sleeplessangelsgame - Tumblr blog

[sleeplessangelsgame]

chinhands 😌 how would the ROs react to being referred to as my little meow meow by their beloved 😌

😌 Chaos, as it should be.

Abel: He finds it strange, but a little amusing, too. He asks what it means but still doesn’t really get it. It doesn’t bother him, not exactly, but he likes to be called other things by the Seeker.

Aris: Completely unamused. They don’t give the Seeker the satisfaction of responding to that, and they glare at anyone foolish enough to repeat it around them. Briar picks it up, of course, though Aris’s glare is less deadly when it’s aimed her way.

Cal: They get it immediately, and it spirals into a whole different language. A constellation of little references that seem odd to anyone around the two of them. Cal personally likes to quote the ‘Miette’ meme when Seeker calls them that then tries to get them to do something: You KICK Cal? You make Cal do the dishes? Oh!! Jail for beloved!!

Delvalle: Doesn’t get it, but doesn’t really care. Theo finds it mildly amusing, if only because he is considered the deadliest monster in this city and yet he’s called ‘meow meow’ by his own vampire. Mercy only shakes her head and lets this phase run its course. Keeping up with young trends is too difficult, at times.

Midas: Like Cal, she understands it, but she doesn’t launch into a full meme reference language. It takes time, though, because one night they’re both lying in bed and Midas will whisper, “Tired, my poor meow meow?” and it will send the Seeker into hysterics.

[sleeplessangelsgame]

73 and cal mayhaps 😌

Ah yes 😌 We love the ‘right person, wrong time’ trope in this house.

73. “Amazing how quickly the past becomes idyllic.”

“You still have that?” Cal says.

My heart thumps painfully in my chest at the sound of his voice. A younger version of myself would have given everything to hear it again. The person I am now has given everything, but I am old enough to know that having Cal in my life again doesn’t dull the edge of the hurt. It merely blossoms into something else entirely.

“Yeah,” I say. In the undercurrent of that weighty word is something far grimmer: it’s the last thing I had of you, so I held on to it too tightly, fierce enough to bruise.

With gentle fingers, I slide the book back into its place on the bookshelf. Moving in with Cal felt like a waltz without music, a dance without steps. Fumbling on the uncertain ground but trudging on regardless. It was so much simpler to study the spines of the books in front of me rather than Cal’s expression. I adjusted the straight rows with fluttering hands, wiping away imaginary dust with my fingertips.

The distraction does not work. It never has, not when it came to the both of us. Cal quietly moves to step up beside me, his warmth and his presence sending nervous butterflies quivering in the pit of my stomach. We spend a long moment in silence, breathing in sync, my meager collection of books exposed before us.

“Did you read it?” Cal finally asks, his voice soft. He doesn’t reach out to take my hand, and I’m torn between the ache of longing and the rush of gratefulness. We stand on solid ground and stumble off-kilter. Still trying to find our balance after the years, the distance forged because of the towering height of the lies. The tears are still fresh, and in my most desperate moments, I wonder if they will ever dry up and vanish into nothingness. Or if I am doomed to a drowning death, far from land, far from help.

“A little,” I admit.

He reaches out and pulls the book from its place, and I finally dare to look at his face. The expression there takes my breath and holds it; the softness around the edges of his dark eyes, the delighted little smile touching the corners of his gentle mouth. It’s an expression of reverence, a chasm of fondness.

“I wondered for a long time,” Cal says quietly, running his fingers over the pristine cover, “if you had kept it. If it was worth keeping. Sometimes the past can be more… idyllic as a memory.”

I watch Cal as he openly admires the cover of his favorite collection of Arabic poems, the one he had left behind when he moved to Wayfare. By the time his mother had let me into his room, there had been nothing left except a bare mattress and empty drawers.

Only this book remained, tucked underneath his bed, where he knew I would look. When we were young, there had been countless nights where we would curl up together on his bed, the sheets twisted around us, his soft voice humming in a language I didn’t know as he read aloud. His first love confessions, spoken in the dead of night, were left underneath his bed when he vanished beyond my reach.

My chest tightens with the surge of memories, a sea of turbulent emotions churning in my gut. In the warmth of the afternoon sunlight, amongst the cardboard boxes of our new apartment that still need to be unpacked and organized, Caleb Kassab looks ethereal. Divine in the way he breathes, a stray dark curl falling into his eyes that he doesn’t bother to wipe away. He’s mortal in the way that counts - he bleeds and he cries and he fails in his own judgment - but he lingers in the back of my mind with the presence of an old god. His memory had served as a moral compass and a destination for the lost, wandering version of myself.

“It was,” I say. “It is worth keeping.”

And so are you, is what I don’t say, but Cal turns to me and smiles as bright as the sun as if I had confessed it, and I bask in the warmth of it. 

[sleeplessangelsgame]

if the ROs were in an orpheus/eurydice situation, would they look back or make it out without looking?

I answered this a while back for my Discord, but I never shared it here! So enjoy 😌I love this trope.

Abel wouldn’t look back, but it would be a long, long journey. He would ask the Seeker questions and get disheartened when they don’t answer. He barely makes it, and he still feels like he’s in a dream when the Seeker throws their arms around him in celebration. He’s never heard of the Divide having mercy, but giving him back his love is a delicate, sacred thing.

Aris doesn’t make it. It’s the doubt that kills them: why would the Ascendant follow Aris? They’re merely a protector, not a guide. Ascendant is the one that saves shapeshifters, and Aris is the one that failed them by letting the Divide claim them. The bond between them is quiet, too, and Aris is rattling with doubts and fears until they can no longer bear it. They turn around, meet their Ascendant's shocked eyes, and they feel that bond between them snap and dissolve into nothingness. When the Ascendant vanishes, they take half of Aris with them, and it tears Aris apart.

