merakiui

[merakiui]

just watched episode 97 of hxh and oooooo so many delicious moments. \(//∇//)\ i’m no better than a starved dog.

✧ feitan fighting. no words for this because i had to pick my jaw off the ground after witnessing pain packer. OTL

✧ shirtless feitan. 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

✧ phinks giving shizuku his coat thing so she could cover up. 🥺🥺 we love you, phinks. <3

✧ shalnark and feitan teasing phinks LOLL. feitan’s “girly girl.” hehehe

✧ SHIRTLESS FEITAN!!!!!!

✧ the ending still with machi and nobunaga looking at KURAPIKA ON THE TV??????? MY BOYFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!

✧ shirtless. feitan.

✧ this beautiful face:

[merakiui]

Hiiii Mera! I need your juice idea for overblot malleus

👉👈😖 just imagining malleus hella overprotective and just a big ole meanie because he won't let you go because if you go he'll just have to put more people asleep and keep you longer. Oo~! And maybe because of his overblot his dragon side comes more out and he sees you as his mate and he just has to claim you every way possible 👉👈 what are your thoughts????

What I love about Malleus, ob or not, is how pouty he can be. >w< imagine arguing with him that you want just a little more freedom. What is there for him to worry about anyway? The entire island is asleep. All you're asking for is the permission to take a walk. You won't go far and he can even accompany you. Oh, but that's simply asking far too much. Malleus gives you this expression: >:( whenever you try to build a case for yourself (which is probably a very valid case). Isn't it better for you to stay here, right at his side, where he can watch over and protect you? A king's duty and all that.

Aaaaa and his dragon instincts coming out during his overblot!!!!!! YES!!!!!! Malleus is a gentle lover at heart. He would never do anything to hurt you because he loves you and knows humans are far more fragile than the fae. Thus, he aims to bring you happiness and peace always. Although sometimes it really does frustrate him when you're so insistent on going outside. He's such a huffy dragon. His tail will wrap around your waist and he'll yank you right back down to rest on the hoard he's started building since putting the island to sleep. And if you continue to pitch a fit and argue he'll simply use his magic to force you to sleep. You'll rest off all those silly notions and when he allows you to wake hopefully you'll be more reasonable.

Sex is filled with so much love (obsession), but then I think there's a part of it that's done solely for the act of claiming. He holds you down like he's worried you'll turn to dust if he doesn't have a solid grasp ony your hips. He'll worship you and your wonderful body. He's a softie, treating you so patiently and gently. But then he also can't help losing himself in the thought that he's taking you; you're his; only he's permitted to fuck you and claim you over and over. You really do get hung up over the most trivial things, though. It's cute. He can't help but find it endearing to see you getting so flustered. No one is here to see or hear, and even if they were he'd stop that at once to give you the privacy you desire. So you needn't fret. :)

[merakiui]

bodyguard kurapika is one thing but have you considered boss kurapika ?

It was revealed in the manga that Kurapika's rank has skyrocketed as he became part of the zodiacs, they're like one of the highest rank in the hunters association.

Though they still do their duties as hunters of their respective specialties and right now, he's really in an intense battle in this assignment and possibly close to his goal of obtaining the rest of the eyes

Boss Kurapika……. 🤤

I’ve heard some stuff about the succession arc from a coworker of mine. Apparently he’s also looking after a baby????? But omg I’m cheering for him!!!!! Soon, he’ll have the rest of the eyes and then he can start restoring his clan with me hehe (not delusion at all). ٩( ᐛ )و but omg,,, sex in the altar room where he keeps all the scarlet eyes……. do you see the vision!!!!!!! And introducing you to his clan,,,,,,, I’m so sick!!!!! AAAAAAAA KURAPIKAAAAAAAA. OTL OTL OTL

Boss Kurapika who teaches you nen maybe,,,,,, but there’s an underlying sexual tension. He’s yearning throughout it all. No need for power imbalance when he’s treating you like you’re more than his secretary or pupil learning nen under his tutelage.

