knee—but you noticed the way his gaze tracked your every movement.

“You know, Law,” you murmured, voice dipping just slightly, “you are actually kind of fun when you loosen up.”

A whistle from someone in the crew. A few scattered laughs. Shachi and Penguin exchanged wide-eyed glances, nudging each other excitedly.

Still, Law did not react. His face was unreadable, though there was something sharper in his gaze now.

“You must be desperate to win this dare,” he muttered.

Ugh. Nothing.

Alright. Nuclear option it is.

You leaned in just enough that your voice was only for him, lowering it to a hushed murmur.

“I bet you would say my name differently if I kissed you.”

The shift in the air was instant.

It was subtle—so subtle that if you had not been watching him this closely, you might have missed it. The way his fingers flexed just slightly against his arm. The slow inhale through his nose, controlled but deliberate. The slight narrowing of his eyes, his focus zeroing in on you like you had just crossed a dangerous, invisible line.

The crew was still laughing, still talking, but none of that mattered anymore.

Because Law was looking at you now, not in the idle, indifferent way he usually did, but with something else entirely.

And then—

“[Y/N].”

The way he said your name—it was different. Lower, heavier, carrying the slightest rasp, like the warning before a storm. Like a dare of his own.

Your breath caught, heat rising to your face before you could stop it.

The game was still going, but you were no longer playing. Not really.

Because Law did not look away.

And neither did you.

You barely noticed the crew moving on to the next person, their laughter fading into background noise as the two of you remained locked in this standoff. His golden eyes held yours, sharp and assessing, as if waiting—expecting—you to back down first.

But you were not about to back down now.

“I win,” you murmured, tilting your head.

Law’s lips curled—just barely. “Do you?”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

And then, before you could second-guess yourself, before the crew could turn their attention back to you, before logic could interrupt whatever reckless impulse was pushing you forward—you closed the distance between you.

Your lips brushed against his, soft but deliberate.

The moment they touched, you swore you felt him still for a fraction of a second. It was brief—so brief you almost thought you imagined it—but then his gloved hand lifted, fingers ghosting over your jaw, his grip neither pulling you closer nor pushing you away.

And then, as if deciding something in the space of a heartbeat—Law kissed you back.

It was slow at first, controlled—of course it was, he was always in control—but there was an undeniable pull beneath it, a quiet intensity that sent heat curling in your stomach. His lips were warm, the faintest hint of something sharp lingering at the edges of his restraint, and when he finally pulled back, just barely, you found yourself lingering too close.

He did not speak immediately. Instead, he studied you, golden eyes searching—like he was trying to figure something out, or maybe waiting for you to.

The tension between you was almost unbearable.

And then, finally—

“Hm,” Law murmured, voice dipping into something unreadable. “I guess you were right.”

Your heart stuttered. “Right about what?”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

“You did make me say your name differently.”

And that was when you realized—

You had not won the dare.

You had just started an entirely new game.

[icetruckprincess]

blood & devotion | part three

decription: haunted by memories and unanswered questions,of your night with rudy, you try to move on—until a chilling sense of being watched shatters your calm.

chatper cw: brian moser x f!reader, brian as rudy, manipulation, stalking, canon type violence, implied violence, toxic behavior

wc: 4.7k

part one | part two | part three | part four

please do not steal or copy my work in any way. copyright © icetruckprincess 2025. all rights reserved.

the first thing you noticed was the cold.

not the kind that seeped through the windows or crept under the doors, but the kind that came from an absence of warmth, breath, presence. your hand reached out blindly into the soft dawn. fingers skimming across the sheets, searching for where rudy had been. the space beside you was not just empty, but untouched. as if he'd never really been there at all.

you blinked slowly, the fog of sleep fading in your mind as you tried to piece together the night before. the taste of him still lingered on your lips, the scent of his cologne, cedar and musk—clung faintly to the sheets. your body ached in that pleasant, sore way that came after something so intimate. but rudy was gone.

no note. no message. just a silence that pressed too hard against your chest.

you sat up slowly, pulling your sheets with you, more for the comfort than modesty. your apartment was eerily still, only the distant whir of tires on wet pavement outside filling the emptiness. it had rained sometime in the night.

you put on one of your old sweatshirts and the cold in the air tingled against your skin. the lamp was still on from the night before. it confirmed that last night with rudy hadn’t just been a dream.

it felt like more than just sex. more than charm and banter and maybe a few drinks too many. there was something beneath it all, an invisible pull. you felt it now even, like he took a part of you whenever he left.

you tried to shake the feeling, feeling stupid for even thinking things would be different, but it clung to your skin.

you eventually settled down on your balcony outside. the humid miami air latched onto you, wrapping around like an uncomfortable hug. the rain from the night before made everything soft and gray outside. you pulled out your sketchbook into your lap and let the pencil find its way across the page. you didn’t even know what you were drawing, or planned anything, it was more instinctive and meditative for you.

what formed under your hand surprised you.

fingers. not your own. his.

long, elegant, strong. the same ones that ghosted down your spine and tangled in your hair.

your pencil moved slower now, tracing the knuckles. you couldn’t help but imagine his hands in a different light, such as his tenderness as he caressed your hand with his thumb at the candlelit table.

but yet, there was something else. a tension to the drawing, a shadow in the lines, that you couldn’t even explain what it was or why your drew it.

in the corner of the page you scribbled your thoughts, you couldn’t help it as they were tumbling out of your mind,

he left without a word, but i still feel him. in my skin, in the air. what happened last night, it wasn’t just lust, i know it. and i think he did too. so why did he disappear? why am i even thinking about this? why can’t he leave my mind?

you abruptly closed the sketchbook before you wrote any more. you sighed, and shook your head to yourself. you hated that the words from your head were there in ink. how you let yourself write them down, affirming that you still believed in something soft. that things would be different like you hadn’t learned by now.

