#fate's grim tales

[apollohears]

DEMO. ( TBD ) ✸ ROMANCES. ✸ PLAYLISTS.

last updated: coming soon !

Step into the shadows of Day of Dusk, a mesmerizing blend of dark fantasy, horror, and romance. Drawing inspiration from the chilling folklore of the Brothers Grimm and the adrenaline-fueled film "Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters," this interactive novel beckons you into a world where mysteries lurk in every corner and romance dances with danger.

In Day of Dusk, the line between magic and malevolence blurs, and you, the main protagonist, hold the key to unraveling its secrets. Will you dare to navigate the twisted paths where witches, witch hunters, and supernatural entities collide?

The choice is yours, but be warned: in the shadows of dusk, nothing is as it seems.

In the heart of a medieval fantasy realm lies "Day of Dusk," a tale woven with threads of mystery and the macabre. Journey alongside a band of young mercenaries, masters of the dark art of witch hunting, as they navigate a world teeming with secrets and shadows.

Their journey begins in the tainted township of Ruel-Mizu, where whispers of many vanished children echo through the fog-choked streets. Tasked with unraveling this enigma, your group treads a path fraught with peril and the weight of history's darkest deeds.

As you delve deeper into the town's grim past, you'll confront not only witches of formidable power but also otherworldly entities lurking in the shadows. Along the way, unexpected allies may emerge, and the bonds of friendship may blossom into something more.

Yet every choice carries weight in this twisted tale of power and love. Betrayal lurks around every corner, and the line between ally and enemy blurs in the gloom. Will you sacrifice everything for the truth, side with who you least expect it, save the town for good or succumb to the allure of forbidden romance?

In "Day of Dusk," the fate of worlds hangs in the balance, and only you hold the key to unlocking its secrets.

How far will you go to uncover the truth?

This game is a work of fiction; content warnings include, but are not limited to, graphic death, depictions of blood and gore, medieval violence, body horror, explicit language, depression, suicide, references to assault, grooming, mental and physical abuse, sexually suggestive themes, and drug and alcohol use. This story is intended for mature +17 audiences; reader discretion is advised.

STORY FEATURES :

Step into the shoes of a diverse protagonist, embracing your identity as male, female, non-binary, or anywhere along the gender spectrum. Explore the rich tapestry of human sexuality, navigating relationships and attractions as a gay, straight, bisexual, asexual, or aromantic individual. Your journey is uniquely yours, shaped by your experiences and choices as you carve out your place in the world.

Embark on a journey of discovery and connection as you navigate the complex web of relationships in a world filled with intrigue and danger. In the end, it is through these connections—friendships forged in fire, love born from adversity—that you might find the true meaning of your existence and the strength to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

Have your name written in history tales to come, become a hero beacon of hope, or become a feared figure among the community.

Confide in the unrevealed troubles that settle the mysterious past of your royal company's path to break tradition—or steal the heir's power to the throne for your own.

Learn the dark truth about the horrors that lie concealing just how far some would go to great lengths in order to create life.

Forge the future of a community and companions lives with the supporting changes and challenges schemed upon you and all of those who you know or love.

THE RO CHARACTERS :

Each love interest will have their own route which you will get to choose from at the end of the common route. The four romance options in this game depend purely on the readers preference which include: a man, a woman, one you can choose between their presenting gender and a ç̸̤̞̟̏̀̄̔̚r̷̛̟͕͙̼͚̼̓̒̑͝͠ͅy̷̛͉̭͙̿̒̆̈́́͊͗̅̈̀p̶̟͎̩̩͕̭̀̍̅́͛̚ţ̵̺̬̭̪͂̊̑̋̽̚͝͝ì̴̠̪͊͐̿͊̽̍͘͜͝͠c̴̗͉̭̖͕͕̐̔̾̂͘͝ͅ ̴͓͉͚͔̬͓̩̜͒̂͋́b̶̘̽̔̃̀͂̒̕͝e̷̡̡̫̮̹̻̰̺̖͋̿͂̀͑̈́̌̕̚͝ì̵͚̤͗ͅn̸̫̎̋́ǧ̶̡̳̥̾̚ͅ.̵̧̛̩̯̹̦̊̎̈́̕͝

Silas/Sophia Amon — the needling best friend and a member of your witch hunting team. Forge a deeper friendship and uncover the true meaning of loyalty with your brash yet devoted childhood best friend, whose charming demeanor hides on top of another layer of emotion.

"I'll be the bad guy if it means keeping us alive. Someone has to make the tough calls around here."

Pavlos Norlenbourne  — the neglected forsaken naive royal with a roaring secret. Draw close to a haunted prince, haunted by the shadows of his tragic upbringing, and unravel the mysteries that surround him as you delve into the depths of his troubled soul. 

"In a world where power is everything, I'm just a pretty pawn in their game. But I'll make my own moves, carve my own path."

Annette Meadowcroft — the obsessive poet with a firing spirit who refuses to be tamed. Uncover the hidden depths of a secret poet, whose words hold the key to unlocking the secrets of the heart. Join her on a journey of self-discovery as she seeks to break free from the constraints of society and embrace the beauty of the world around her.

"The ink flows from my pen like a river of defiance, writing my own narrative in a world that seeks to silence women like me."

Rune — the callow knight who isn't very fond of small talk with a foreboding origin. Dare to tread the path of a cryptic made being, grappling with questions of identity and purpose as they navigate a world that sees them as little more than a weapon. 

"If you have the audacity to think that I am some sorrowful god, then the pain of my fraud in human appearance will be all the more agonizing."

Depending on your play style, you have the ability to create, shape and destroy numerous familial, romantic, platonic, professional and community relationships with a full cast of characters whose genders and personalities vary. 

✸ Dedicated to all the hopeless romance and fantasy fans who are too engrossed in their books to talk and too shy to write, to my momanager Kass, who always likes to keep things real.