Cal spends the entire time in agonized, silent doubt. They’ve betrayed the Seeker once with their ambition. They spend the entire time thinking about the last time they left the Seeker, when they were young and blinded, and they almost reach the end before they halt in their tracks, hesitant. They beg the Seeker to tell them that they’re still there, that they’re following. Silence answers. For the longest moment, they wait with bated breath, their own heartbeat roaring in their ears. They turn around.

Delvalle walks quickly, says nothing. It would hurt them more to ask a question and hear nothing back. Their sharpened senses can’t pick up the sound of their Seeker’s footsteps, and that is something they never had to live without since meeting them. Their Seeker is not quiet: they still breathe when they get emotional, they can’t hide the whisper of their footsteps, and they are one of the few people stubborn enough to argue with Delvalle. Yet Delvalle trusts them more than any other being in their entire history. They reach the surface and they don’t stop until they hear the telltale whisper of footsteps. Then, it is safe, and Delvalle wraps them in an embrace tight enough to knock their air from their lungs.

Midas spends the entire time murmuring to herself. In their mind, they’re disassembling a car engine, part by part, naming every component. It’s a trick she hasn’t used since childhood, because she hasn’t been this scared in a long, long time. They would tear apart the world to get their Seeker back, as fierce as a raging tempest, but all the anger and fear drains from her the moment she reaches the surface and senses them behind her, alive. It takes a long time before her hands stop shaking.

[sleeplessangelsgame]

taking this from the server so!! Happy Valentine’s Day! What would the ROs ideal Valentine’s Day be w their SO? 😤🥺

Happy Valentine's Day! Let’s share the love from the server. 😤

Abel: He rarely has a day off; between his sermons and meetings he doesn’t usually have a whole day to dedicate to his beloved. Today is an exception, though. He likes to surprise them: their favorite meal, a comforting movie or tv show, a lazy kissing session where he can properly worship the way they smile and breathe and live. Abel takes the day to appreciate them, and he takes it very seriously.

Aris: It’s one of the few holidays that they seem to notice. Their parents have a tradition of buying them little candy hearts - ironic that a werewolf shapeshifter doesn’t particularly like chocolate, but it’s true - and so they extend the same gift to their SO. Little treats throughout the day, over and over, and if they get a kiss and thanks in return? The steady composure they’re so well known for will falter and fade into a flush. Their SO deserves it, though, so Aris will bear the sheepish nerves with a soft, “Anything for you, moonlight.”

Cal: They’re a floral manipulator: this holiday was made for them. That being said… they forget. There are simply too many orders to work through and using their abilities to keep the flowers fresh and fragrant drains their energy and tires them out. They make it home to their love and simply slump into their waiting arms with a tired mumble before they drift off to sleep. Cal feels horribly guilty when they wake up and remember, though, and they insist on spending the next few weeks pampering their love beyond reason. It’s less of atonement, really, and more like Cal is taking a breath and appreciating the wonder that’s by their side.

Delvalle: Days blur for Delvalle, but even they notice the flowers appearing around the meeting rooms and hallways, the bowls of candy left out with red and pink wrappings. They watch their SO for a sign of how they feel: if their SO looks longingly at the flowers for a second too long, Delvalle has a bouquet hand-cut and handpicked for them. They arrange a dinner (quiet or not, depending on their SO of course, because Delvalle is caught in their orbit and will make no move to escape it) and when they’re finally alone, Delvalle whispers to them in every language they know. I love you, I trust you, I am so thankful for you.

Midas: She’s thrown off-kilter by holidays. They never had the same intimacy that they do now, and she had to work hard to deserve and accept what she has. So there’s some fumbling as they organize a modest bouquet and give their SO a metal ring forged with her own hands. There’s some anxiety when she straightens and holds out her gifts, feeling bitterly exposed and helplessly hopeful. They’re still shocked that her gifts are accepted without ridicule or spite. They can’t stop smiling for weeks afterward; it feels good to be loved like this.

[sleeplessangelsgame]

✏️ +

❨18❩ ❛ Run away. Quick. And remember how much I love you. ❜

And

❨234❩ ❛ I examined my own heart. And there you were. Never, I fear, to be removed. ❜

For Delvalle please? 😭💔

I went with Mercy for this prompt, since their personalities shine so differently! They both have their own way of saying ‘I love you’, and this is Mercy’s. :)

The first wolf finds me with my back braced against the wall and blood spilling from my hands.

It’s nearly impossible to hear the sound of claws clicking against the linoleum over the rushing of my pulse clamoring in my ears. I used to think vampires were fearless, heartless creatures. Until I met Delvalle. Until I became a vampire myself, and all of my fears sharpened into fierce thorns instead of vanishing.

The bite marks on my hands - ragged trails over the edges of my knuckles and the soft skin of my palms, from where I had tried to fend away snapping teeth and failed - sting like needles when I curl my hands into fists. I have to ignore every desperate instinct that screams for me to run. It’s a lingering human emotion. It’s a weakness, and right now I cannot be weak, or else I will die.

The wolf lunges, dark eyes flashing under the harsh fluorescent lights, pink-tinged foam lining the edges of its snarl. It will kill me. It wants to kill me.

I don’t let myself think beyond that. It feels like I’m watching a stranger move my limbs, a marionette twisting to grab the wolf by the neck and yanking to the side. I barely feel the fur against my bare arms or the stinging of my wounds.

I feel nothing at all.