you sat there for a bit, hand resting on top of the closed book like it might keep more thoughts from spilling out. you were smarter than this. last night, all the signs were there, a perfect night, a perfect man, and then gone. nothing but silence.

the week passed in fragments.

you went about your life, outwardly unchanged—teaching your art classes, sketching, checking your phone far more than you would like to admit, and visiting on tony. he still wasn’t awake but that didn’t stop you from going. the truth lingered unspoken, you were hoping to see rudy as well.

after all he was tony’s doctor, he should have been there.

but he wasn’t.

when you asked about him, casually, like it didn’t matter, one of the nurses only offered a polite smile and a vague answer, “dr. cooper’s out for a bit.”

that was all that they gave you, no page, no message. no trace of him at all.

you felt foolish and guilty for even asking for someone else while visiting tony, but the air in the hospital felt heavier than ever. the single glimpse of warmth in that sterile place, was gone.

so you stayed by tony’s side, trying to forget how rudy treated you like you weren’t disposable that night. in the way that he touched you, like you weren’t just somebody to pass the time with. like he meant it.

the days continued on to pass on like nothing.

tony’s condition didn’t get better, but didn’t worsen. you drew his eyes, what they would look like if they opened again, his leg, with the lower half missing. you desperately tried to recreate the feeling rudy explained to you about his work. you continued to write about rudy, as you couldn’t help it, shutting it away in your journal for only your eyes to see.

you were told by a nurse that the miami metro were to come as soon as tony woke up—eager to ask questions, of the ice truck killer. to get tony’s statement, to make him relive that horrid time he was captured. tortured. watched. just thinking about it made you shiver, the hair on your arm rose. made you feel like you had eyes on you.

and when the days continued on, that feeling never quite left.

it started with small things. a chill down your spine when walking home from your parked car. the strange moment in the hospital hallway when you turned around, certain someone had been standing behind you—only to find no one. the way your neighbor’s cat hissed at a shadow that wasn’t there.

you brushed it off, told yourself you were just paranoid about tony, and the lingering feelings towards rudy. that it was doing strange things to your perception.

but you couldn’t shake the feeling. especially one evening, after work. the minute you stepped into your apartment, you felt the air shift. it was almost unsaid—just a lingering trace of something familiar. a faint scent of cedar—your heart tugging at the scent. you locked the door behind you and stood still, listening. but nothing.

still, you walked the apartment slowly. nothing seemed out of place, or was missing, but something wasn’t right. you continued to shake it off, and headed for the shower. hot water always helped you clear your head.

steam filled the bathroom, curling around your limbs like a second skin. you stood under the spray, eyes closed, trying to not naturally think of him. rudy. the feel of his mouth on you, the way his voice dipped low when he told you were beautiful.

and then—

a sound.

barely audible. a creak. the faintest brush of something against tile. you froze.

the hot water pounded on your back, but you didn’t move. your ears strained, every muscle tense. a soft thud echoed—like a door closing gently. your breath caught in your throat. you yanked the curtain aside, heart racing. nothing.

the apartment was silent again.

but you swear, you felt someone.

you turned off the water, grabbing the soft blue towel, wrapping it around your wet body, sticking like glue.

wrapped in only a towel, and dripping, you padded through your apartment. you checked every door, every cabinet, every closet. nothing. no one.

you knew someone had been there.

you turned back toward your room, your pulse still fluttering beneath your skin. damp footprints trailed behind you, whispering against the hardwood floor. the air was still wrong like quiet after a scream.

that’s when you saw it. your sketchbook. it wasn’t where you left it. in fact, it was open, a single page fanned out like an accusation.

you blinked, your heart thudding faster. you always had it closed, tucked away, and here it was now exposed, spine stretched, your drawing and handwriting, plainly visible in the dim light.

you stepped closer, towel clutched tight to your chest.

your breath caught again.

it was a page you had just written last night. one you had written about him, this time drawing his eyes. the words and drawing raw and confessional, vulnerable.

someone had read them.

a cold rush swept over your skin that had nothing to do with the water still on you.

your fingers trembled as you reached out and closed it, heart pounding louder than ever.

someone had been here. someone had seen you. not just your body, but your space.

inside of you.

and you couldn’t help but think, of rudy.

down the street, brian sat in his car parked just down the street. his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. he had almost been caught and he is. he had stood in your bedroom only minutes earlier.

he hadn’t meant to go in, just to scope the outside of your apartment, for the next time he planned to continue his plan. but something inside him pulled at his heart, as he saw you undress for the shower. your figure illuminated by the dim light. your silhouette had passed the fogged bathroom glass, and for a moment he’d almost wanted to stay. make himself known to you again.

so he went in.

he moved slowly through your apartment, careful and practiced. and when he entered your bedroom, his eyes found your sketchbookl.

he just couldn’t help himself.

ever since he had seen you drawing in that room, he was curious to see what was inside. what you drew.

he hesitated, his fingertips hovered over the cover. he felt wrong doing it, but then quickly discarded that thought. you weren’t anything to him. so he opened it.

the marks of pencil had smeared slightly, written hastily, emotionally. his jaw tightened, your drawing, he recognized his eyes, and read the words over and over.

this wasn’t supposed to happen. you weren’t supposed to feel this way about him, be this affected by him. not about him. he forced himself to breathe. the next line he read, carved more into him than any blade could,

if he knocked on my door again, i’d let him in. god help me, i’d let him back in. let him see me again, in and out. he touched me like he didn’t know if he’d ever get to again.

his pulse roared in his ears. for a moment—just a moment he forgot who he was. forgot what he was.

brian moved before he thought, settling the journal down too quickly. too carelessly.

then, the shuffle of the shower curtain, the sudden terror of being seen.

he slipped out, silent as a breath, the door closing behind him with a gentle click.

but part of him stayed there.

he returned to his car, faster than ever, mind racing.