Omg but also,,,, modern office au. <3 boss Kurapika and you’re visiting from a rival company (your boss is Chrollo hehe). The rivals to lovers plot……… >:) steamy hate sex in the back of his car!!!!!!!!!

[merakiui]

okay but consider, you and another survivor are hiding from the killer. you're crammed in a tight little space together and all the sudden he starts teasing your tight little space. you're begging him to stop touching you like that, you can't keep quiet and the killer might find you. and then he asks "why would i stop now when i've already found you? :)"

RAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! FLOYB FLOYB FLOYB FLOB MOMENT!!!!!!!

Ohhhhh he's so eerily good at being patient (when he's in the mood to be) and has restrained himself all this time, playing the part of an innocent survivor,,,, you're so cute, blindly putting your trust in him because he's strong and can protect you. Crammed together in this tight space and you're completely unaware that the killer is right here, pressed up against you, knuckle-deep in your warm, tight hole. And your face is buried in his shirt as you gasp and pant, beg him to stop because you don't want the killer to hear. Shrimpy's so funny.

Ooooo the gross, slimy grin that spreads on his lips, revealing those dangerously sharp teeth of his. "Whaddaya mean, Shrimpy?" And when he asks that next question, your tight space only tightens even more around his fingers. From fear and arousal, two potent feelings. You can't run even if you wanted to. He's got you stuck right where he wants you. Oh, but don't cry. :( it's no fun if Shrimpy cries. He'll lick all those tears away, so be good and don't be scared. He'll be nice and gentle to you, treat you so sweetly. His Mama always did teach him to be good to those he loves. :)

Floyd softly shushing you as he stretches you out, rubs his cock between your slick thighs, bullies his way inside. You're forced on him anyways because any sort of struggle just brings you right back against him, trapped in this confined space, pinned on his cock while he fucks you like you're nothing but a doll.

You and him are going to have lots and lots of fun together, he promises, his gleeful voice high and nasally. Maybe he'll even introduce his new plaything to his brother. That'll be exciting~

[merakiui]

Hello.

I'm a fanfic writer as well and omg... I'm wondering what moticates u to write becuz I SWEAR... writing fanfics feel like a chore recently.

(I'm just wondering since I kinda look up to you)

Hi hiii, fellow fic writer!!! *\(^o^)/*

I completely understand that feeling. Usually when I feel that way it's a sign of encroaching writer's block, which is never fun. But then it's also very normal for that to happen from time to time, especially if you're in a writer's block or simply lacking the energy/motivation/inspiration to write.

I've found a lot of my motivation stems from various things like listening to music while writing or even just daydreaming about a particular scene/character. Also making music playlists or mood boards for the story!! That really helps my motivation because it makes me even more excited to write. Although there's also nothing wrong with stopping a current project and trying something else if it's just not working. It's not good to simply force your way through a fic if it feels like a chore. Sometimes taking a few days or weeks away from it gives you the opportunity to revisit it with fresh eyes and a fresh mind come time later.

Also,,, the idea of finishing a fic motivates me as well as response from readers. (❀´ ˘ `❀) just knowing that someone will take the time to read my story is incredibly motivating.

But sometimes there are times when I just,,, abandon a fic simply because it isn't working or I don't have the motivation to see it through. It's very normal to feel that way!!! ( ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ )

Overall, I hope some of this can be helpful. orz I wish you all the best with your writing, anon!!!! You've got this!!!!

[merakiui]

OMG MERA U LIKE SHAIAPOUF TOO? girl ur so based 😩🙏

HEHEHE >:) I DO!!!! His design is so pretty. <3 thank you to the Chimera Ant Queen for creating such a beautiful guy!!!! I’ve yet to officially meet him in the show, so my only knowledge of what he’s like comes from this video here:

T_T this guy is so silly omg,,, I don’t know who the king is??? He hasn’t been birthed yet,,, but maybe I’ll understand once I see him.