[lavenderslabyrinth]

A Sacrificial Game

King!Dragon x Reader

Masterlist

This is my first post since deciding to kick off this new account. It’s rewritten from an old story I had posted on here long ago once upon a time. I hope you enjoy~

CW: ♢ Mention of Near Drowning ♢ Blood/Injury ♢ Abduction ♢

The coos of morning doves and the gentle brushing of branches against your bedroom window were quickly drowned out by the boisterous laughter and squabbling of your many siblings. Your attempt at trying to drown them out via the trusty quilt-over-head technique was quickly plundered as they burst through your sacred doorway. With energy only children can manage to conjure from the depths of hell at 8 in the morning, they jostled you around roughly, stealing away the comforting warmth you'd had. Surely, you'd thought, this was an act of merciless torture. Your skin prickled with goosebumps and, irritably, you managed to croak out a yip. "Ow! Off!" Your anger did nothing more than make them giggle as they lightly bruised you with their rough play. "Lemme sleep, dammit! Off! Get off!" Taking evident joy out of your misery, the damn gremlins only gave you a round of smug looks. They did relent, however it was truthfully only to avoid your flailing swats at their heads. “Momma said we ain’t eatin’ breakfast till you get up. So get up lazy" A chorus of agreements and more jostling only drew a strong eye roll from you. But, nevertheless, you shooed them off and sat up, groggily rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Normally they'd just eat without you, leaving the leftovers warmed in the oven to be picked at by whoever passed by, but today was a special occasion. It was your birthday. Normally birthdays were happy events full of gifts, smiles, and all things merry-making-- but this one was different. While the younger whelps scurried off to the old wooden table, none the wiser to the fate that you now had to face, a heavy weight hung over the heads of the adults in the house. The thickness of the air palpable as you stepped into the kitchen and saw the grim look on your mother's face.

The saying goes that a starving savage is less likely to ravage your home if you give it a single meal-- and such began the gruesome, superstitious tradition... Once a year, one unlucky village that bordered the human kingdom would be chosen to place the names of all it's unmarried, of-age residents into a box and perform a drawing. Whichever sorry soul was picked would be ripped away from their homes by the temple, never to be seen again. The nobility liked to call it one of the "highest of all honors" a commoner could receive. The common people? You call it human sacrifice.

At least, most of your people do. Despite that being so, the vast majority of the population feared the very notion of abandoning the ritual. Why? Because the entire purpose was to "sate the otherfolk's thirst for human blood." One sacrifice, one year free from their wrath.

Your skin crawled at the very idea of it all as you leant down, clumsy hands tying up the laces of your worn leather boots.

As a child, you believed every word that hung off of the elders' tongues down near the pub. The fascination and wonder of another terrifying world outside the kingdom's tall, stone walls ignited your naive little heart. But with age, it grew evident to you that they were no more than simple old widows and drunkards with nothing better to do with their remaining time than talk stories and scare little children with tall tales. How were you supposed to believe beasts, much less entire civilizations of them, would be satisfied by the blood of one person if they truly wanted to attack a meager village, much less an entire country? Who decided they even wanted that blood? It was an argument you’d tried to raise countless times with your village council only to have it shot down with a simple “Well the Chosen never return, do they?” It pissed you off to no end. It didn't even take two wrinkles in the brain to conclude that it was more likely the animals of the woods, the elements-- or worse, other humans that caused the sacrificed to meet their demise; but no point you made would ever change their stone cold hearts.

And as though your age wasn't enough to make this birthday sour, the drawing was to be held this evening. The irony of someone losing their life on the day of your birth was palpable. Taking your usual chair at the kitchen table, you noticed the way two of your brothers squabbled over the last roll. With spiteful retaliation, you plucked it from between them taking a slow, mocking bite right in front of their faces. Maybe next time they'd think twice before ganging up to practically assault you out of bed.

"(y/n)?" Your head snapped up to attention, meeting your father's gaze. "How are you feeling?" You swallowed the fluffy bread quickly shooting a quiet reply. "I'm alright. Would feel a little better if you guys would stop lookin at me like I'm headed to the gallows." The laugh you were awarded from him was dry, but it eased some of the tension in his weathered shoulders nonetheless.

"I suppose it is a bit stuffy in here for a birthday, huh?" Your mother piped up sheepishly, wiping her hands on the dishtowel that hung from a belt on her hip. "Say, why don't you go visit Alikar? Trade some of our tomatoes for a basket of peaches-- bring those back and I'll make a pie we can all have after the drawing, how does that sound?" The little heads in the room visibly perked at the idea of getting their grubby little paws on something sweet. It wasn't often you had the sugar for such things after all.

Dismissing the idea of having to attend the black box event, you gave her a gentle nod. "Sure, I can do that. Need anything else while I'm out?" You inquired, stuffing the rest of the bread into your mouth before your youngest brother could snatch it from your hand. "No, dear. Just finish your breakfast and we'll handle the rest."

After practically beating your siblings off the table with a stick to get your fill, you quickly washed up and plucked the basket from the floor. “I’m off!” You called, getting no discernible acknowledgement as the chaos in the house never ceased. No matter to you-- the pie would be well worth the trip ahead.

Uncle Alikar.

The man was a huge part of the reason you didn’t believe a lick of all that ‘savage otherfolk’ nonsense. As your feet scuffed along the well worn path, old memories bubbled up to the surface like froth from the babbling brook that ran beside you.

You were the eldest of your siblings which, consequently, meant that when you'd been a rumbling little runt there were no older kids to show you the ropes and your parents' first trial run at raising a whole little person. This always resulted in you tumbling headfirst into trouble, but one day it had gone a little too far. Your tiny body approached the ledge of the stream. The same edge you would use every summer to hunt tadpoles. But, unbeknownst to you, the soil that was far too saturated with yesterday's rain to hold your weight. Without warning, it crumbled beneath your little feet sending you hurtling down into the rushing waters below. The merciless current carried you faster downstream than your father could run and just when your little head was wrenched under the raging current, a large beast sprung into the water after you. Before you could even process what had happened, your little lungs were hacking up the water they're inhaled, the coughing doing little for the burn in your lungs.