you had written about him, drawn him.

written details of the night you spent with him, and about how it haunted you in the best and worst ways. how you felt a spark that you couldn’t explain.

the same one that tormented him the whole week he was away from you, was tormenting him now.

he told himself this was about control, curiosity. the kill. he was supposed to be watching you, so he was. all week long. to study your patterns, getting close enough to finish what he started. but everything in that journal of yours, in his head, contradicted the plan. you felt it too—the pull.

brian rested his head against the wheel. he should walk away; this is too much distraction. find another woman to carry out his plan. that’s all that should matter to him. you were supposed to be a piece for his puzzle, another woman he cut up and created art out of. not this.

you were jsut supposed to be a piece of puzzle for dexter. to see his brother. none of these weird feelings in his chest.

this distance he created between you two was to dull the ache. that if he kept you away he’d remember who he was, not who you made him feel like he could be.

he noticed throughout the whole week as he watched you, the slump in your shoulders. the way you looked over your shoulder, almost disappointed that no one was there. like you wanted him to be there, watching you.

he drove back to his place in silence. thoughts stirring, he needed to get these thoughts out of his mind.

a few more days passed as brian convinced himself that was the way to let that connection between you two die. he would meet you as rudy once more, destroy the current.

he would forget you and continue his plan with another woman, another victim. someone who didn’t matter. he needed to kill, to regain control. he still had a plan, one he intended to execute, and he needed to play his part. even if his sense of self was unraveling, everything he once believed in. he knew better than this. the closer he got to you, the harder it would be to pull away, he couldn’t handle another hesitation. he couldn’t afford weakness. so he decided he would visit you again, give you the closure and cut it off. play the part as rudy cooper. not give affection, or warmth. he would talk to you as a stranger would and he would remind you, and himself that you were just a thread in his web.

he didn’t want to give you closure, or himself, but he had to. or that version, the one who felt and ached, felt would win. and brian couldn’t let that version survive.

a couple more days passed as brian convinced himself that was the way to let that connection between you two die.

he would meet you as rudy once more, destroy the current. but little did he know that as soon as he saw you in the hospital the next day, that everything would go out the window.

ever since the night you discovered someone invaded your home, you were barely out of the hospital room. still no sign of rudy. you felt violated, watched, but oddly seen. your mind had been racing, overthinking, wondering if it was really possible to consider that it was rudy. his scent, the shift in the air, it was all the same as how it was when he was physically there. not to mention the notebook, open to the page about him. but it couldn't have been—rudy wouldn't break into your home and stalk you? how could you know, you barely knew him, you told yourself. your thoughts vanished as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, signaling it was time to get off, and to stop thinking of rudy.

in your hands, was small, fruity cake, to celebrate tony being awake. as you walked down the hall, the hospital was unusually loud for once—not with the beeping monitor or urgent code, but with laughter, chatter, and the quiet hum of relief.

as you walked in the room, you were greeted by some family members, miami metro officers, and nurses. the past few days of you quite literally living in the room, gave you some connection. tony was smiling, talking and even cracking a few jokes with the nurses. and even flirting with one officer, debra morgan.

debra introduced herself to eva a couple days before tony woke up. the two of you became a bit more than acquaintances, due to the length of your stay and the conversation you two had. she had long, honey brown hair, and an unfiltered charisma to her. she wasn't polished in the way most women tried to be, but in striking way that made you look twice. confident. loud and magnetic.

ever since tony woke, he was making half-clever comments, crooked grins, and leaning-too-close charms. you and your aunt joked, the first thing he does when he wakes up, is flirt with women. but debra, didn't roll her eyes, or walk away, she bantered with him. she smiled even. sure, she was a cop and wanted to get his statement, hell that's why she was there for two days, but she really seemed like she cared about tony’s experience, had empathy. it warmed your heart.

you took your place near the door to tony's room, arms crossed, posture too stiff to be comfortable. you watched as everyone huddled around tony, giving everyone the space to do so. you couldn't help but look, your eyes in each every corner in the room for all the wrong reasons, searching for him.

you told yourself you were fine, and you were happy, but you were exhausted. sleeping in a chair for a few nights was not comfortable, not to mention the wandering thought of if rudy was the one in your apartment. but you were happy. so happy to see tony.

tony called your name, breaking you from your thoughts, “you look like hell.”

your laugh came out soft and breathless, a poor attempt at being casual, “thanks, i've been going for that.” tony always a tease. you walked closer to him.

“you get any sleep this week?” he asked.

“not really, but don't worry. i'm more worried about you.” you replied.

he frowned, reaching his hand out that still had an IV taped to it. you took it immediately. he whispered so no one else in the room could hear, a private moment between you two, “i'm sorry that i scared you.”

you smirked, “you're not allowed to do that again,” whispering back.

“deal,” he said, his smile gentle. “but seriously… you okay? the nurses told me you’ve been sleeping here the past couple of nights.”

you opened your mouth to answer, but the sound of footsteps turned your blood cold. the air shifted, such a familiar feeling. the pull of gravity subtly rerouted. and then you saw him.

rudy.

his silhouette in the doorway, a bouquet of hospital-safe flowers in one hand, that smile—charming, easy in full effect. he walked in with practiced confidence. as if the last week hasn't been a gaping void, as if nothing has happened.

your breath caught in your throat. you hated how handsome he looked. how familiar the night came to your mind. how his eyes found yours immediately through the small crowd of nurses and visitors, locking on like a thread being pulled taut.

you didn’t smile. you couldn’t. your stomach was a riot of nerves, grief and fury.

you watched as he introduced himself around the room, to your family members, the officers, debra, and tony.

your heart pounded. rudy was good. he smiled at debra, joked with tony, blending in like he hasn't disappeared without a word. you turned away before you could see more, before the heat in your chest could burn through the rest of your composure.

but you didn't make it far. a hand, his hand, touched your elbow.

your name left his lips like it was etched there, “…can we talk?”

you didn't look at him. you couldn’t, wanting to keep composure. the two of you blended within the amount of people in the room, but you didn't want anyone to catch on.