A harsh series of cracks explodes into sudden silence, my adrenaline ringing in my ears. I open my arms and let the beast crumble to the floor, its broken neck twisting unnaturally, my blood staining the fur around its throat. Even as its body slumps to the floor, I stare at it for any sense of movement, any sign of life.

One ragged breath, then another, and then I’m satisfied that it’s dead. It’s a corrupt pleasure; I killed with my bare hands, and yet I survived. I swipe my blood-slick hands on my thighs to clean them. I try not to think about how the wounds are deeper now from clenching my fists, the skin split and running red down my knuckles, and they might scar.

The sound of my name echoes from further down the hallway and captures my attention quickly, stilling the frantic pounding of my pulse. I know that voice.

I steady myself to step around the wolf’s body; I can’t bring myself to step over it, even as it sprawls across the floor and I have to brush against the wall to escape around it. It takes more effort to resist the urge to look behind me, to check that I’m not being stalked by the same creature I killed, but I manage to make it halfway down the long, lonely hallway before the double doors to the emergency stairwell open with a sharp bang.

This time my first instinct is to tense up, my hands forming fists tight enough to pale the split skin across my knuckles. Through the haze of panic, I recognize the scent of my own blood blossoming in the air and the sharp tang of copper of another vampire’s blood creeping in.

I let out a sharp gasp of relief. “Delvalle?”

It’s her, without a doubt. She doesn’t wait for the doors to close behind her or give me a chance to move: within one breath and the next, she’s within arm’s length, her hands gripping my shoulders tight enough to bruise. The pressure doesn’t register, it merely grounds me.

“You’re hurt,” she says tightly, searching my face for any sign of a lie. “Is it only your hands?”

The pain is a distant ghost, and I shake my head. No, I can still fight. The wounds can’t kill me before I make it to a safe haven.

Still, she drops her attention to my hands, her own sliding down my shoulders and my bare arms to gently take them for inspection. Her touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. I don’t follow her gaze down to my bleeding hands.

Instead, I watch her face shift from concern to cold, forced composure.

“There’s more,” she says lowly. A warning, even as we both hear the gleeful howls of wolves rampaging through the floors below us, predators catching the scent of their prey. They know we’re here, but we still have a few precious seconds before they truly arrive. Delvalle’s hands are warm where she clasps my wrist.

“You must run,” she tells me. She pulls her gaze from my hands to meet my eyes, and I can see the anger there. The hatred is smoldering in the darkness of her irises, blazing as violently as wildfire. Yet her touch is gentle when she reaches up to adjust the clasp of my black cloak - the one that bears her mark - and she smooths the fabric over my shoulders carefully.

It feels like she’s adjusting my battle armor. Preparing me for war.

“What about you?” I blurt out. It’s a foolish thing to worry about. Mercedes Delvalle has ended far more lives than I could ever comprehend. She’s the monster of the city, the legend told to scare children into submission.

And yet… I do not want to leave without her. I am afraid, despite being a vampire.

Delvalle, as always, doesn’t scold or ridicule me for it. Her steely expression never falters, but there’s a burning warmth in her gaze when it meets mine.

“I can’t follow you,” she says, and it sounds uncomfortably close to goodbye.

The fear in my chest grows fiercer. “Why?”

“They’ll hunt you.” Her mouth sets into a grim line. When she reaches out to check if the clasp of my cloak is secure, her lithe fingers brushing against my throat and leaving sparks in its wake, I lean into the touch. “If you’re quick, they won’t have the chance to follow.”

I don’t have to ask why. The answer is in her eyes when they meet mine: I will kill them all for what they have done.

“You can come with me,” I try, but Delvalle shakes her head. Her fingers are still curled around my cloak as if she’s keeping me with her anyway, but the grip is loose enough for me to escape. I step closer instead, and she lets me.

“You will be fine, Dreamer,” she says softly. “You carry me with you, understand?”

And, with dawning horror, I do understand. It’s a reassurance and a confession, hopelessly intertwined with one another.

“I’m with you,” I manage to say. I trust you, I follow you, I love you. None of those thoughts escape past the lump in my throat.

Delvalle smiles at me, and then she lets me go.

[sleeplessangelsgame]

Hello! Are you still writing prompts? If it's not too much trouble, can I request "pin" for Aristeo? Thank you! ❤️

This has been in my drafts for a while, but I love this prompt!  ❤️

“Again,” Aris said. It took every shred of remaining dignity in my body not to glare at him.

“It’s been three and a half hours,” I replied, every word cutting between gasps for air. “I’m Ascendant, not fucking - ”

Aris moved, almost too quick to catch, and I barely managed to roll out of the way, just out of reach of his grasp. I let out a sharp growl of frustration, and all the pain and exhaustion ran together into a fine pinpoint. The adrenaline melted away the discomfort and crafted it into blissful numbness, and I launched my attack.

Aris, as always, was ready for me. He wrapped his fingers around my right wrist, tight enough to almost hurt, and tried to force me to my knees. He wanted me to surrender. The blood rushing through my ears muffled my growl of pain, so far beyond concern when compared to the bone-deep fury swallowing my instincts in hellfire. The logical part of me, bound by humanity, was merely a whisper that haunted the back of my mind.

My other hand swung upon instinct, the heel of my palm smashing against Aris’s nose and forcing him to release me, blood pouring down his chin. The sharp tang of copper filling the fair ignited every other sense, drowning out any shred of humanity still lingering within me.

I was tired, bruised, and my opponent had tried to force me to surrender. Spilling blood only made me more hungry for the violence of it all.

I didn’t even think; I took advantage of Aris’s shock, and I brought my elbow up, smashing it across their temple with all of my supernatural might.

Aris stumbled, and then he fell.