At first it was all a blur, you could hear your parents shouting as well as another rumbling voice above you responding back to them. Your little legs dangling far above the ground as a muscular arm stayed firmly wrapped around your waist. Someone was... holding you? You blinked away the tears, looking up to be met with a mouth full of razor-like teeth, thick sopping wet fur, and bright, slitted eyes. Misunderstanding what was going on, you began to cry out in fear. You were absolutely terrified you were about to be eaten by the ravenous river monster your mother warned you about countless times in attempt to dissuade you from wandering near the water when they weren't watching you. Only when those large paws handed you off to your mother ever-so-gently did you begin to quiet back down "Are you alright now, sweetpea? Ol' Alikar didn't mean to spook ya. Poor thing." He was some kind of rakshasa or tabaxi, evident by the sopping tail that swayed in the water behind him and round, fluffy ears that tilted back with concern. Speaking of...

Your knuckles rapped against the wooden door, sending warm clunks into the cottage. It was a serene place far from the human village which was always surrounded by the sweet smells of fruit and scents of warm, freshly made bread. Not but a few seconds later the upper half of the door swung open and there, in all his striped glory, was Alikar himself. “There’s the birthday girl!” He greeted you, his smile full of sharp teeth. A sight that originally took some getting used to but was now synonymous with a second home. “Hey Uncle Al. Mama sent me down to get some peaches for a pie.” You raised your basket of tomatoes.

He only chuckled in reply. “Oh, I know, how else was I supposed to give you your gift?” His paw pushed the lower part of the door open, welcoming you inside-- the scent of herbs and butter wafting much stronger from within. Surprised, you could only follow dumbly after him at first, setting the basket down as you took a seat on his kitchen table.

“A gift? Since when do you have the extra funds to get me gifts?! Aren’t you saving for the wedding? What about--”

    “Would you hush, child?” He laughed, taking amusement in your fretting. “You’re still new to the whole womanhood thing, what do you know about adult troubles?” You gave a halfhearted growl at him but had no argument to fire back at him. Even though you'd been considered an adult in human standards for quite a few years, Alikar did have more experience than you in that department.

"You get onto me about my finances but I don't see you moving out of your parents' home yet." He teased, carefully unloading every piece of fruit from the wicker basket with care. "Don't bully me! I'm plenty experienced in other things!" You whined. Snatching one of the many apples he'd left unattended. The crisp sweetness did little to nurse your slightly bruised ego but the coolness of the juice as it dribbled down you chin quenched plenty other, more satisfying needs. "Yeah? And what would your area of foreign expertise be? Apple thieving?"

You glared at his back, cheeks tinting "No! Like conversation! And courting."

"Pah!" He scoffed, soft paws stacking the soft, pink fruit into a neat arrangement. "Much good your 'experience' has gotten you, I am the only one getting married here out of the two of us." Okay. Ouch. "And I converse plenty well, thank you very much!"

The afternoon passed with similar banter as you stuffed yourself with whatever fruits Alikar let you get your hands on. In the end he had given you a carefully carved wooden totem of your favorite animal, peaches, and sent you on your way. Whatever wood the little figure was made from gave a faint, sweet scent when wet with water. A bit ironic considering how you met all those years ago but you appreciated it nonetheless.

You had asked him if he’d have wanted to come and celebrate with you and your family but, regretfully, he had to decline. As charming and kind as he was, the path to your home was far too close to the village for his comfort and the idea of one of your acquaintances or friends coming to celebrate as well and reporting him sent the hairs on the back his neck straight upward. It was no secret the village wasn’t excited about strange, new creatures given the black box tradition, so it was doubtful Alikar would be in the public eye anytime soon, as unfortunate as that was…

   You didn’t realize how much time you’d wasted until the shadows began stretching longer, snuffing out much of whatever light the day had left for you. “Ah shit.” You mumbled. You'd definitely missed the drawing, and at this rate you wouldn't be able to eat sweets till the next morning. Speeding up from a mozy to a quick trot back up the hill was unpleasant to say the least, but damn if those thoughts of peach pie didn't motivated you to haul ass.

However, as you drew closer your eagerness was smothered.

Hunching down, you quickly used the cover of the thorny brush to peer out at the scene below-- The terrified cries of your siblings pierced through your chest.

“Where’s the girl?!” A man demanded, spear to your father’s throat and eyes unwavering as your mother pled, voice breaking with fear as her children clung to her skirts.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ bout.” Your father replied curtly, looking the assailant back in the face with matching fury and anger. “I've only got sons.” The hair on the back of your neck stood up. Only once before, in your entire life, had you heard such a chilling tone come from that man. You'd been no older than 12 when a suitor equal to your mother in age offered to pay a hefty sum for your hand in marriage. The cruel chill in his voice as he sent the man away stuck with you-- but it didn't seem like this scenario would have the same outcome.

“Have it your way.”

A pit knotted itself in your breast as your family’s pleas turned to screaming cries, the spear cutting into you father's shoulder without mercy. Everything seemed to move so slowly after that...

First, you'd prayed he'd give in, relenting your location to the angry mob that surrounded him-- but your father stayed silent. That same fury in his eyes unwavering as he stayed on his feet.

Second, you though, maybe, the crowd would believe they'd truly made a mistake. Maybe a (y/n) didn't live in this village. Perhaps they'd been mistaken-- but that hope was quickly snuffed out as the spear-wielding man reeled the weapon back again, poised to strike.

You hadn't even known what you were doing as you pushed through the thorny brambles. Didn't even register as your fingers curled around a plump peach from your basket. And certainly didn't realize the strength you'd shot through your arm as you slung the fruit straight into the back of the man's head.

The hard impact followed by the splatter of sweet juices dripping down his neck was followed only by a second of silence.

Then two.

Then three.

All heads turning in your direction....

Run.

It was nothing more than instinct as you dropped the precious wicker basket your mother had weaved to the ground-- Alikar's carefully nurtured peaches bruising in the dirt. You shot back through the thorns. Dress skirt shredding, legs practically minced as you rushed through the uncaring wild.

Everything blurred.

Heart racing, the sound of shouting, the thundering of feet right on your tail. It was so much, too much-- too soon. There was no where else you could go. You didn't even know where you were going. Run. Run. RUN.

And run you did, even as your calves burned and blood dripped down your skin, you flew through the woods in a desperate flurry. It was fruitless though. Your wreckless abandon being brought to a halt with a blistering pain that shot through your ribs. The last thing you saw was the sight of the ground coming right at you, and then? Darkness.