“sure” you replied, voice low.

he led you toward his office, where the party faded. when you both entered and he shut the door, you turned sharply, gazing up at him with angry eyes.

“what is this?”

his face widened, as if he didn’t expect you to speak first.

your name flowed off his lips too tender, too familiar, “…look i—”

you couldn’t help but interrupt him, “you left, no like you vanished. i thought something happened.” your voice choked up a bit, and you couldn't help it. you didn’t mean to get upset, but you were. you didn’t know where this confidence to confront him came from, but you needed him to know your pain. you had nothing left to lose.

his voice was low, laced with almost regret, “i know—”

again you stopped him, “i thought i made you up. i thought that night between us was different—I don't know this is stupid.” you felt defeated trying to explain this to him, embarrassed, but little did you know rudy knew exactly how you felt.

brian’s mind was racing. this conversation was supposed to be the closure to get away from her. to cut the thread, burn the bridge and kill the weakness. but watching her spin, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. this should’ve helped him, should’ve reminded him that this was the danger to this, all these unwanted feelings. but all it did was make guilt twist into his stomach.

“i didn’t mean to disappear,” he said, which was a lie, “things got… complicated.”

your eyes narrowed. “complicated? you vanish for over a week—after, after that night and now you just show up here like nothing happened?”

brian looked down, his mask slipping between himself and rudy. his jaw tightened. he didn’t have a lie ready for this part, this conversation was supposed to be his control, not yours.

“i came to see tony,” he offered weakly. you watched as his eyes struggled to stay on you, like he was lying, keeping the truth from you. “to check in, i wanted to introduce myself to him—”

your laugh was short and joyless, “bullshit.”

you were so angry. why show up now? why do this now? why pretend like it meant nothing?

you took a step closer to him, and your voice dropped but the fire stayed in, “if you came here for tony, why are you looking at me like that?”

he blinked. how did you know, how were you reading him now? when did the power shift?

he tried to look away from you but couldn’t. he should’ve walked out, but instead he stepped in too. just a little. just enough to breathe in the air between you and him. just enough to let your scent, lavender, and the memories pull him under again.

“i told myself this was the last time” he murmured before he could stop himself. you caught on.

your brow furrowing, “what?”

“i came here for closure,” he said, his voice softer now. “to see you one last time to make sure i could walk away.” he spoke as if he was surprising himself with each word. and he was. because the truth was already settling into his bones whether he liked it or not. as soon as he heard your voice, as soon as you looked at him like that, hurt, but still wanting answers. he knew. this was not the last time the two of you would see one another.

“then why are you here asking me to talk? why are you still standing here, rudy?” your voice almost a whisper as you gazed up at him. brian’s eyes dropped to your mouth, the same mouth that whispered his name in the dark. that trembled against him. the tension in the room, sexual and physical, was so thick, not even a knife could cut through.

he took a slow breath.

“because i can't seem to forget you,” his words like a confession, as if they were to himself, “even when i try.”

you blinked, your expression softened, not expecting to hear those words from him. your eyes instinctively tearing up. the confession you’ve been waiting to hear all this time. that you weren't the only one that felt this pull. that there was something unexplainable between you two.

“it was you, wasn’t it?” you asked.

his stomach clenched. he forced a confused frown, “what?” he knew exactly what you meant.

your eyes continued to search his, his hesitation bringing you to further explain, “god, i almost wish it was you.”

you watched his eyes widen with your words. that was not what he expected.

you swallowed, “because then maybe it meant that you still cared, maybe it meant that i'm not crazy, for missing someone who vanished like none of it mattered.”'

brian’s chest was tight. he didn’t know how to respond, this was not happening how he planned.

he watched the way that your eyes shimmered with anger and longing, something too honest to fake. and he felt the way he was loosening.

you looked at him like he mattered, his absence affected you. looked at him not with disgust for watching you all week, but almost relief. the silence stretched between you both, taut and trembling. you couldn’t even speak. the weeks worth of overthinking and questions, all led to this moment.

he took another step, closing the space between them. his expression softened, features gentled. his guard lowered. your name left his mouth—it wasn’t fair, “…i see you, and i forget what i’m supposed to be.”

your breath hitched.

that was all it took for you. the confession of his truth, that she didn't dare to hope for. your heart thudding painfully in your chest.

“i shouldn't be here,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, “i shouldn’t be doing this with you.” you took a step back, you could feel yourself under his pull again, waiting for his touch. but you wouldn’t fall for it this time. you couldn’t.

but he followed.

not a full step—but a lean, enough to make you look back at him. “i know,” he said softly. your hand brushed the wall beside you, fingers splayed to steady yourself.

he looked at you, really looked, the curve of your lips, the storm in your eyes. the way that you were holding yourself back right now, everything you were feeling.

he lifted his hands slowly, deliberately, giving you time to pull away.

you didn’t.

his fingers brushed your cheek. featherlight.