And the panic lanced through me, killing the wild monster that claimed my every movement. Exhaustion and pain tumbled over my shoulders, but I only felt dread digging into my shoulders, clutching me in an iron vice.

In all our years, Aris had never fallen to me before.

“Aris?” I said, my voice pitched with mounting panic. I fell to my knees at his side, my hands hovering just over his body, hesitant. “Aris!”

I had spent half of my childhood in the pack, and most of it getting patched up in the pack’s modest clinic. I knew how to stitch a wound in a straight line and blend specific plants for their healing properties. Kneeling beside Aris in the dirt erased every lesson from my mind; all I could see was the blood staining the front of his training clothes, pitch dark red, and all I could hear was the pained wheeze in his breathing.

I had hurt him.

“Fine,” Aris finally muttered, his eyes still closed. His hand reached over and rested on my knee, an unspoken comfort while he tried to catch his breath and tame it. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” I managed to say. “And you’re on the ground.”

And I thought I killed you.

It was a stupid thought - Aris must be one of the strongest werewolves in the world, and far too stubborn to die - but the panic from watching him fall was still fresh enough that the back of my throat burned with unshed tears.

The worst part was that Aris, bound to me in a way words couldn’t describe, knew it, too. He gently squeezed my thigh, steadying his breathing before pushing himself up into a sitting position.

“Are you insane?” I demanded, my voice tight, pushing firmly at his shoulder until he slowly laid back down. “You could have a concussion.”

“I’ll survive,” Aris insisted. Yet he didn’t move; whether it was out of pain or simply to humor my impending tears, I didn’t know. “It took you long enough.”

My brow furrowed. “What?”

“The Alpha expected you to best me in combat by the time you were eighteen,” Aris said. Blood stained his mouth and jaw thickly, but I didn’t miss the subtle twitch of the corner of his mouth. Was he hiding a smile at a time like this? I was still suffering the dramatic fall from my adrenaline high, and I stared down at Aris, my face impassive.

I knew that Weaver had his expectations. His whims were no secret: he thought I was something far more powerful than I actually was. Yet assuming I would hurt Aris enough to knock him unconscious? It was a cruel thing to expect me to do, and it was even more horrifying to know that I had actually done it.

I sprang to my feet, feeling all the horror and anger running together, twisting into a tempered beast. Aris watched me carefully, still laying on the ground by my feet, and that only served to make me angrier.

“Glad to see you’re enjoying this,” I snapped. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I shook my head, too furious and hurt to summon the words to express it all. It was one thing if Weaver thought I was a pawn, and it was another if Aris did. When had I let the line of Enforcer and friend muddle together until I couldn’t see the truth anymore?

“Leave me alone,” I finally managed to say, my tone venomous, and I escaped before Aris could even sit up, the image of my elbow smashing him into the ground playing over and over again, a torturous loop of reality.

[sleeplessangelsgame]

send me a ✐ for a random sentence starter from my muse (1-1500) — tw: profanity, mild nsfw, long list

generator here quotes compiled from here inspired by

feel free to change to fit your preferences as need.

Keep reading

[sleeplessangelsgame]

Oh my god aris-- AUTHOR WHAT HAVE YOU DONE I'M HEAD OVER HILLS FOR THEM NOW THAT CHEST PROMPT IS JUST TO GOOD I CAN'T

[sleeplessangelsgame]

Prompts company and tender for Delvalle pls? 😍 I love these so much.

I got way too carried away with this prompt, so enjoy! Delvalle is one of my favorite ROs. 🥺

The first monster that found me was the same one who scarred me.

Seeing Delvalle step onto the balcony was a hollow relief. This high up - nearly eighty dizzying stories - the lights of the street couldn’t reach us. Darkness swathed our little Eden in familiar affection.

Delvalle wore darkness well; it was dyed into their clothes and shining in their fathomless black eyes. It clung to their presence faithfully, so much so that if I wasn’t a vampire, I wouldn’t have even noticed that they arrived.

Until the faintest ruffle of fabric sounded, the cuff of their long sleeve clipping the embroidered hem of their cloak. I didn’t greet them, not even when they settled against the railing next to me. They crossed their forearms and leaned their full weight against the metal, staring out into the distant mountains where the wolves roamed in violent delight. I kept my eyes firmly on the streets below. At times, just like the ones as unfamiliar as this one, Delvalle felt just as unreachable - and dangerous - as the mountains.

“I heard you,” I said. “Before you tried to throw me a pitiful bone.”

Delvalle made a soft ‘hmm’ of acknowledgement. I took that without comment and focused on the pedestrians below. This far up, I couldn’t make out much detail even with my sharpened senses

The swishing dark fabric fluttering behind each pinprick on the street was a dead giveaway: only vampires wore cloaks in this city. They traveled in packs of three or four or six, which betrayed them as younger members. They hadn’t had time to make enemies, to fear the people around them.

They hadn’t yet lost their last shred of humanity, like sand slipping through fumbling fingers.

Next to me, Delvalle was quiet. Out of the corner of my eye, in fleeting glances, I watched them, too. They were motionless, but that was what I expected. Delvalle didn’t fidget and betray their feelings. When Delvalle was awake, they were poised on the brink of war: watchful, solemn, and deceptive.

They weren’t called the Beast of Anselm for nothing.

At that bitter thought, I turned my attention back to the wayward crowds below. How distant they felt, and how dangerous they were all the same.

“Dreamer,” Delvalle said. It wasn’t gentle or comforting. It was steady, though, and that was more than enough to send a jolt through my veins.

I tilted my head in acknowledgment, and they seemed to hesitate.

“Do not get yourself killed,” they finally said. “I cannot lose two vampires within a week of each other.”

My throat tightened. “You really think Blue is dead?”