I was going to wait till I finished part 2 to post this part but I'm too excited and part 2 is about halfway written anyway :) Stay tuned!

pt. 2

[zirobitches]

One Piece: Soulmate AU

Always in this twilight - Crocodile x GN!Reader

Summary: Soulmates are incapable of hurting each other. As a pirate, this leads to some tragic moments midst battles. You thought you were prepared for when it might happen to you, but damn you were wrong.

Gn! Reader, Angst no comfort, no beta we die like Roger, Reader is Croc's First Mate and a former Roger pirate (Shanks/Buggy's age) but it doesnt really matter, also former slave background, congrats you are now in the place of my self insert OC, no promises on not being cringe this is literally a /reader fic, also had to make a fake crew bc we dont know enough crocs backstory HAND IT OVER ODA

Word count: 4500+

Also first fic on tumblr, idk what im doing here, lmk ur opinions. It is now 2:03am and i have class at 10:30. Might have to skip lmao

EDITS: grammar check lol. also cross posted it on ao3 - same name as my blog

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Soulmates weren't as common as you'd might assume when you first hear about it. There's an easy way to prove someone is your soulmate, but when that method is to harm them, well, it doesn't make it easy to find that person. And society gets a bit weird when you know your soulmate is out there.

you've known that some people carry around little needles to poke into strangers hoping to find the one. But that was in decent society; among pirates you more often heard tales of bullets suddenly dropping to the ground after they hit their target, or swords stopping on someone's skin as though it just hit steel. A battlefield is a hell of a place to meet the person fate had decided for you, but for pirates it had become a norm.

Not that long ago, some genius named Vegapunk did a study on how many people meet their soulmate - 1 in a 100. And that's just how many people find them. It never accounts for how many actually happily end up together. You had chosen to live your life as a pirate, so a happy ending with your supposed soulmate wasn't something you foresaw in your future.

You were always grateful most of your current crew felt the same. There was a small group among pirates that were always on the lookout to find their soulmate and then immediately retire. Your crew however like to joke that if they found them in battle, they would move out of the way so someone else could finish them off. It was a grim reality, but it was your reality.

However, on nights like these where you drank the night away, some romantic always had to bring it up.

"C'mon, did old Roger really make you so cold hearted that you don't believe in true love?"

"Pfft, you're fucking joking right?" You scoffed back. You always argued with Tink about this, but you understood your young navigator still had hope. Too bad you were the pessimist of the crew.

"It's not that I don't believe in true love," you continued. "Soulmates are real, I don't really see another explanation for not being able to harm only one other person in the world. But why limit yourself to waiting for a person you might never meet? So many are denying themselves to fall in love with someone else and then end up dying alone because they never found their soulmate."

Tink pouted in front of you. This was a tired conversation, one that was repeated every few weeks much to the chagrin of your other crewmates. But a controversial topic was always a great topic for a group such as yourselves.

"I'm not denying myself the chance to fall in love! I'm denying ever feeling heartbroken over someone who doesn't matter!" Tink tried to argue back, but you just groaned in response.

"And if you never meet the one? You'll just live and die without ever letting yourself even get a taste of what it is you're chasing." Tink glared, knowing it was futile to keep going, but the pink of her cheeks told you that the grog in her system was trying to get her to keep fighting.

It was then that a familiar tall figure caught your eye. There was your beloved captain Crocodile, trying to sneak behind everyone's back to grab another bottle for himself.

Crocodile was never much one for festivities, at least not one 'undeserved' as he might put it. While there was no battle won to celebrate, the night sky was clear and the waters calm; in the Grand Line, shouldn't that be enough to be happy about?

However tonight you weren't going to let him sneak booze and hide from the crew.

"Cap'n!" Apparently the grog was getting to you as well. "Come over here and help me crush Tink's dream of a soulmate!" You laughed as Tink gasped at your audacity. The rest of your company seemed more or less happy with how the night was going, but your captain was still less than enthused to join.

"If this is the same soulmate debate you've been going on about for the past 3 years, I will pass again. You already know my feelings on the matter." Crocodile's deep voice reverberated across the deck of the ship. Even if he wasn't giving orders, he still commanded the attention of everyone within earshot.

He gave a long drag of the bottle in his hand, and then turned to walk away. However you felt it was your duty as first mate to pester your captain into spending casual time with his crew.

"I may know your opinion, but would you be so kind and gracious to remind the rest of the crew? Perhaps?" You called out to the dark coat trying to run from the party, and saw him pause, then turn to walk back.

You could see some of the newer additions to the crew cower. You didn't blame them, Crocodile was an imposing figure, and was developing a infamous reputation as a pirate on the Grand Line. But he was your captain, and he would never hurt his crew, this you knew.

"If I ever met my soulmate," Crocodile began, "I assume it would be when I attempt to kill them." He took another sip from his bottle. This was one of the rare moments he was not puffing a cigar you suddenly realize. It made his face look younger, as though he was actually a man in his 20s as he claimed he was.

As though he knew you were thinking of him, Crocodile made eye contact with you. "When I realize I can't kill them, I'll call out for you." You felt your heart skip a beat. "Then you can finish them for me."

It was purely the grog's fault for making your face warm. The lack of a sea breeze was also suddenly apparent. But you couldn't be flustered, not when you were the one who asked for this answer.

You smiled, doing your best to brush off the tension. You were still maintaining eye contact with him after all. "Well there you have it. Not exactly the opinion I remember, but I hope I can live up to your expectations, Cap'n."

Crocodile nodded, then told you all to start to sober up or get to bed. "I don't need a crew of drunks on the Grand Line, or else we will never make it to the New World."

Your crew began to disperse and you went below deck to your cabin. You really hadn't had much to drink that night, yet your chest felt tight.

You thought you had learned your lesson, but no. Even after promising yourself you wouldn't, you became attached to your crew. Even after your last one fell apart. Even after you watched your first captain, your savior, be executed, you fucked up and dove straight into a different crew expecting it to be different.

You laid down in your bed, staring at the ceiling, the world slightly spinning. Suddenly all you can think about is when you met Croc.

-

It was little more than 3 years ago now, wasn't it? A whole 3 years since Roger died. The weight is still heavy in your chest, but not nearly as devastating as it was in Logue Town that day. You were a wreck, physically and emotionally.