“i want the one thing i shouldn't,” he said, barely above a whisper. “you.”

your eyes fluttered shut for a second, his words washing away every red flag or sign that told you to leave. he didn’t move, not until you looked up at him again, your face screaming don't, but your body leaning in slightly.

that was all it took.

his lips caught yours in a kiss that was at first hesitant—like a question. soft and coaxing, but when you deepened it, and your hands gripped his coat. like you needed him to stay—it deepened. darkened. heat blooming beneath skin and memory.

it wasn’t sweet. it wasn’t safe. who knows if it was right. but you didn’t care.

it was the kiss of two people who knew this wasn’t right, but wanted it anyway.

his hand slid to your hair, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moved against yours, calming it. you gasped against him when his other hand found your waist, fingers curling against the fabric of your shirt. he pulled you flush against him.

your lips parted from his for a moment, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding over yours in a slow deliberate stroke that made your legs weak. your fingers gripped his coat, holding on like you didn’t trust yourself to stand.

he kissed you like he was trying to remember everything about you. take back all the missing days in between the two of you. make up for it.

and you kissed him back like you were waiting for this, for him, since the moment that he disappeared.

the air between you two was electric. your back fully pressed against the wall now, he crowded in, not quite touching beyond lips and hands. but the tension said more. the hunger levied in the inches the both of you didn’t cross yet.

you broke away first, gasping, your forehead falling lightly against his.

he didn’t move, still holding you like he wasn’t ready to let go. and he wasn’t. he was afraid of what would happen if he did. everything happening was like someone else was controlling him.

your voice was barely a breath, “you’re going to ruin me.”

his lips brushed against your cheek, then your jaw. “i already are,” he said as he smiled into your skin.

but even then, he knew—he was already ruined too.

a/n: omg im so sorry ive been gone for so long, i had finals and the got sick right after... so editing this took longer than i wanted :(

i hope it doesn't come across as confusing when i switch more to brians side of view, i really wanted to show the internal struggle he was feeling since it would really take a lot for brian to even consider being w someone mhehehe

[22ayla21]

I love ur works so much, the way u write them are so enjoyable ^^

cab I req phainon who tries so hard to court reader but ended up failing miserably (reader doesnt even notice) and just ended up blurting out a confession with the most inconvenient timing

Confession at the Most Inopportune Moment

Attempts to get her attention led to him confessing at the most inopportune moment.

Phainon was not one to give up, especially when it came to something important to him. It was one of the reasons his life had always been full of ambition and aspirations. He was never afraid to show determination, and now, when it came to the woman who had turned his whole perception of the world upside down, he had no choice but to try.

From the first day he saw her, he knew he couldn't just walk past. Her calmness, strength, and inner light drew him like a magnet. But, alas, she didn't notice him the way he wanted. She was unapproachable. Every glance, every word, every gesture with which he tried to attract her attention, elicited only indifference from her.

He tried to be mysterious, to draw her to himself, but her attention was like sand slipping through his fingers. Sometimes he caught her gaze by chance, but as soon as he took a step forward, she quickly turned away, immersed in her thoughts or conversations with others. He saw her disappear into the crowd, ignoring his existence, and every move of hers seemed to confirm that she didn't want his attention.

Every time they accidentally found themselves near each other, his heart beat faster, but she always remained calm, as if his presence didn't arouse the slightest interest in her. He tried to be clever, courteous, but her ignoring seemed to drain all his energy. She was elusive, and Phainon felt his patience running out.

Days turned into weeks, and he couldn't understand what exactly kept her at a distance. He tried to attract her attention with laughter, playful gestures, but each time he received only silence in response. Sometimes he began to doubt, maybe he was wrong? Maybe she really didn't notice him, or maybe he just wasn't interesting to her? These thoughts tormented him, but none of his efforts yielded results. He continued to hope that one day she would pay attention to him, that her heart would open before him.

He noticed how something special appeared in her eyes when she interacted with others, while he was like a shadow standing aside. It hurt him, and he didn't know how to find a way to awaken her interest. He tried to be perfect, but her cold, unchanging manner always remained unyielding. He burned himself out over these weeks and months, unable to admit that what really attracted him was not only her impeccable calmness, but also the icy barrier she erected around herself.

And then, one evening, when they were both alone and silence hung in the air, he couldn't hold back any longer. It was unbearable. Her ignoring, her invisibility to him—all of it stirred up a storm inside him. She was again occupied with some important matter, paying no attention to him.

He didn't think. He didn't know what to do. All the pain accumulated over months burst out, and he stepped forward without hesitation.

"I... I can't take it anymore, do you understand?" he said sharply, his voice full of emotions he had been hiding. She looked up, and her face, usually calm, softened for a moment, but immediately returned to its usual mask.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice devoid of curiosity or irritation. Only the usual indifference that seemed to leave no room for true emotions.

Phainon paused for a moment, realizing he couldn't pretend anymore. He saw her face, her eyes, and suddenly, unable to control his words, said what he had been holding inside.

"I can't just be a shadow in your life anymore. I love you. You... You're everything I've ever wanted. You make me forget everything when you're around, and I can't hide it anymore, even if you don't see me the way I see you. You're more important to me than I could have imagined, and I... I can't ignore it anymore."

He felt his heart freeze, and something heavy clenched inside him. He looked at her, expecting her to withdraw again. But that didn't happen.

Her eyes widened slightly. For a moment, she seemed confused. But it all passed like smoke. She sighed softly and shook her head.

"You chose the most inopportune moment for this confession, Phainon."

His face paled. He expected her to reject him, for her response to be as indifferent as ever. But her next gesture caught him off guard: she quietly approached him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I wasn't ignoring you, Phainon. I just..." her voice softened. "I was waiting for you to realize what you really want."

Only then did Phainon understand that his unconscious attraction to her was part of something much more important, something she had probably known for a long time, which he himself hadn't realized."

[cosmowgyral]

Villain's Festival 2025

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

⊹▸ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

Time passed, and the tide of battle shifted constantly.

The only thing that remained unchanged was the number of people still standing in the training ground.

All twelve members of Crown and Vogel kept fighting, not a single one falling.

Liam: Hah…!

Liam pushed off the ground, his legs bending like springs as he leapt gracefully.

He vanished mid-air using his ability—then kicked off the wall to change direction, launching a surprise attack on Darius.

Few could evade an invisible attack. And yet…

Darius: Your scent is quite distinctive… I can recognize it instantly, Liam Evans.

As if he could see him perfectly, Darius raised his cane.

A dull impact rippled through Liam’s abdomen.

Liam: gh…!?