“I think,” Delvalle said plainly, “you should not trust anyone.”

“Not even you?”

“Never me, Dreamer.”

I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I didn’t. I simply let my gaze travel below, my thoughts tumbling into a fierce tempest. I wondered how Delvalle could say something like that - not to trust them with my death, my sister, and my everlasting eternity - when they contradicted it just a sentence sooner.

Despite ourselves, I was Delvalle’s vampire: I had their seal embroidered on the breast of my cloak in black thread, a badge of allegiance so very few could wield.

As my silence brewed, caught in the tangled web of my own mortal emotions, Delvalle slid their hand across the railing, the edge of their fingers briefly brushing against mine before they pulled away completely from the railing. It was so quick, my heart barely had time to skip a traitorous beat.

Their last words rang like a siren’s song in the back of my mind - Never me, Dreamer - and before I could stop myself, I reached out and snagged the edge of their cloak.

They paused mid-step, hesitated, then turned to face me. In the half-shadow, I caught the faintest flicker of regret cross their face before it faded back into solemn composure. My eyes were mistaken, surely, because Delvalle did not have enough of a soul to regret the monster they made of me.

If they did, they would have killed me when I was still a fledgling, too pained and weak to defend myself. Or even now, when a sudden push over the edge of the railing would extinguish my immortality as fast as blowing out a matchstick.

“You never answered my question,” I said suddenly. I hadn’t realized that was what I intended to ask until it came tumbling from my mouth. Delvalle’s expression didn’t change, so I added grimly, “Blue. You think they’re dead, don’t you?”

If they had any indication as to if Blue was alive, Delvalle would have been out looking on every street in Los Despiertos, traveling the Wayfare Distinct and beyond, a daunting shadow haunting every avenue. Instead, they were here with me, that shadow of grief hanging over our heads like an executioner's blade.

“Blue would not be the first vampire to die in this city,” Delvalle finally said, their dark gaze settling on my face, searching. “They would never be the last. Your hope will kill you, Dreamer, and I do not want to be the one to witness it.”

“Why?” I demanded, anger surging to life in the pit of my chest, fierce and bloodthirsty. I stepped closer, my fingers curling tighter into the fabric of their cloak until my knuckles paled. Delvalle didn’t move, still watching with steely eyes, so damnable in their stoic demeanor.

“Why do you think they’re dead?” I repeated. “What do you know? Why aren’t you trying hard enough to find them?”

Delvalle’s eyes were pitch dark, unreadable. Then, “Instinct is a formidable state. I do not have the words for it, Dreamer, but that does not mean I take Blue’s fate lightly. They are my ward, just as you are. If you...”

For the briefest moment, Delvalle hesitated. Then, “If you were to die, I would know it. Even if you were across the world, beyond my reach, I would sense the loss as severely as a stake through my heart.”

Our gazes met, and I was hyper-aware of my fingers still wrapped in their cloak, our bodies just inches apart, the night breeze ruffling their dark hair gently. In the glint of moonlight, I could see the vague outline of their symbol stitched in black thread onto the breast pocket of their cloak, a mirror image of my own.

“You felt that with Blue?” I asked, far quieter now. Maybe it was the grief settling into the chambers of my aching heart. Or maybe it was the way Delvalle’s smoldering gaze threatened to pull me apart, atom by atom, the pair of us shrouded in that starving darkness far above a vicious city. So far from the rest of the world, so far from anyone who could witness us.

“I felt pain,” Delvalle said. “And then nothing at all.”

I considered that for a moment, then released Delvalle with a sigh. Perhaps this was their way of telling me Blue was gone forever, and that aching hope would only strangle me. I would always be hunting, seeking a truth that never relented.

The desolation must have shown on my face, or perhaps Delvalle simply knew me better than what I chose to show, because they suddenly leaned in and pressed a whisper of a kiss to my temple, pulling back before I could respond, stunned to silence.

“Do not get yourself killed,” Delvalle told me, their voice tight with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “Keep your head down, Dreamer, before it is far too late to regret it.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Delvalle was already gone, taking all the warmth with them, leaving me shivering on the balcony with a sinking dread threatening to overwhelm me.

[sleeplessangelsgame]

Prompts: dressed and console for Cal pls? 💗

This turned in a different direction than I originally intended, but hopefully it isn’t too bad! ❤

Underneath the dazzling lights and reflections of the crystal chandelier, Cal was ethereal. The embroidery and jewels of their clothes glittered brilliantly, the deep maroon and purple fabric defining every edge of their body. Among the extravagance, Cal finally seemed to shine. Their smiles came easy as they danced with strangers as if they were old friends meeting after a lifetime.

As I watched them celebrate, I lingered on the edge of the party. I took tentative sips from my champagne flute to seem less suspicious, but even nursing the glass made me feel sick to my stomach.

Cal was leaving, and they seemed exhilarated about it. I had tried to hold out hope that we could salvage our relationship from its dying embers, but that hope crumbled and died when I noticed that Cal was wearing long sleeves. Underneath those sleeves were our entire lives together, designed by my own hands.

If Cal wanted me hidden away like I was their disgraced secret, then I would save myself the heartache and stay away. Avoiding the party itself had been impossible when everyone in the district was in attendance, and so there I was: miserable and alone in the shadow of the elegance.

Watching Cal nourished the festering hurt in the cradle of my ribs, so I took a glass of sangria from a passing waiter and settled at a nearly empty table tucked in the back.

“You look cheery,” the table’s lone occupant noted, her tone more lighthearted than the look of concern she gave me. Briar gestured to the dancefloor, where I knew Cal was dancing with a girl from our old graduating class, and I refused to look back. “Cal really ditched you for Abby Webster?”

