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glitchmshade · 5 days ago

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Blot!reader pt. 1

This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes.

When they all arrived in Twisted Wonderland, the reactions varied wildly; Irritation, indifference, curiosity, empathy, pity, disgust, admiration. All directed towards them—The Yuus. Not you. You didn't even seem to exist.

You aren't important. At least not enough to be a protagonist in this story all seven of them are living in.

The realization that you're alone in this world seems to hit like ice cold water dumped over your head and the chill of it creeps into your heart, freezing your veins and arteries.

You arrived the same way they did: Another world, no magic, the black carriage ride that would've seemed like a lifetime opportunity. But you aren't like the Yuus. You can't muster the determination and resolve they have to push through this unfamiliar terrain without much of a reaction. In fact, you cannot even begin to understand why none of them are upset about this.

Why? You find yourself asking over and over again and the question echoes relentlessly in your mind. Why aren't they grieving everything they've lost? Because you can't seem to stop thinking about it—Everything you've ever amounted to is gone. All your relationships, achievements, successes and lessons. Everything you've built is gone like a dream. Erased in an instant.

Hundreds—no—thousands of eyes stare at all of you. You don't have time to think about how beautiful they are. You've been stripped bare and raw of everything that ever made you you. You've been killed without ever physically dying.

As you struggle to adjust into this unfamiliar world, you can't help but admire others you share Ramshackle with. They're strong and determined, truly remarkable individuals. Charismatic and brave, they seem like the type of fictional characters the fanbase would adore—praised for the grit and unyielding stubbornness they display valiantly. Even the other students of magic descent respect them.

Sometimes you lie awake in your room—rundown and shabby, but improving. Together you're slowly transforming the dorm into something livable, maybe even inviting. During moments like these you find deep appreciation within yourself for the other seven that arrived with you. In vulnerable moments like this, they aren't companions; they're a lifeline.

Then there's you—a playground rock next to shining gems on pedestals. They reassure you that you're important. But nobody outside these croaking walls seems to believe that. The frustration builds sometimes, a tight knot in your chest just twisting and turning, and inevitably only knotting more. Curled up on the creaky floor, clutching your hair while staring wide-eyed at a single spot as if that floorboard specifically caused all of this. Tears don't seem to come; instead, you sit there, taking deep, shuddering breaths, lost in a sea of thoughts that you're drowning in.

Why? Why are you treated like a Ramshackle ghost—or even less? You all share the same origin, the same story of loss and these faux "New beginnings", so what makes you so different, so unappealing that nobody seems to want to spare more time than polite? Is it because of the fear that grips your heart? Its clutch is tight and cold, holding you to this new world full of threats hidden behind the guise of beautiful and new magic you didn't have back home.

The mesmerizing people that wield such pretty magic can control bodies while leaving consciousness intact—or the opposite. The idea of someone with malicious intent having that power over you is a chilling nightmare. You cannot simply compete for your own safety.

The inhabitants of Twisted Wonderland are simply stronger. Not just the fae, mers, or beastpeople, but even the humans. Their bodies are resilient, able to shrug off low-level magic that would leave you bloody or bruised.

At times you wonder why exactly nobody seems to care enough to remember you and there are moments when you find yourself gazing in the mirror, only met with an unfamiliar face. The reflection you're met with isn't quite yours—it's something darker, something hollow. A shadow, endless and consuming, its eyes locking with yours with an unnerving intensity. That smile, twisted in ways that were once pretty, no longer feels like it belongs on your face.

It's almost as you though you're looking at an echo of yourself, a distorted version that somehow feels both foreign and familiar, comforting in its familiarity but unsettling in its wrongness.

You blink, and the reflection moves. Just a slight shift, a creeping inch closer to the glass, closer than where you stand in reality. Your heart leaps into your throat, panic surging through you as you back away, tearing yourself from the bathroom and your own gaze. You slam the door behind you, leaning against its cold, worn surface. But even as the chill presses against your skin, it does nothing to calm the racing of your heart. The sleep deprivation is wearing you thin, and the hallucinations are becoming harder to ignore, more frequent, more real.