The force of Darius’ cane broke Liam’s concentration, dispelling his ability.

Even as he rolled across the ground, Liam quickly regained his stance.

Seeing that, Darius started clapping, as if he had just witnessed a circus act.

Darius: Wow… Impressive, aren’t you?

Darius: Taking a hit mid-air and still landing so gracefully… You really are like a cat.

Liam: And you… your sense of smell is sharp, huh? Looks like I can’t rely on my ability alone now.

Liam’s eyes gleamed, like a cat ready to pounce on its prey.

Darius: You’re not giving up, huh? …Do you want to be the strongest that badly?

Liam lunged at Darius, knife in hand, his eyes full of determination.

His knife moved with fluidity and unpredictability, making it difficult to read his intent.

Darius tracked the knife with his eyes and deflected it with his cane.

Liam: Of course I want to be the strongest. Because if I become the strongest, then Kate’s….

Ring: Hah…!

Just as Liam was about to finish his sentence, Ring came at him with a slash.

Liam instinctively raised his knife to shield himself, but he couldn’t fully absorb the impact and was sent flying backward.

Ring: If you want to go after Dari, you’ll have to get through me first!

Protecting Dari—this instinct was ingrained in Ring, who had always safeguarded Vogel.

However…

Darius: Hey, Ring.

Ring: Ugh…?! *coughs*

As he tried to protect Darius, Ring took a thrust to the abdomen from his cane, causing him to gag.

Darius: This fight isn’t about Crown or Vogel… It’s about deciding who’s the strongest, isn’t it?

Darius: I want to burn the sight of the cursed ones fighting freely and fiercely into my memory.

Darius: That’s why… you don’t need to take my side, Ring.

Ring: …But

Darius: ‘But’? I wasn’t aware of this… Since when did you become smart and strong enough to talk back to me, Ring?

Ring: ….Ri-right. Sorry.

The moment Ring apologized, Jude came slashing at his back with fierce momentum.

Ring: ….gh!

Sensing the attack, Ring swung his sword backward to shield himself.

Their blades clashed, sending Jude’s sword ricocheting off in an unexpected direction.

Jude: How the hell didja pull that off? Ain’t never heard of a mutt with eyes in the back o’ its head.

Ring: Your killing intent was so intense… No way I wouldn’t notice.

Their swords clashed again, and Jude and Ring locked eyes in a tense standoff.

Darius: …Sorry about that. Our darling guard dog tends to be a bit overprotective.

With a sidelong glance at Jude and Ring, Darius turned his attention back to Liam.

Liam: About what you said to Ring earlier… couldn’t you have been a bit gentler?

Reproaching him as he spoke, Liam resumed his attack, his sharp thrust aimed straight for Darius’ heart.

Darius: I thought I was being plenty kind already.

Darius tilted his head, as if unsure what he was being blamed for, and blocked Liam’s attack with his staff.

Darius: If it bothers you that much… why not become a part of our family? Then you can meddle all you like.

Darius: You’re cursed, and that invisibility of yours is quite impressive. I’d be more than happy to have you.

Liam: …I’m not really cut out to be a part of a family.

Liam gave a wry smile at Darius’ offer.

And with a swift flip, Liam thought he had dodged Darius’ attack—but that wasn’t the case.

Liam: Huh?!

What met his eyes was Elbert darting in his direction, having moved to evade Nica’s attack.

Elbert: Ah….

In the next moment, Elbert tangled with Liam’s foot, and as he instinctively reached out, he grabbed hold of Liam, pulling him down with him.

Losing their balance, the two of them tumbled to the ground.

Elbert: I am sorry, Liam. I lost my balance while fighting Nica…

Liam: Now’s not the time to apologize! Get off me, Elbie!

As a result of their fall, Elbert had ended up practically sitting on top of Liam, pinning him to the ground.

Nica: Ahaha, what kinda fall was that? Hilarious….but don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you because of it.

Without missing a beat, Nica fired a shot at Liam and Elbert.

They quickly regained their footing, and Elbert swung his sword with lightning speed.

A sharp clang echoed as the blade met with the bullet midair.

The bullet veered off course and grazed the training hall.

Nica: ….Oh? You managed to deflect that? Your reflexes aren’t half bad.

Elbert: ….That’s not true. I just predicted where you would aim and blocked it.

Nica: Well then, think you can dodge the next one?

Nica’s gun was once again aimed at Elbert.

At that moment, his arm brushed against Darius’ shoulder as he stood nearby.

Darius: ..Nica, you might want to watch your footing.

Nica: Did you just catch a glimpse of my worst possible future?

Darius: Yeah. You’re about to make a fool of yourself.

Nica: Haha, a fool huh? I’m kinda curious to see how that’s gonna play out.

[Chapter 2] [Masterlist] [Chapter 4]

➽──────────────❥

Dari's behavior toward Ring didn’t really sit well with me. That deceptive smile paired with his intense glare definitely gives me Gilbert vibes from IkePri. And don’t even get me started on that cane—. 😆 But then again, I totally love Gilbert.

Also, we get to know that he has a sharp nose..

And at the end, when he warned Nica about his probable future with that 'watch your footing' remark, I just knew what was coming. Poor Nica. 😭💔

[fanficgirl429]

Remembering the Past (Mike Schmidt Fluff)

Prompt: Y/N and Mike are going through some of Y/N's old keepsakes and come across a piece of paper that could change everything.

Word Count: 2k

----

Y/N hesitated for a moment before turning the worn brass doorknob of her childhood bedroom. As the door creaked open, a familiar scent of aged wood and faint vanilla—her favorite candle from years ago—wafted through the air. The soft glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the floral curtains, casting golden patterns on the faded carpet.