“Abby Webster, who serves as a bloodlender in the Wayfare District,” I corrected. The bloodlenders made a killing in Wayfare for the more discreet vampires; I had only heard stories about the pulsing neon lights and dark delights of the inner city, but the glittering blood-red gown Abby was wearing on the dancefloor didn’t lie. The most dangerous creatures had the wealth, and Abby merely tasted it in exchange for signing her body away.

Like Cal had, now.

“She could be the Beast of Anselm, for all I care,” Briar said dryly. “The point is that… oh, no.”

Despite myself, I twisted to look over my shoulder and caught sight of Abby pulling Cal in for a fiery kiss, her hand cradling the back of their neck tenderly.

My heart plunged into the pit of my stomach. Briar said my name, her tone mournful on my behalf, but all I could see was Cal, their hand moving to clutch at Abby’s elbow. Not pushing her away, but holding her fast as they stood together in the middle of the dancefloor, kissing as if the world around them faded to nothing.

I stood fast, my chair scraping against the polished floor with an alarmed squeak. Cal yanked away from Abby, their gaze traveling to trace the sound…

… and I was already turning away. I pushed past Briar’s outstretched hand, ignoring her protests, and it only took a few muttered words for the crowd to thin around me, leading me right to the exit.

I burst through the doors with a bang, fighting the traitorous swell of tears in my throat. The lingering taste of champagne soured in the back of my mouth, bitter as poison. How many nights did I cry because Cal was leaving, and I thought they would miss me as much as I missed them? Too many, considering Cal had kissed Abby back.

I walked quickly through the hallway in a daze, my footsteps echoing on the tiles in aching loneliness. The walls still rattled with the muffled music and swell of conversation from the ballroom, but the sudden squeal of one of the double doors opening caught my attention.

Someone was coming, and I didn’t need them to see me crying like a child. I swiped a hand over my cheek, brushing away stray tears, and quickly ducked into the nearest bathroom. It was blissfully empty, so I leaned against the sink, my hands curling over the porcelain to steady myself. I lifted my face to check the mirror, dreading my reflection, just as the door swung open.

Panic lanced through my chest - I didn’t want to see anyone, not while I was in the throes of mourning - and then I recognized who it was.

My breath caught.

In the mirror, I saw Cal step in, looking determined before their expression relaxed at the sight of me at the sink.

“Are you okay?” They asked, relieved, crossing the room to meet me. “I saw you leave. Is it your sibling, or...”

Cal trailed off, their eyes meeting mine in the mirror. I couldn’t bear the thought of turning around and meeting them, face-to-face, but the shine of my eyes betrayed my distress.

“Hey,” Cal said softly, a hint of alarm bleeding through their tone. They frowned, stepping closer to reach for my arm, and I pulled out of reach. Cal’s hand froze mid-air, unsure, and they shot me a pained look through the mirror. “What’s the matter? Did someone say something to you?”

“Who would want to talk to me?” I said, my voice far more steady than my hands. “I’m not the one going to Wayfare and living lavishly.”

Cal’s brow furrowed. “What?”

I pulled my gaze from Cal’s, focusing on the sink I was still gripping, and forced my hands to relax. “Why are you even here, Cal?”

Why are you pretending like that kiss never happened? The words scorched the back of my mouth. As much as I wanted to blurt it out, I was also far too terrified of the answer. The kiss had already happened, regardless of how I felt. At the end of the night, it wasn’t going to be me living with them in the Wayfare District. If Cal wanted to kiss Abby every night like they used to do with me - and she seemed very willing - then what I said didn’t matter.

“You’re upset,” Cal said softly. They moved as if to come closer and I shook my head, silently denying it. Hurt fractured across their expression, but the numbness was seeping into my chest, killing any trace of sympathy. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

When I didn’t reply to that, still hovering over the sink, Cal added gently, “Also, I can’t leave before I have a dance with my favorite Manipulator.”

I closed my eyes. Abby wasn’t a Manipulator; she was human.

Cal’s fingers gently brushed against my shoulder, testing the waters, and when I didn’t pull away, they clutched my shoulder firmly, rubbing a comforting circle with their thumb. I opened my eyes and half-turned to catch their gaze. They looked worried with just a fluttering hint of hope.

A small smile graced their face as I turned around, their grip falling to clutch my elbow instead, and I took a moment to collect my words by adjusting the small crest pinned to the collar of their clothes. It was the outline of a bird taking flight, the feathers glittering in dazzling rubies in the overhead lights. It was a favor of Cal’s sponsor, and it was one more thing that divided us.

I rested a hand on their shoulder and firmly pushed them back. Cal half-stumbled, taken aback, surprise flashing across their face.

“Have fun in Wayfare,” I told them steadily. “Don’t bother writing a letter.”

Slack-jawed, Cal didn’t move as I brushed past them and escaped the bathroom, their lingering phantom touch scorching my skin.

[sleeplessangelsgame]

If you dont mind ask about the prompy you posted on the other blog how about chest with Aris ? ❤🥺👉👈

I don't mind at all! I definitely got carried away by this prompt, but I don't think anyone will mind! ❤

“Tell me you aren’t serious,” Aris said, distinctly unimpressed.

At first glance, the situation was unbelievable. The pack had close ties - every single one of the wolves shared feasts and failures in equal fervor - but this wasn’t a gala or a hunt. It was only Aris and me, and one sleeping bag. Temperatures would dip into near-freezing single-digits this high into the mountains, which didn’t leave us much choice.

“For warmth,” I insisted, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I had hoped we would grow out of this phase: the rejection of crossing the boundary line of Ascendant and protector. We couldn’t control our roles in the pack, but we could try and be familiar with each other at the very least.