ANYWAYS!!! Currently, my faves include Kurapika (number one, the love of my life!!!!!!!), Feitan, Shalnark, Pakunoda, Shizuku, and this butterfly ant guy (Shaiapouf). OH!!! And I thought Bisky was so cool in the Greed Island arc. >w< she’s awesome!!! :D

[merakiui]

chimera ant arc has given me a new blond to obsess over while i miss my beloved bf kurapika.

[merakiui]

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer. 

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely, 

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions. 

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all. 

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune. 

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup. 

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses. 

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled. 

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

[merakiui]

Monster Skully or Azul + Hunting down Pregnant!Darling in an apocalypse bc darling is Pregnant with their child-

One night darling was alone and vulnerable, decided to sing or dance bc if they are gonna die might as well go out with a bang, but ended up just enticing their Monster and instead of killing her they claim her as their own and make love

Darling thinks it is all a dream when they wake up and return to trying to survive only to find out weeks later they are pregnant and the monster that has been hunting them (and maybe their survival party) bc they think the humans stole their mate and child.

They need to protect their darling! She has their love inside her! Why cant she understand that?

Thank you for the new brain worm 🪱

- Nerd Anon

YES YESSSS OMG!! It’s almost like a spooky parallel of the Disney concept of Princess who sings and attracts her Prince/animal friends. In this case, it’s monsters. >:) oooo eldritch abomination Skully who looks terrifying, but he’s really just a big sweetheart who is hopelessly obsessed with you. <3 he wants to smooch you all over, especially on your tummy because that’s where the little love resides. >w< so it hurts his heart immensely when you run from the dark cave he was keeping you in. :( and then you’re with humans!!! And you smell like them, too. >:( it makes him so angry and jealous. You should be with him! You’re his love, after all. It’s his offspring you’re carrying.

When he finds you and you finally get a good look at the tall monstrosity that’s been hunting you, you’re afraid this is it. You’re going to die. You can’t run anymore. You’ve fallen and twisted your ankle. And ohhh Skully’s so sad. He didn’t mean to frighten you and then make you hurt your leg. :< he was just so happy to finally meet you again after so long. He wants to smother you in his love!!! You’re so cute. But first he should take care of you because you’re hurt and he can’t have his dear mate ailing when he’s around!

But then it is also cute to imagine this big monster, who you think is seconds away from killing you, just leaning in to nudge your baby bump. A clawed finger gently prodding it. It’s amazing… you’re so amazing… he’s in awe. Waaaa Skully feeling so soft because the two of you did that. Proof of your (one-sided) love is right there inside you!!! He’s so ecstatic!! :D

Also something something he eats you out because the space between your legs smells really enticing, but that’s a rambling for another time hehehe.

In monster tako’s case, I imagine you’ve got eggs and it’s such a chore having to carry this big clutch around. T^T ooohhh but once you’re in Azul’s care you won’t have to worry about that. He’ll keep you cradled in his tentacles, one supporting your gravid belly always. Another stuffed up inside you to keep the eggs properly moist and healthy with some strange, viscous fluid you can’t begin to describe. But it makes your brain hazy and you can’t think of much but the heightened sensations of sex, so maybe it’s not so bad after all. :)

[merakiui]

Hello mera :)

Have a nice day (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ (totally NOT screaming over this)

SEVERN……….. 👁️ 👁️

I need you to know I opened your message while at a volleyball game and had to control my lustful heart because OOOOOOOOHHH POLY ANGELS!!!!!!! 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 needless to say, I am (s)creaming over them just as much as you are!!!!!!!! \(//∇//)\

They’re so fine!!!! I need them to be pathetic, whiny, bratty bottoms. >:) spoiled brats who cry like losers when you won’t just give yourself to them so easily. Make them work for it!!!! It’s my own thought,, but I like to imagine Polyester is more bottom than Polyurethane……… either way, they’re both freaks. Type of losers to be like “aren’t you so blessed, getting fucked by holy dick?” But then you milk them dry until they’re begging for mercy, so really who’s the blessed one now? They talk a big game… troublesome brats!!!