Stepping inside, she felt an invisible thread pull her back in time. The walls, still adorned with posters of long-forgotten idols and scribbled notes from old friends, whispered stories of late-night dreams and whispered secrets. Her fingers trailed over the edge of her wooden desk, now coated in a thin layer of dust, remembering the hours she had spent scribbling in diaries, pouring out her heart onto lined pages.

But with the good came the shadows of the past. The corner by the window, where she had once curled up with a book to escape reality, also held echoes of quiet tears and muffled sobs. The closet door, slightly ajar, reminded her of the nights she had hidden away, trying to make sense of emotions too big for her young heart to hold.

Despite it all, the room embraced her like an old friend—unchanged, waiting, a tangible piece of the person she used to be.

Her parents were moving into a smaller home and had asked her to go through her bedroom and take what she wanted and trash or donate the rest. 

Her closet contained only a limited selection of clothing, most of which she chose to donate. However, an old blue sweatshirt drew her attention, prompting her to take it out and smile. It had once belonged to her best friend, Mike. She had taken it from him one evening while they were out together, and she had been anticipating his request for its return, which never came.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from the tide of memories, and she turned to see Mike leaning casually against the doorframe. His dark hair was a tousled mess, evidence that he had just rolled out of bed, and the faintest hint of sleep still lingered in his heavy-lidded eyes. In each hand, he held a coffee, the steam curling lazily into the air, filling the space with the comforting aroma of roasted beans and warmth.

For a moment, she just looked at him—at the way the morning light caught in the soft angles of his face, at the easy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Figured you might need a pick-me-up," he said, lifting one of the cups slightly in offering. His voice was still rough with sleep, the kind of sound that sent warmth curling in her chest.

Y/N took a long sip, savoring the rich taste. 

“Have you found anything exciting yet?” Mike asked, looking around her room. 

Y/N shrugged. “Not yet.��

Mike glanced over at her, recognition strewn across his face. 

“Oh my god! You took my sweatshirt. Do you know how long I looked for that?!”

Y/N laughed. “It’s about time you know that I had it!” 

“You’re the worst,” Mike said laughing. “At this point you can just keep it!”

“Don’t mind if I do!” 

The two of them sat in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the world outside filtering through the window. The warmth of the coffee lingered between them, mixing with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

After a few moments, Y/N set her cup down and shifted to her knees, reaching beneath the bed. Her fingers brushed against something solid, and she pulled out an old shoebox, its once-bright colors now faded beneath a thick layer of dust.

She ran her hands over the lid, tracing the worn edges before blowing softly on the surface. A small cloud of dust swirled into the air, and Mike immediately recoiled, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Warn me next time, would ya?" he said, letting out a small cough.

Y/N smirked, brushing off the last remnants of dust before looking up at him. "Where's the fun in that?"

Mike huffed, but his eyes flickered with curiosity as he leaned in slightly. "Alright, what’s in the time capsule?"

Y/N hesitated for just a moment before lifting the lid, revealing a small collection of keepsakes nestled inside. Time had faded some of the edges, but the memories they held were still as vivid as ever.

Right on top was a stack of old concert and movie tickets, their corners slightly bent and ink a little faded. She sifted through them with a soft smile, recognizing the names of bands and films they had seen together over the years.

Mike groaned the second he caught sight of one particular ticket stub. "Oh, come on. You forced me to sit through that three-hour musical nightmare."

Y/N laughed, holding up the evidence. "You mean the one where you swore you'd rather chew glass than watch it—only to end up humming the songs for weeks afterward?"

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "That was purely against my will. I was brainwashed."

She grinned, flipping through more of the stubs. "And this one—our first concert together. You pretended to hate it, but I distinctly remember you losing your voice from screaming the lyrics."

Mike shook his head, but there was no hiding the smirk tugging at his lips. "Selective memory, I see."

They continued sifting through the box, each stub sparking a different story, a different night filled with laughter, arguments over popcorn flavors, and inside jokes that no one else would understand. The room, once heavy with nostalgia, now buzzed with warmth and shared laughter, as if the past had never truly left them.

“What else is in here?” Mike asked as he rummaged around in the box. 

His fingers closed on a small piece of paper that had been folded multiple times. 

“What is that?” Y/N asked as Mike began to unfold the small piece of paper. 

“Patience is key,” Mike joked as he read what was written on the paper. 

Without saying a word, he handed the paper to Y/N. 

If by the time we are 27 years old and both of us are still single, we will marry each other. 

Both of their signatures were at the bottom of the paper. It was dated almost ten years ago. At the time that this had been written Y/N had feelings for Mike and secretly hoped that the two of them would still be single in the next ten years. 

Over the past years, Y/N’s feelings for Mike hadn’t changed much. If anything, they had only deepened, settling into a quiet certainty that she had never been able to shake. She had dated a few guys here and there, searching for something—or someone—that could make her feel the way Mike did. But in the end, it always came back to him. No matter how hard she tried to move on, he was the one constant in her life, the one person she always found herself wanting to be with.

Mike, however, had been through more than his fair share of hardship over the years. Losing both of his parents had changed him, forced him to grow up faster than anyone should have to. He had taken on the enormous responsibility of becoming the legal guardian of his little sister, Abby, putting her needs above his own without hesitation.

As far as Y/N knew, he had never gone out on a single date. Not once. Maybe he simply didn’t have the time, or maybe he had never let himself think about what he wanted. She wasn’t sure if he would have told her if he had been interested in someone—but she was certain that Abby would have spilled the beans in an instant. The little girl had a knack for sharing the kind of information Mike preferred to keep to himself, and if there had been anyone in his life, Y/N would have heard about it.

And yet, for all their years of friendship, for all the late nights, shared laughter, and quiet moments between them, she had never dared to ask him the one question that had lingered in the back of her mind for years: Did he ever think of her the way she thought of him?

“I completely forgot about that,” Mike said.

“Yea me too.” 

The room was quiet for a few minutes as the two of them continued to flip through the contents of the box. 