Not for Aris Sarantelli, though. There was no gray area, just black and white. Ascendant and enforcer. No more, no less.

Aris still looked unconvinced, regarding the sleeping bag on the cave floor skeptically, so I added, “Unless you want to explain to the Alpha why you let me freeze to death?”

They clenched their jaw at that, hesitated, then nodded. The tense line of their shoulders didn’t ease, but acceptance was a start, at least. I could save the bonding board games for when we were safely back in the packhouse.

For a moment, we both stood there, watching one another. We were both determining who would make the first move, who would settle in, and who would have to climb in next.

When Aris didn’t even utter a breath, too tense to move, I sighed. I started kicking off my boots, shivering when my socked feet met the cold stone floor. I shed my outermost jacket and dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor next to my discarded shoes. The cold crept in like seawater, unforgiving as a riptide, and I quickly wiggled into the sleeping back.

I pushed myself into the farthest corner only to leave little free space for Aris. Despite my gesture of goodwill, it would be inevitable that we would end up side-by-side, our bodies touching.

I focused on burying my face in half of the sleeping bag’s built-in pillow, mentally shoving those thoughts into a closet, and locking the door. Aris and I touched each other often, especially in training. It was only a sleeping bag, and it was to survive.

No more, no less.

I listened to the rustle of Aris carefully toeing off their boots and pulling off their jacket - I even recognized the sound of them folding it with composed diligence - before, cautiously, they slid in next to me. I waited until they fully settled before I pulled my face free, catching the impassive expression on their face as they settled in beside me.

As they zipped up the sleeping bag, the warmth of their body swept over me immediately, chasing away the aching cold that stubbornly lingered in the tips of my fingers. I flexed the feeling back into them, sighing with relief when the numbness faded.

“I think that last mile almost gave me frostbite,” I said mildly, trying to dispel the sudden tension choking the air. Aris raised an eyebrow incredulously, deterred by my nonchalance, so I tucked my defrosted fingers under the covers to gently prod their arm. At the faintest touch, they barely repressed a flinch, and I quickly retreated.

“Goddess,” Aris frowned, and to my surprise, they reached over to take my hand in theirs. “Weren’t you wearing gloves? What were you doing?”

“Gloves?” I repeated. “Weren’t you the one that gave me the speech that gloves slowed my shifting time?”

“Your hands shift first,” they agreed, tucking my hand in both of theirs. The warmth of their palms were scorching, and it sparked an echoing flame in the pit of my stomach. Aris didn’t even seem to notice. “But you know when you’re going to shift, and your gloves are removable.”

I made a face at them. “Don’t try to explain how gloves work, Aris.”

Their expression was serious, but there was the smallest ember glittering in their eyes, lively in a way I couldn’t quite recognize. Aris Sarantelli, the prominent second-hand enforcer of the Keating werewolves and my stoic bodyguard for life, was teasing me about gloves.

“Use them, and I would have nothing to explain,” Aris replied as if it were that simple. They released my hand, and I missed that touch so fiercely that my fingers ached. I curled my fingers into a fist, killing any instinct to reach out and take their hand again, and hoped Aris couldn’t hear the faint skip in my traitorous heartbeat.

“Yes, sir,” I deadpanned. Aris quirked a brow at that, and I knew they heard it, anyway. I fumbled to cover with, “Goodnight!”

I shuffled in place and rolled over to my other side, ignoring the way Aris cleared their throat, covering what would be a laugh.

“Goodnight.”

The night faded into darkness, crawling by in long strokes. I faded in and out of sleep, restless, my inner instincts feeling trapped in the sleeping bag with Aris just as much as I felt secure in their presence. I was always told that werewolves have a delicate balance: half wild and half civil, the instincts of the wolf intricately interwoven with the intelligence of the human.

But I was wolf and mountain lion and human, and even my simple instincts were overrun with conflicting feelings.

Those thoughts kept turning in my head, over and over, and I hadn’t even realized Aris was awake until I felt the faintest press of their hand against my back, catching my attention.

I stiffened, and their hand retreated instantly.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“What’s wrong?” Aris murmured, ignoring my apology entirely. I swallowed and turned over again, facing them, my breath catching in my throat when I saw the look on their face. I could see near-perfectly in the dark, even in human form, and there was no mistaking the concern on their face, not when we were so close that I could feel the soft brush of their breath mingling with mine.

Aris looked like they expected an honest answer, so I shrugged, “I can’t sleep in new places. I can’t relax.”

“I’m here,” Aris said simply. I stared at them, but they didn’t seem keen to elucidate that, and so we watched each other in pitch darkness, our every emotion visible as if it were broad daylight. They couldn’t hide from my night vision just as I couldn’t hide from theirs, but nothing on their face revealed the implications of that single statement.

Aris was here, like always, but why did my heart still race like it was the very first time?

“You make it sound simple,” I finally admitted quietly. “It’s not like I want to toss and turn all night. I’m tired after walking all day but I can’t just switch my brain off.”

Aris’s expression softened. “Instincts don’t always listen to reason. Or exhaustion.”

I nodded, just once, and by the look on their face, I knew they had the same conflicting emotions I had about our sleeping arrangement. It was an advantage to be together, where we knew the other one was alive and safe, but it was just as debilitating to be so close.

“You need sleep,” Aris finally said, and I shot them an exasperated look. Hadn’t I just explained why I struggled to sleep? At my expression, they opened their arms as much as they could within the confines of the sleeping bag, inviting me closer with a silent, weighted look.

I hesitated, just for a single fleeting moment, and then I wiggled closer, tucking myself into the security of their embrace. I rested my head on their chest, their frenetic heartbeat echoing under my ear. They wrapped their arms around me, holding me tight, enveloping me in a warmth that finally, finally loosened that tightness in my spine.