After watching the execution, you were too heartbroken to join the others in pursuit of the One Piece. Your world has just officially ended, the crew was technically already disbanded, but now there was no hope of getting it back.

You ended up in some local bar. No one recognized you, and in the haze of all the excitement following Roger's death, why would they? You had just been some nobody apprentice who happened to stick on his ship after Roger saved your life.

But your sorrow did catch someone's eye.

You sat at the counter of this dive bar in Logue Town, mindlessly stirring whatever number drink sat in front of you now. You had run out of tears, and sat stuck in some frozen state of grief.

However, this sad portrait of yourself did not seem to deter someone from sitting next to you.

You paid them no mind, just staring into empty space, not enough energy to even remember you were still alive.

"You were a member of the Pirate King's crew weren't you?"

A deep voice rattled from the stranger, but it was his words that really caught your attention.

"How'd you figure?" You had paused your stirring at first, but now focused on your drink to avoid eye contact. You were a mess, you could feel your puffy eyes, and were still sniffling every so often.

"There's no reason anyone in this town should be sad that someone like him died. So, you must have known him, right?" The deep voice continued, and you could feel their eyes staring, but didn't have the strength to meet them.

"Well, you caught me. Going to take me in and see if you can get a reward? I'm afraid you won't find any posters of me though. I tended to get lost in the crowd, you could say." After that statement you finally grasped the glass in front of you and decided to knock back what was left. If this was the end of your little pirating career, so be it. It can die with Roger.

"Will you join my crew?"

Your head snapped up at that, and you finally looked up at the stranger.

Long black hair was slicked back to show all the sharp features of the man's face. A strong square jaw, a prominent, perfect nose, and pale, piercing eyes, hooded by thin black eyebrows. Undoubtedly, even in your drunken haze, you were sure sober you would agree the man was handsome.

After a moment to take in this stranger all you could manage was a "Excuse me?"

He smiled - no, smirked - and pulled a cigar out from his coat. "I could use someone with your experience on my crew." He carried on, as if you were discussing the weather outside. He lit the cigar with a lighter you hadn't noticed him pull out. Perhaps it was the booze, but looking at this guy, he almost seemed… fuzzy, around the edges.

"Having someone who once worked for the Pirate King should help me become the next Pirate King."

The stranger took a long drag from his cigar, then exhaled over the counter. You didn't know where the barkeep was now, but at the moment, it felt like you and him were the only people in the building.

You should be mad. Enraged at the audacity of someone to come up to you on the worst day of your life, and to ask you to work for them. But you felt nothing.

No. That wasn't right. You did feel something.

You chuckled. Giggled even. A small laugh that built up till you were laughing, nearly hysterically. You hadn't felt like this sort of light headed elation in a long time, and it was nice.

After taking a moment to catch your breath you finally looked back at the stranger. He didn't look upset at your reaction. He just kept smoking his cigar, waiting for an answer.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"I am Sir Crocodile, captain of the Neverland Pirates."

"Hmmm. Well, Sir Crocodile, I can tell you now that you have no chance of being Pirate King." You smirked back at him, propping your head up on your hand as you leaned against the counter.

This response still didn't bother the man. If anything, you swore he almost seemed… satisfied by your answer. Perhaps he knows what's coming next.

"I can help you out on the Grand Line and maybe help you get to the New World, but I promise," you leaned in towards this captain, staring him down. "You will never be the man Roger was. No one will."

Yet Crocodile was unperturbed.

"So you'll join my crew?"

You leaned back and reassessed your empty glass. You cast a quick glance at the bar and then back at the other pirate.

"Sure. I don't have anything better to do anyways."

-

You thought back in Logue Town you could never feel the same way about Crocodile's crew that you felt with Roger's, but you were always the fool. Now you are attached.

Now you need a reason to leave.

You couldn't waste your time or your heart with them. You had already died once with Roger, and if you stayed any longer you know you could never leave alive. You got up from bed - still plenty tipsy you swayed over - to your dresser.

Middle drawer, back left, underneath some no longer worn t-shirts was a small box. You opened it.

There were several small scraps of paper. Vivre cards.

As a child on Roger's boat, you were ecstatic to learn about vivre cards. A simple way to know the people you loved were alive and safe, and be able to find their exact location? It was too good to be true.

When you remember the feeling of Roger's paper burning in your hands at his execution, you knew the reality of vivre cards.

Your fingertips gently sorted through the papers you had made for some of Roger's crew. Each had a tiny name written in a corner. Shanks, Buggy, Ray, Gaban, Oden, and a few others of people who had been most important to you.

Maybe you could leave this crew and seek out the others. Rayleigh had always said he would retire at Sabaody, and your crew was bound to get there soon, hopefully in a couple months. The ache in your chest; you missed your old family. This could be the excuse you needed.

With a heavy sigh you closed the box and hid it away again. Sleeping on it would be good. Sleeping away the booze would also be nice.

Maybe then the tears would stop silently slipping down your face.

-

It turns out the excuse of seeing your old crew was unneeded. The news coo was kind enough to drop a reason to leave directly in your lap.

You stared at the newspaper for a long moment. The sinking feeling in your gut still did not go away.

You walked up to the bow where Crocodile was standing. He stared at the horizon as you approached the next island, Water 7.

"Captain."

Crocodile turned to look at you, face neutral, signature cigar in his mouth.

"Morning. The news any good?"

"They want to make you a Warlord."

Your own feelings were swept under the rug as your crewmates overheard. Instantly the deck was buzzing, the news spreading and making the once sleepy, slightly hungover crew come back to life.

"This is perfect!" The helmsman Diat yelled, a grin wide on his face. "Not only do we get the Marines off our back, it's recognition that we are some of the strongest pirates on the Grand Line!"

You would have laughed at him if not for the ice in your chest. Similar celebratory remarks were made all around you, but you didn't have the strength to pretend this was good news to you.

All you could feel was an icy feeling on your back, right where you had a large scar that tore up a long faded tattoo. But time could not get rid of the mark you could never forget about, no matter how much you wanted to.

Amid the spontaneous party you finally turned back to Crocodile. Amidst it all, he was still only looking at you.

Your words were quiet compared to the raucous around you, but your captain heard you just fine.

"If you become a Warlord I'm leaving the crew."