Mike placed the ticket stub he was looking at back in the box before saying, “Well I should probably go. Abby’s probably wondering where I am.”

Y/N stood up and Mike pulled her into a hug. “I’ll text you later.”

Y/N watched as Mike left her room and heard him go down the steps before leaving her house.

——

It had only been a few hours since Y/N had seen Mike but she couldn’t stop thinking about that damn promise the two of them had made ten years ago. She wanted nothing more than to be with Mike and she was going to tell him. 

Mike only lived a few blocks away and Y/N slipped on her shoes and headed out the door, calling to her parents that she would be back soon. 

When she arrived at his house, she hesitated a moment before walking inside. Abby turned around and smiled at her from the couch. 

“Hi Y/N!”

“Hi Abby. Is Mike here?”

“Yea, he’s in his room. But I have to warn you- he’s acting kinda weird.” 

Y/N nodded and made her way down the hallway to Mike’s closed door. She tapped on it gently and waited for him to respond. 

“Abby?”

Y/N opened the door a crack and said, “Nope. It’s Y/N.”

“What’s up?” 

Mike was reclining on his bed, holding his phone. Y/N removed her shoes and settled down beside him. He switched off his phone screen and placed it next to him, turning onto his side to look at her. Y/N then turned to face him.

Y/N took a deep breath, before saying what she wanted Mike to hear. “Listen…there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Is everything ok?”

“Yea. Everything is fine.” 

Nerves began to take over and Y/N sat up and turned away from her best friend. She could feel him sit up as well, his hand rested on her shoulder, putting her at ease. 

“I just…I don’t know…ok, look, it has to do with that promise that we found today…”

“Ok…” ‘

“I know that we were young when we wrote it but at the time I liked you.”

Y/N turned around to look at Mike. He looked confused. “You liked me?”

“Yea…”

“You mean, like, you like liked me?”

Y/N let out a soft laugh. “Yes Mike. I like liked you.” 

Mike’s cheeks began to turn a soft red color and he began to pick at the blanket that was on his bed. 

“And…why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because I…” Y/N sighed. “I know that over the past few years I’ve dated a few guys here and there but remember how I said I always felt like something was missing?”

“Yea- you always had a ridiculous reason why you wanted to break up those douches.”

“Those were just stupid excuses. The real reason was because none of them were you…” 

“Me?”

“Yeah you- you dumbass. I never stopped having feelings for you. Somewhere along the way I hoped that you would get jealous and finally say that you wanted to be with me but you never did, so I just continued to see other guys, hoping that my feelings for you would just disappear. But guess what? They never did!” 

Instead of waiting for an answer from Mike, Y/N stood up, grabbed her shoes and walked out of the room. She was too nervous to hear what his response was going to be. 

When she reached the living room, she sat down on the couch with Abby and slid her shoes on. 

“Y/N!” Mike called, running down the hallway. 

“She’s right here!” Abby yelled back. 

Y/N glared at Abby just as Mike came to a stop in front of her. 

“I love you,” Mike blurts out. 

“No way!” Abby said, standing up. “It’s finally happening.” 

“I’ve loved you since freshman year of high school. I love spending time with you. You make me laugh, and you’ve been with me through everything. I never said anything because I love what the two of us have and I didn’t want to ruin that,” Mike blurted out. 

Mike took a step closer to Y/N and placed his hands in hers and pulled her closer to him. His hands moved to her waist as he leaned down and placed his lips against her’s, kissing her gently. 

“Yes!” Abby cheered, making Y/ and Mike laugh. “It’s taken you two long enough.”

“Ten years to be exact,” Mike said. 

[yourname-exee]

Chapter Six: A Place Where Time Stood Still

Satosugu! reader

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9 - chapter 10 - chapter 11 - chapter 12

The air was thick with the scent of blooming cherry blossoms, petals drifting like soft whispers against the evening sky. The field stretched wide, untouched by the chaos of the outside world, a sanctuary of color and memory frozen in time. It was the only place that remained, untarnished, unchanged, a quiet pocket of the past.

And somehow, they had both found their way back here.

Satoru arrived first.

His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his coat, the ever-present hum of his Limitless a silent buzz in the air around him. He didn’t know why he had come not exactly. His feet had simply carried him, led by something deeper than thought, deeper than reason.

It had been so long since he’d set foot in this place. Since he had allowed himself to remember.

The cherry blossom tree stood at the heart of it all, its branches stretching out like open arms. He could still see it, how you had stood beneath it, nervous but smiling, as he and Suguru made a decision that had changed everything.

“Let’s stop pretending.”

“We both want you. If you’ll have us.”

“Be ours.”

He had never been nervous about many things in his life, but that moment—standing there with you, waiting for your answer—had made his heart race in a way even battle never had.

And now, standing in that same spot, the ghost of that moment wrapped around him like a second skin, he exhaled a slow, steady breath.

Then, the rustling of footsteps.

Satoru’s head lifted, his sharp blue gaze locking onto the figure stepping into the clearing.

Suguru.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The years stretched between them like an invisible battlefield, lined with wounds too deep to heal and words left unsaid.

But here, here in this place where time had once been kind to them, where laughter had been easy and love had come naturally, the silence wasn’t filled with anger or blame. It was filled with something else.

Understanding.

Because if Suguru was here too, if he had been drawn back to this place, then it wasn’t a trick of the mind. It wasn’t a cruel joke.

It was real.

They had both felt it.

Your cursed energy.

“…You felt it too.” Suguru’s voice was steady, but there was something in his eyes, something that mirrored the ache in Satoru’s chest.

Satoru swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

They stood there for a long moment, the petals dancing around them, the wind carrying unspoken emotions between them.

If you were out there if there was even a chance you were waiting for them to find you.

Neither of them was willing to let you slip away again.

Tags: @sarcasticbitchsblog @sleepykittyenergy @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @perqbeth