Ace's eyes narrow as you attempt to make small talk in the Ramshackle kitchen. He's friends with all the Yuus and quite close with them all. Deuce lingers somewhere nearby and you can hear his footsteps clomping around as he chases Grim. A soundtrack you've grown familiar with over time.

"—so yeah. He totally shrugged us off. Said we weren't 'big kid' enough to know what was going on." Ace rants, throwing his arms up in exasperation before running a hand through shaggy locks, his scarlet eyes met your own briefly before he continued rambling about something that had happened today in physed. His words swirl around you, filled with the day's energy, yet never fully reaching.

You always liked when the Adeuce duo visited. They were really only here for the others and you knew it, of course. If you remain in your room when they visit, neither boy will seek you out. They only included you in their escapades when you're right there—an afterthought. It felt cruel, like an unspoken rule of polite indifference. Nobody hated you, you just weren't important.

Deuce poked his face into the room, offering a polite wave as he rummaged through the fridge for a snack before leaning against the counter as he watched you make lunch. His expression is thoughtful and only vaguely curious.

"You don't really do anything, do you?" The words slipped out like a quiet curiosity that cut deeper than he likely intended. It's not a jab, just a question. Maybe that makes it hurt more. You felt like a rarely regarded lamp in a corner, the bulb long burned out, the shade dusty and untouched, and a soft light no longer emit from it.

You awkwardly muster a smile and try to respond—to list a reason you're worth more attention than you receive, but your voice falters. Before you can say a word, Grim streaks across the table, scattering papers and bunching up the cheap cloth. One paw hits Ace in the face and Deuce barely manages to avoid a fall with the creature darting between his legs.

Both boys shoot up, laughter and curses ringing out through the dorm as they chase Grim out of the room. You're left in the quiet, the emptiness settling over you like dust—suffocating and dull. The buzz of the kitchen light hums in the silence, a low, monotonous sound that only seems to heighten the irritation building inside. It's the kind of anger that feels pointless, but it consumes you anyway, making you feel unbearably stagnant.

Your eyes are locked on the tiles beneath your feet, the stark off-whiteness almost glaring under the dim light. You stare so intensely that your eyes begin to sting, but you can't bring yourself to look away. Something feels off, something is off.

And then, it hits you. Your oldest companion—the one constant presence you could always count on—has abandoned you. Your shadow is gone. For a fleeting moment, you feel exposed, like the absence of it leaves you vulnerable. You almost want to reach out, to search for it, but there's nothing there. The realization leaves you with a cold, sinking feeling, and the silence suddenly feels oppressive.

Your gaze pulls away from the tiles, heart racing, trying to dismiss the unsettling feeling. Turning back to the counter, you expect to regain a semblance of calm. But as you do, something catches your eye—your shadow is cast strangely, distorted in a way you don't recall. Paranoia gnaws at you, the question unanswered. Was it always like this? You couldn't even remember.

Before you could process it any further, you hear Yuuken's voice, calling you from down the hall, asking for help with the renovations.

Engaging with anyone here was an uphill battle—woundingly difficult. The conversations seem one sided, his interest always fleeting as if there's nothing about you that's all that interesting. You're invisible. Once again, feeling like a ghost, a nameless background character in a story you were pasted into, into a story that you weren't even supposed to be dragged into.

What cuts deeper like a blade into the fat layer is the reality that you're not just standing idle. You're there in the overblots, fighting every battle as if you were qualified despite being dastardly unfit for this work. Fighting just as fiercely for people who don't even dare to acknowledge your existence for longer than necessary. You've pulled people to safety, pushed others out of the way of dangerous attacks and when it's all over you're tending to the injured, soothing the boy whose overblotted until he comes to. Yet when he wakes his eyes are darting for someone else.

All you want—all you need—is a simple acknowledgement. A thanks.

Yuu is injured but so are you. "What about me?" The words slip out before you can stop them

"What about you?" He repeats as his eyes rake over your crumpled form; battered and broken.

His voice is distant, edged with a vague obligation of care or pity. "You're hurt. Staff and paramedics will be here soon. Stay put." You would've felt your heart swell to feel any sort of acknowledgement and being withdrawn from your lonely bubble but he goes ahead and says that to everyone else and the hope sputters out and fades away. Are you merely another faceless voice in the crowd?