A couple of nearby crew gasped, heads whipped in your direction and murmurs quickly took place of all the yells.

Instantly protests, people yelling your name, yelling their arguments, but it all fell on deaf ears as you stared down your captain.

Tink of all people knew it was futile to argue with you, and turned to the man of the hour. "Captain! You can't just let your first mate leave!"

Before she could continue, Crocodile interjected. "You never planned on making me King of the Pirates, right? So you never planned on staying on this ship anyways."

This evoked even more protests from the crowd. Many of them weren't sure what you two were talking about, and some had begun to yell again.

The sounds were starting to be overwhelming, and this was not a conversation that required the whole crew anyways.

"That's enough from everyone!" You yelled over the cacophony. The crew went quiet. "This is a conversation for me and the captain, the rest of you need to beat it! Do something useful, we will make a port soon."

The crowd was not placated in the least, but it was true the ship would be docked soon, and there were things that needed to be prepared beforehand.

"You heard them. Get back to work." Crocodile finished your command, and the crowd dispersed. You knew they would still be listening, but it didn't stop you.

"I refuse to be part of a crew that works alongside the Marines. If you become a Warlord you automatically become their dog - then you may as well be a dog of the celestial dragons." Your tongue burned even at the mention of the world nobles.

Crocodile took a long drag of his cigar. He looked away from you and sighed an exhale of smoke, then dragged his line of sight back to you.

"I haven't decided yet."

You bristled at this. "Are you suggesting they already offered this to you? And I had to find out through a newspaper?"

Crocodile took yet another drag, and you lost your patience with his nicotine addiction. "Answer me Crocodile."

Your captain sighed through his nose this time, some of the smoke reaching you, a familiar smell after all these years. It once may have been a nice fragrance, knowing your captain was near, but now it blinded you and stoked your anger.

"We are almost to Water 7. Let's save it for there."

-

Tensions were high, especially between you and Crocodile, when your mood worsened when he disappeared while you oversaw the docking. But you docked. You got the crew into a hotel. During this time the crew began splitting into sides, which was not something you had anticipated. But you ignored it all until finally, Crocodile returned and you cornered him into in a room alone with you.

He had no cigar, and you had no drink in hand. It was a painfully sober room.

Crocodile sighed and slumped into an armchair. He dragged his eyes across the room till they met yours. You refused to look away this time, jaw set with determination to stand your ground.

"I don't want to be the Marine's dog," Croc began. "But they offered me a deal."

"The deal that our crimes are excused? Big whoop, as long as we don't get caught it's almost the same."

"No," he sighed, a large ring covered hand dragging down his face in exasperation. "A deal to help take down Whitebeard."

That got you silent. For a moment, as you recalled every time you saw Roger and Whitebeard exchange blows and fight for days on end.

"You? Take down Whitebeard?" You laughed, but it was a dry and bitter thing. "Your bounty is $81 million berries. Your devil fruit is great and all, but it is by no means fight and beat Whitebeard good. Even if Newgate was without his crew, our entire crew would be wiped off the map. You've lost it if you truly believe that this is achieveable."

Crocodile glared from across the room. Not his usual, perpetual glare, but a genuine, freeze you in your tracks ice cold glare.

He stood up, all 8 feet imposing over you as he stalked across the room. "I have let you say plenty of cruel things to me, but this may cross the line."

But you were his first mate and you couldn't fear him if you were supposed to talk sense into him. "Cross the line? I'm not the one who is making deals with the Navy so I can sail us to our deaths at the hands of Whitebeard!" You were yelling now, no, roaring at your foolish headstrong captain.

"If you take that ship and that crew as it is now to the New World to fight Whitebeard and his sons, no one will come back alive!" Your heart was on fire with rage and frozen in fear. Rage at your captain, who is very much overestimating his abilities. Fear for your crewmates who have no idea what sort of danger their captain was going to put them in.

Crocodile was now truly enraged on the same level as you. He sneered down at you as he suddenly grabbed you by the neck - much to your shock. "I wanted you there to see me become the next Pirate King. But if you can't support me for this, one of the biggest moments in my life since I've been a pirate, then I have no need for you anymore."

With his free hand he opened the door that was behind you. A group of Marines walked in with cuffs ready. "To sweeten the deal, what better than to give a former Roger pirate to the Navy?"

You felt all the blood drain from your face, as fear for your own well being finally pierced your heart. You looked up at Crocodile, and you could feel tears begin to creep at the corner of your eyes. "You never fail to surprise me, Captain."

"Well done Sir Crocodile." One of the Marines spoke, and you could tell from their uniform it was a Vice Admiral, though you didn't recognize them.

"A public execution of a Roger's pirate should be a grand way to ring in your instatement as Warlord."

You felt the world slow down around you and felt Crocodile's grip on your neck slip at the Marine's sentencing.

Crocodile began to speak, "That was not what we agreed on," But your ears had begun to ring.

Growing up on the Oro Jackson, you had picked up some neat tricks. You found out you were hopeless with the color of observation haki, but had a special knack for color of arms. Perfect against those darn logia fruit users.

In a blink of an eye you ripped Crocodile's arm away from your neck and you made a mad dash past him. And jumped straight through a window, glass and all.

You could vaguely hear a commotion behind you as Marines ran after you, but it was lost with the ringing in your ears.

You could hear and feel your heartbeat, pounding throughout your body as you ran through the endless alleys and canals of Water 7. You could feel tears pierce through the wind rushing past your face as you ran, desperately with no objective.

All you could think about was the way the heat of Crocodile's hand felt on your neck, the cold metal of the rings that had pressed against your pulse.

Have you ever really touched Crocodile before?

…

You missed him. You didn't understand why. He had just betrayed you - fucking hell, he was just handing you over to the Navy as part of his deal to become a warlord, but god. You wanted to be with him anyways. You're not sure how long you've been in love with him; his sharp eyes, the smell of his cigars, the rings on his hands, but gods above.

You had fallen in love with Crocodile.

In your realization you slowed down. Your legs and lungs burned, you were gasping for air and not just because you had been running.

Has it always been this dark? When did the day leave you behind?

You now stood in some nondescript alley, dimly lit a golden hue by windows that lined it. It was a long alley, each end blocked by canals. How you arrived there you weren't certain. But you weren't alone.