[merakiui]

this isn't a thought, more so that i know with confidence that trey gets turned on by the strangest things. or maybe they're not so unusual because this is trey clover, nrc's most "normal" big brother. T_T (spoiler: he's a freak.)

type of guy to want to use your (period) blood in baking. type of guy to cum just from something like size difference or if you say he's too big and can't take all of him. just the tip, you'll cry because it hurts, and he's creaming because godddd what do you mean this is all you can take? and he's talking you through it because you can take more, he knows you can, all while you're caged between his arms. OTL

also he probably loves and hates it that you view him as a big brother figure. on one hand, yum!!! the imbalance in that dynamic. he loves it when you, inexperienced and seeking help, come to him whenever you're troubled. ohhh, how easy it is to have an in with you because of that. you can trust him with anything. :) the worst he'll do is just tease you a bit (and then get off to it later hehe). but then he also hates it because now he's confined in a role that will never surpass platonic appreciation. but maybe that's what makes it kind of hot. it's such a complicated tangle of feelings for him.

and when you smile!!!! he's not a pervert, but sometimes he just can't help fantasizing about stuffing his cock down your throat and watching you choke. >_< it's so mean, he knows. he's not a bully either. but sometimes... it's just so hard to not think about it. and don't even get him started on the eroticism of food. stray cream on your cheek, the way you peel and eat your banana, or even just seeing you with a toothbrush in your mouth when you spend nights over at heartslabyul. he wants nothing more than to put his fingers in your mouth and feel your teeth, memorize each of their grooves.......

there's so much i can yap about regarding him. he's just so,, delicious.

[merakiui]

riddle…. T_T my poor scrunkly… are you okay? i know that had to have hurt immensely,,,

but also it’s very funny to realize a guy as organized as riddle could have something like this happen to him. i thought, there’s no way, surely he has a shelf to put the books instead of stacking them beneath the lamp. but then i remembered his bedroom. ^^;;; this guy has no more space for books. he’d probably stash books in his closet if he could.

[merakiui]

What are we feeling about riddle's sleepwear card 🫣

Lust. (☆_☆)

I can’t describe it, but his sleepwear remind me of a vintage biscuit tin……… :0 only rather than sewing materials being there instead of a sweet treat (a trick), this time there’s actually a treat to be had!!!!!!! >:)

WAAAA HE’S SO CUTE!!!!!! My heart can’t take it,,,, and his expression?!?!?!? 😵‍💫 I’m losing my mind. His bed has that canopy to it as well,,,,, he could just unfasten the curtains and close you inside for even more sensual privacy!!! Boyfriend Riddle thoughts……….. his first ever relationship and he’s so sweetly awkward. Growing into his feelings and slowly but surely getting more confident over time. In the beginning, he was too embarrassed to even entertain the thought of sleeping next to you in the same bed. >_< but now he’ll happily pull you closer, even wrapping you up in his robe. <3 clingy Housewarden ridooooooo!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺

Oh,,, or even using the robe as a means of slyly claiming you as his!!! Anyone in Heartslabyul who doesn’t yet realize you’re taken will understand once they see you coming down in the Housewarden’s robe on more and more mornings. “Nice robe. Do they make it for losers?” Ace will try to joke, only to feel the fiery presence of Riddle right behind him. He smiles ominously, arms folded across his chest: “Why, yes, Ace. Yes, they do.”

Spoiler: the loser is Ace; he’s put on rose-painting duty as punishment LOL. Something about breaking the most important rule of all: never talk ill of the queen’s beloved king. Which is such a scam (Ace’s words) because who gave Riddle the power to just make up rules whenever you’re concerned? So not fair!!! But when you’re Heartslabyul’s Housewarden, you’re basically the law so,,,,,,, read it and weep, Trappola. ;p

[merakiui]

Did you see Riddle's sleep wear card??? He's so cute! Look at hiiiim! He eepy!