But he's beside Yuuka and her friends, thanking them tending to the others, offering words of comfort and appreciation and a hot surge of jealousy envelops you for only a fleeting moment before it cools almost immediately. It's not Yuu's fault. She's stumbling over words, eyes darting between you and him, desperately trying to redirect all the praise.

"They helped a lot too. Don't worry about me. Please—they took a lot of hits for the team—" her voice is rushed, earnest. She sees you. She knows.

But you're numb. The words wash over you, leaving you staring blankly. Your focus sharpens as you watch him, the indifference cutting deeper than any wound from battle.

It's not Yuu's fault, you think, the realization like a blade. And it's not mine either.

Your eyes harden, the simmering negativity solidifying into something darker—hatred for this world and its unforgiving, selective gaze.

The Blot's words wrapped around you like velvet, warm and inviting. Each word a whisper, and just beyond your comprehension. It spoke in a language too rich, too layered for you to fully grasp, yet you found yourself managing a nod and agreeing to flowery promises barely understood.

Home seems too far now, a vague dream you once had a long time ago that's memories grow dim within your worn mind. Crowley's so-called "research" moves at a snail's pace, each reassurance vague and hollow with no weight behind it. They have housewardens, heirs, socialites, all silently pining to have them by their side in the end. The others have people who want them here.

When graduation comes, you know you'll be alone. No citizenship, no comforting embrace after a long day, no government papers to properly own a home, and no magic to shield you.

A higher education was beyond your reach without the proper credentials. You could aim for a trade but no reputable company would hire a ghost in the system without insurance. Shadier paths were on the table for you but you didn't want to hurt innocent people and you weren't ready to die. Not yet.

"You promise?" The words rasped from your throat, a fragile plea to the pitch-black figure—it smiles.

Snowflakes gathered on your broken body, frostbite gnawed at your fingertips and toes. The cold seeped deep, pressing kisses to your very bone marrow. The results of the accident are chilling, your body numb and your mind blocking the pain out.

"You'd accept even if I won't, darling." It purred, voice dripping with amusement and leaning over your mangled body. Once again you looked like broken porcelain. Doll carnage—too pretty to die in its eyes.

"You're going to die in that stupid uniform." It reminds with a melodious laugh escaping it, crouching so unseen eyes met yours and the empty gaze felt cold like a harpoon through your skull.

A response doesn't form just yet, instead your words linger on time quickly slipping away. "You'll make me live?"

"You make it sound like a punishment."

"It could be."

Its grin only widened. "I'll make you thrive—I'll sponsor you. Only to test magicless bodies, of course. You're soaked with hatred, my dove—enough to feed me for centuries and I just might be able to use all that to give you some fancy powers," The Blot chimed and waves it's hands around with a lighthearted laugh as if you're not mangled and dying right now.

You muster a nod and your vision is blurring quickly, adrenaline settling in as your blood pumped quickly to get you up, away from the charming danger you'd shake hands with if your body was capable of movement.

"I've waited too long.." It murmured softly, a hint of cruel reverence sends a shiver runs down your spine as the Blot's presence looms closer, its hands—tender, almost too tender—brush away strands of hair from your face, as if trying to soothe the tension there. Your body trembles under the weight of its touch, that impossible softness juxtaposed with the suffocating darkness that clings to it. The Blot's dark hands reach for you, wrapping around your shoulder and back to prop you up, not in malice but in something more unsettling, as though its cradling you like something fragile, something it fears may break at the breeze.

It laughs, a low, melodious sound, "Even a worm will turn," it murmurs under its breath, the words curling into your mind, buzzing like static. You can't focus on anything other than the overwhelming presence of it, the heat of its breath a nearly welcome sensation against the stinging snow, slowly burying you.

It'd been a few days since the accident—now you walk the halls, your feet knowing the path subconsciously as your eyes linger on the jewelry again, the weight of it palpable on your finger. The design is intricate, just as you'd always admired—luxurious without tipping over into excess, a perfect balance of elegance. But it's the stone at its center that pulls at you, black as the void. It swallows light, reflecting nothing but its own cold depth, as if it has its own consciousness. You feel it almost stare back at you.