I let out a soft breath, and Aris rested their chin on the crown of my head, their arms holding me fast, their heartbeat still running rampant at the closeness.

“Go to sleep,” Aris told me, their words rumbling in their chest. “I will protect you with my life.”

“You need sleep, too,” I mumbled back, my voice already heavy with sleep. My eyes slid closed while my breathing evened out, but I didn’t miss the final whisper above my head.

“I just need you to be safe.”

[sleeplessangelsgame]

I posted a prompt list on TLOTG’s page, and someone requested Abel with the prompt ‘caress’, so I figured you would all like to see it!

caress .   gently  caress  my  muse’s  face .

“Careful,” I warned him, my hands stilling on the curve of his jaw. The manipulation treading on the edge of my fingertips sizzled in anticipation, but I leveled a stern look at Abel, anyway.

It had taken some time to convince him to finally settle down, and it had taken some compromise on my part, too. We ended up on the overstuffed leather couch in his apartment, him sprawled along its cushions and me settled on the edge, just enough so I could focus on fixing the fading scar on his cheek.

He opened his eyes and met my gaze, a smoldering glint in his dark irises. I knew that look in his expression well.

“I thought you liked danger, little seeker.” It wasn’t a question, but Abel waited for response anyway, the faintest brush of his fingers against my hip making my breath catch.

“You’re playing with fire,” I told him, flicking my fingers for emphasis. “I could draw whatever I wanted on your pretty face, and then what would you do?”

Abel grinned. “Beg you to remove it. Among other things.”

“Oh? Other things?” Heat stirred in the pit of my stomach, but I managed to sound casual all the same. When I ran my fingers against the edge of his defined jaw, he swallowed hard, his hand moving to wrap around my waist. Keeping me close, perhaps, or even to lure me closer.

“Whatever you like,” he finally said. His tone dipped low, and it took all my willpower not to falter and land right in his arms. Instead, I summoned the surge of power numbing my fingertips, wiping away the healing scar on his cheek with merely a brush of my thumb.

Just like that, his face was unblemished from the sign of a fight.

“You make it sound easy,” I told him quietly.

He gave me a scorching smile that sparked a fire under my skin.

“You and me? We have the world at your fingertips.”

[sleeplessangelsgame]

Thank you for your answer to my previous ask... Eh, I guess I'll play the other WIP while waiting for this one, then! In the meantime, for SA, let's be real... I HAVE to name my MC Thorn. I mean, it's a must, because Thorn and Briar. Rose is valid too, but more fitting of a female or NB MC, and mine will be male.

Fair enough! TLOTG will definitely be completed before SA, at least, but I’m glad you’re excited to play when the demo finally drops!

I do love the name Thorn, and it’s cute that it matches with Briar! That being said, Briar is not her birth name, so I think that makes the matching a little more sweet. :) Same goes for any Seeker whose name begins with a ‘B’: you have Blue, Briar, and then the Seeker. A perfect little set!

[sleeplessangelsgame]

*slides you a 50* Delvalle/Abel/MC poly??? (Jk jk…unless? But seriously I hope you’re doing well love! :))

Oh? 👀 What an interesting idea… (jk….. unless?)

I am doing well, though, thank you! 💕

[sleeplessangelsgame]

What are the ROs favorite places TO kiss and to BE kissed? Asking for science

Oh? 👀

Abel: He likes to kiss in the places that make the Seeker gasp and beg. As for being kissed, he gets flushed when they kiss the curve of his throat, especially if its featherlight and tempting.

Aris: They like to kiss the Seeker’s collar, where their skin is soft and vulnerable, and they can hear the fluttering of Seeker’s heartbeat. For being kissed, it’s the soft spot underneath their jaw, right where their pulse jumps at the attention.

Cal: They have too much longing; they kiss the Seer on the mouth until their lips are kiss-bruised, and then some more. It’s also their favorite place to be kissed, like offering a dying man a sip of water.

Delvalle: They always give the Seeker a small kiss on the cheek, surprisingly gentle for a creature so brutal, and it always makes them smile. For being kissed, they don’t mind as long as its the Seeker.

Midas: Usually, she will kiss the Seeker on the mouth to shut them up, but otherwise she prefers to hold hands or touch them in other ways. It takes her a certain mood to be kissed, but they love a fleeting kiss on the temple no matter their mood. It’s an innocent kiss; it’s kinder.

[sleeplessangelsgame]

Your other game is on my "to play" list, and I love the idea, but wow, Sleepless Angels seems to be even more to my tastes! I LOVE the premises, I LOVE the route-exclusive ROs, and I LOVE the shapeshifter exclusive RO, which is great because I want my MC to be a shapeshifter! I can't wait to be able to play! Would you suggest me to play the other WIP before?

Hello! This ask is so sweet, I’m glad you’re as excited for SA as I am! It runs at a much different pace than TLOTG.

That being said, both games can be played independently in any order! Sleepless Angels takes place the year before TLOTG and involves some side characters, but ultimately they are different from each other in terms of plot. I hope that helps! <3

[sleeplessangelsgame]

Is it possible to ask for some Delvalle facts?

Of course! I have a soft spot for Delvalle, they were the first character concept I made for this game. :) But let’s see...

Mercy has a higher position in the city than Theo does, and she suffered a lot to get to that point.

They like cats and used to keep one in their apartment. Now the cat is retired from mouse-hunting and living with a friend. Seeker can meet the cat during Delvalle’s route!

Their route’s ‘theme song’ is Toxic by Britney Spears (and the Yael Naim cover) because of Briar’s influence