At one end sand had appeared. And from it stepped your dear, awful captain Crocodile. You both stared at each other, both of you panting for breath.

"I didn't want it to be like this." Crocodile's voice cuts through the air to you. You knew you should run. But for some reason you couldn't find the strength.

"I didn't know they would execute you. I imagined they would send you to Impel Down." Crocodile continued to speak. You just stood there and listened as he walked towards you.

As you watched him, there was a strange look on his face. You've seen it before but still didn't know what it meant.

He stopped walking ten feet in front of you. The light was still too dim to see him clearly, but it was fine. You knew his face well enough.

"I won't let the Navy kill you. Not after what the nobles did to you, it feels wrong." You had never told Crocodile what the scar on your back was. It didn't feel like it mattered anymore.

"I think I'll feel better about this if I'm the one who kills you."

You knew this was coming. The second you saw him at the end of the alley. But you agreed with him. If you had to die at someone's hands, you would pick Crocodile over anyone else. Even if it meant he didn't feel the same about you, it didn't matter anymore. You were so tired.

It would be nice to see Roger again.

But then Rayleigh's face flashed in your mind. You still had to pay him a visit. You still had to visit Wano to see Oden. You wanted to see Shanks and Buggy find the One Piece.

You couldn't see Roger just yet.

So, in a sudden scramble, you turned around and ran.

The ground where you had been standing suddenly crumbled. You felt a gasp finally escape your lungs as you realized you almost gave up. But not yet. You had to save your crew too.

Then you finally ran out of luck. The dim light hid a hole in the cobblestones and you fell to the alley ground. You quickly twisted your body just in time to see Crocodile's scythe of sand arc straight towards you.

It hits you right in the chest, and crumbles to dust.

Confused, you run your hands through the sand that has landed on your lap. You're not cut in half - instead you just have sand all over you.

Crocodile change his mind? He was letting you go? Thoughts and heart still racing, you looked up at him.

Oh.

Oh no.

The horror on his face was plain to see - that was supposed to be a killing blow.

But he didn't hurt you.

Your hand jumped to your neck from when he grabbed you earlier. But in retrospect, you had just been shocked by the action, he hadn't harmed you.

Crocodile didn't hurt you.

No.

Crocodile couldn't hurt you.

Because he was your soulmate.

It was the look on his face that hurt you the most. The disgust, anger, horror - this man did not want a soulmate. He did not want you. So why bother sticking around?

You scrambled back to your feet. Even if he couldn't hurt you, the Marines still could.

So, with blurry eyes and a heavy heart, you ran away.

Faintly, you heard a painfully familiar voice call your name, but then all that was left was the wind as you ran.

pt. 2 (if you want, but this might be better as a one shot)

[arcielee]

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: A goddess comes to ask for help to save her friends. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4358 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest.   Author's Note: So, the whole Aemond as Hades trope has been done before BUT NOT BY ME so lets go. My inspiration came from this Aemond drawing: artist. It’s so nifty. Also, huge shout out to @aspen-carter for her ceaseless patience and helping me edit this. I am so grateful to have her as a friend because her writing is just top tier and her insight is so wonderful. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @aaaaaamond (slash means I am unable to tag you)  Series:  Act I -  Act II - Act III

ACT I

“Little goddess, you are far away from where you belong.”

This was the truth spoken, for she never before dared venture away from her mother’s watchful gaze, never pressing beyond the boundary she swore she implemented for safety. Today it was fate that propelled her soft steps to follow the trodden pathway that wove from her realm into his. 

His tone was low and voiced with authority, but she did not feel threatened despite the grim scenery she now found herself in. The Underworld seemed just a shadowed, desolate reflection of the mortal realm above; it was not shroud in darkness, mostly void of pigmentation save the veily blue hue that enveloped all around. She watched the souls make their way towards the ferryman, unaware their fluid steps were not solid against the grey sand that spread the shore of the river Styx. 

“Aïdōneús,” she used the ancient moniker, for who else would be present other than the lordship to the realm of death? She spoke his name as she heard from the hushed whispers of the mortals, who were afraid to misstate and bring unwanted attention from the king of the dead. For her, it was an ancient tongue known to the gods and it spilled like a sweet nectar from her wet lips. She pressed on the ball of her foot to turn and face him. 

Throughout the ages, many adjectives have been used to describe him and beautiful was the first to her mind. 

The contours of his face were sharp as the marble stones that the mortals would carve the gods’ likeness into and it gave a severity to his expression. She saw the left side of his face, marred from his heroism from the tales of the Titanomachy, with a gash that began above his brow and cut through, curling into his cheek. His bravery had been rewarded with his kingship of the Gō vys and a brilliant sapphire stone that was set into his scarred socket. 

Cold and stern, was often used, a firm accountability held for the laws held. Monstrous. Menacing. She assumed these descriptors were spoken by cowards, for all she could see was an esthetical deity.

He towered over her, his arms were tucked behind his back and it emphasized his broad shoulders. Silver scars littered over, brilliant streaks in contrast to the plum chiton draped over his lithe figure with golden thread knotted around his slender waist. The dark tones he wore gave a luminous intensity to his alabaster skin, like a godly beacon in the realm of grey. 

He kept his distance, but she saw his head tilt from the gleam of the red ruby set in his crown and the soft glimmer of his silver tresses that spilled forward with his subtle movement. 

“I have come to ask you something,” she continued, her voice unsteady, but her eyes boldly returned his steady gaze.

There was a haunting beauty to the mismatched coloring of his stare, his lavender eye and the glint of his sapphire eye, that caused her heart to reverberate within her chest.

“You traveled all this way to ask me a question?” His baritone continued and there was a flicker of amusement, the slight curl to his lips with his mellifluous words. “Please ask so I may best assist the goddess of spring.”

She felt the flush of pleasure. He knows who you are, the thought flutters throughout her head and she cannot stop her smile. “I wanted to ask if it was at all possible for a soul to be returned to the mortal realm?” 

A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he took a deliberate step to close the space between them; the flicker of amusement is gone, his expression now as cool as the marble it was carved from. “This cannot be done, little goddess,” his silver words carefully chosen for his silver tongue. “It is the fate of every mortal to die and once that threshold is crossed, they cannot return to that life.” 