A scoff slips past your lips, quiet but bitter. On your left ring finger... really? The symbolism is unmistakable, painfully so. The left ring finger—a spot traditionally reserved for unions of love, a mark that binds two hearts together. But for you, it's a symbol of something far more suffocating. This ring doesn't speak of affection or choice. It speaks of a contract. A binding agreement you were coerced into on the brink of death.

You'd like to think that in a normal situation you would've denied it but a voice in the back of your consciousness rejects that. You know you would have taken the deal.

Yuuta's voice comes from behind, cutting through the weight of your thoughts. You don't flinch, but his sudden presence forces you back into reality. His usual smile is present, though there's something different in his eyes today—a worry you can't quite ignore.

"Hey! You walk fast-" He pants, falling into step beside you. "Doing anything for lunch? Me and the others are... honestly really worried about you. Ever since you came back a few days ago from that night-blizzard-walk.. you've been off." His voice drops slightly as he tilts his head to try and meet your gaze.

It's hard to resist his pleading look. Yuuta has a way of being both persistent and comforting, and something about him makes you swallow your usual refusal. You nod, even though you'd planned to stay alone, to work through your thoughts—thoughts about the Blot, the contract, and the strange shift in the world since you'd returned.

Sighing inwardly, you follow him to the familiar table. As you lower yourself onto the bench, your thoughts still scattered, the sound of something unpleasant catches you off guard—a soft, squishy noise. You frown, reaching down to find a purple whoopie cushion beneath you.

Before you can say anything, Ace's laughter rings out, easily cutting through the table's chatter. "I told you it'd work! They're always in their own world, seriously."

Epel's high-five to Ace is audible, and you can almost feel their amusement. Deuce, on the other hand, shoots Ace a disapproving look. "A whoopie cushion? What are you, twelve?"

Ace chuckles, standing and grabbing the whoopie cushion from your hands before glancing back at the others, a mischievous grin still present on his face. "Firstly, I saw you laugh too, and hey, what can I say? I'm a guy who appreciates the classics." His crimson eyes flick to you, and before you can even process it, he taps the cushion gently on your head a few times. "Real spacey lately, huh?"

The words hang in the air, and for a split second, you freeze. Spacey. They're speaking first. They're acknowledging you first. After everything, after how invisible you've felt... now they decide to reach out?

Anger grows in your chest but you quickly suppress it. Your fingers instinctively brush the blot ring on your finger, feeling its cold weight. Thrive. The Blot's promise. The smile and soft words is the only thing you can offer right now, even if it feels a little too forced, too foreign on your face.

"Have I been?" You ask, the words coming out light and easygoing. "It's difficult to sleep in a rickety, haunted dorm. You and the others should sleepover more. I like the background noise."

It wasn't a full lie. You did feel less lonely when they visited, but the feeling only increased tenfold when you could hear everyone downstairs while you remained forgotten in your room. Still, you left the invitation open.

Just you wait. You thought, your smile dimming as Ace returned to his spot and the conversation flowed, your earlier anxieties and insecurities nulled by the ring thanks to the contract.

You'll ease yourself into their lives, each thread slipping through the spaces between them, invisible but vital. Not just the ones at the table, but everyone you've fought for, the ones who've forgotten you, the ones who've never seen you or bothered to try. You'll become a part of them so intertwined that they'll find it impossible to live without seeing you in every aspect of their days and nights.

In time, you'll make sure of it. You'll be everywhere—in their laughter, in their sorrows, in the smallest moments, the ones they think they can forget. They'll breathe you in without even realizing, and soon, every part of their lives will have a thread of you running through it. You'll be their lifeline.

part two

srry if its not the cute, comforting lovestory you were expecting lol

I'm sorta leaving it on an open end here to keep you all guessing ig lol. I can probably write separate minifics or whatever for this au I made or drabbles or maybe even a second chapter if anyone wants.

I wrote this in November and am posting it now so that was my procrastination ig

I've been sitting on this idea with no motivation to write it for probably two years so spare with me if it doesn't make sense or it's no good.

First time writing for tumblr and I haven't written outside of my notes app in a long time lol

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