He’s so pretty and cute and omggggg!!!!! OTL

And the little smirk he’s giving the camera??? Is this a Riddle who is staying up all night with us…….. or is this the smirk of “it’s funny you think you’re exempt from bedtime just because you’re sleeping over.” T_T his robe looks so soft and cozy!!!!! Oh, to wear it for myself. <3

[merakiui]

hehe hi i've been reading you for a while,, it's quite funny actually since i made a new tumblr account (which means new following, etc) and i found you for your twst posts ! but the funny part is that i realized on my old acc i actually followed you before for your genshin content. ive been rereading your fics and reading your new ones and i just wanted to say that i love your writing and works from characters you write over time from scaramouche to the leech twins and then even seeing you write recently about kurapika ♡ you write so well and you're dark fics are the best

(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ love your work <3

( •͈૦•͈ ) omg you’ve been here since my Genshin works???? You’ve earned a medal of appreciation for that because AAAAAA that’s so long!!!!! Thank you for sticking with me since then. :D I’m very flattered you’re still here and that you enjoy my writing, the characters I write for, and my dark fics!!!! I’m cooking something delicious for Kurapika (my latest obsession hehe), so I hope I can do his character justice!!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

I’ve been lurking in the Kurapika tag for days. I’m hungry for him,,,,, orz it’s really not good for my heart. He’s too perfect. (๑⃙⃘´༥`๑⃙⃘)

IN ANY CASE!!!! I’m smooching you for all the support, sweet anon~~~ 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 MWAH MWAH MWAH!!!!

[merakiui]

pls Meraaaa… give us some DRU crumbles…. us DRU fans are starving…. *zombie noises*

>w< hehehe some DRU crumbles coming right up~~

Something I think is very horrific is the ways in which Jade looks at you. Just,,, how disturbing it must be to know he wasn't ogling you for sexual or perverted reasons. He was looking at you like how a predator tracks its prey, like a man starved, like someone admiring a photo of a delicious meal. There were likely times in which he was so close to just,,,, biting you, sinking his teeth in to taste you. Or maybe even killing and feasting on you raw. >_< always having to tamp down his ravenous instincts because patience. Patience is what will pay off in the end.

I like to think Jade's played out your death in his head countless times. When you crossed the street with him, he imagined pushing you into the oncoming traffic. When you'd have dinner with Azul and he was brought along for the evening, he'd eye the sloppy way you carved into your slab of steak. And sometimes he'd picture you there on the plate, the blade sawing through that pretty neck of yours.

You are the most careless cautious person he's ever met, and it's so amusing that you seem to find genuine friendship in him. For being so wishy-washy with your relationships, you certainly place a great deal of trust in him. :) the worst part about all of this is that he doesn't have any ulterior motives or a particular reason for doing this. He's just hungry. And coyly he'll joke that a person isn't truly themselves when their stomach is empty. You may think he's insane, but isn't this just the food chain at work? If anything, if you had to live your whole life craving one thing, never truly feeling full, unable to find comfort in the safe and legal alternatives, wouldn't you do anything in your power to have it? Wouldn't you hunger for it just as monstrously if it was always out of your grasp?

Sometimes his points are so logical that even you find yourself agreeing. But then you force yourself to remember what this "thing" he craves is, and suddenly you're not so sympathetic anymore. ;;;

[merakiui]

My favourite is Polyester, hbu?

I’m obsessed with both of them, those spoiled angel brats!!!!! OTL their theme is a banger and their transformation sequence is so delicious. >:D Polyurethane gives me top vibes and Polyester screams bottom, but then maybe they’re both whiny loser bottoms. All bark and zero bite. I was not expecting them to be so built, though. 👁️ 👁️

I had to look really closely, but Polyester actually looks softer than Polyurethane!!!! He has a plusher ass while Polyurethane seems more sculpted/toned. <3 I’m drooling over both of them.