Her renewed grief comes with its sickening hold, clenching her heart and the threat of tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed thickly, only then breaking her bold stare and instead she looked over the spirits that continued forward, awaiting their turn to cross. 

It should have been me.

“Who did you lose?”

His soft tone pulled her attention back and she can see his brow is furrowed. “My friends,” she refused to cry in front of the king, no matter the kindly concern etched onto his features in the moment. “They were taken suddenly and do not have the gold to pay the passage.” 

He hummed a second time, still low but thoughtful. “They are not yet lost, little goddess,” and the familiar curl of his bow lips gives her the flutter of hope. “Come back tomorrow and we can see what may be done, but,” his gaze rolled over her, locking onto her face once again. “I would advise not to return empty handed when you come to beg a favor from the king of the Underworld.” 

+ + + + + + +

He dared teased the goddess of spring and then he relished in her response to the reminder of such a timeless courtesy. The rose coloring flushed her ivory tones, her embarrassment clashed with the thrum of her vitality beneath and it brought out the sun speckles across her nose and cheeks. 

How divine the thought of his lips to kiss each one. 

She left chagrined and he was certain he would not see her again, save the movements when he would slip to the surface for a reprieve from the dead, a shadow in watch of the gods who resided in the mortal realm. He had not expected her to return the following day and with a basket she showed was filled with delicacies of cheeses, olives, figs, and more.

He saw her coming, her steps almost familiar with the pathway that led to his realm. “You returned, little goddess,”  it was a statement more so than a question. 

“I have, Aïdōneús.” 

Aïdōneús. A name long forgotten, spurned from the fear it held amongst mortals, but she was dauntless with her pronunciation, just as she was bold with her stare. It was the sweetest sound, both familiar and unfamiliar, a sound that he would spend his immortality to follow its every behest.  

Even though her tone was cool, he noted her white knuckled hold on the wicker basket. “I have returned and I have brought you an offering,” she continued, shifting her weight to rest it on her hip. “You also may call me by name or you may call me Kore, if you desire.”

Desire. There is an unbridled fervor in his gaze as it rolled over her curves, so sinfully wrapped in the peplos linen but his posture remained reserved, his arms crossed behind and one foot stanced.  

“As you wish, Kore.” 

He did not say another word and his hand reached for hers; he was pleased that she took it without hesitation and his skin prickled from the warmth of her palm. He whisked her forward and he felt her grip tighten, looking back to see her eyes wide from the abrupt movement. He pulled her closer to his chest, his other arm wrapping around her waist with a firm hold. 

He brought her to a pomegranate tree that is curled on a ledge overlooking the knolls of silver grass, decorated with aimless spirits. 

There was almost an ache when he released his hold and he kept his arms open, watching to make sure her steps are balanced on the solid earth. “I apologize,” his voice was almost sheepish with his realization. “I am so used to getting around and I forget…” 

He is grateful that she does not press him to finish his thought. Instead, he fell back and watched as she spread the cloth, the white billow of fabric that settled on the ground, and placed the basket in the center. She offered to pour him a glass of wine and only then does he take a seat, breaking the bread, while he shared that their view is the asphodel meadows where good souls reside, a neutral ground for peaceful spirits. 

He wanted to bring her here and show her. “This is where your friends will eventually be,” he finished, lifting his goblet to his lips. 

Her eyes watched the bob of his neck as he drank the wine and she admitted, “This seems so dreadfully dull for the good souls.” 

“They no longer have the tedious shackles forced on them from the mortal realm,” his lips curled upwards with his further explanation. “They feel nothing and this allows them contentment to wander these fields.” 

Her nose scrunched. “I understand this,” she breaks a piece of the bread, allowing the wine to dye it red. “That, however, does not change my initial opinion.” 

This is a moment that broke through the kingly demeanor that he carried with his every step, his every movement within the cosmos. She watched, wide eyed and rosy, as his laughter lines his cheeks with dimples, the king of the Gō vys has dimples! She savored the genuineness of this moment and she cannot help but giggle as well. “It is beautiful, though,” she continued with a shy smile. “I see why you chose this spot.” 

His demeanor darkened and he smirked. “Kore, this pales in comparison to your springly creations. I only brought you to show you the bit of vegetation that can survive within my realm.” 

She tilted her head upwards, looking at the deep burgundy of the ripe pomegranates that hung low on the branches. “Are they edible?” 

He leaned onto his side, propped up onto one elbow and his fingers traced the decoration of the gilded goblet. “It is, but without the same savory flavors as,” and he gestured towards the basket that slowly empties with their picnic. “There is a cost of their consumption,” he cannot help the edge of bitterness to his voice. 

Her eyes widen, not with fright but curiosity, to the animosity of his words. “What is the cost?”

“Anything eaten or drank chains you to the realm,” he answered, solemn, and was surprised by the glint in her eyes. 

It draws his gaze to her and, again, he can see the thrum of her ichor beneath her ivory skin, her eyes focused on him and framed with dark lashes, her stare as dauntless as earlier. 

“It is the cost to rule a kingdom,” she offered, blinking and it is seemingly gone, her expression now doleful as it looks over the silver hills that spread infinitely before them. “It is better than to be destined to be the forgotten goddess, tied to her mother’s shadow and just a decoration who nurtures flowers.”  

He was watchful in this somber moment; there was a silence that was not uncomfortable, but he felt the returned fervor from before to ask more, to understand more. There was a tingle in his fingertips to reach for her hand, to knit his fingers so perfectly with her own, just so she may remember she was not alone. 

Instead, he waited.

She pulled herself to stand and reached her hand towards him, the radiance of her smile returning, a divine glow amongst the eerie meadow. “Come and show me more of your kingdom.”

And he obliged her. 

+ + + + + + +

Time, she learned, was different in the Underworld. 

She allowed herself to tour the Gō vys, tucked so close to his side and allowing him to show his kingdom, from the Asphodel to the Erebus, to watch the passage of Acheron and learn the ferryman was men, twins who let a foolish misunderstanding result in the simultaneous slay and he offered them an alternative to serve him. She met Vhagar, the rumored three headed beast who in truth wished for belly rubs and she happily inclined. 

There was a panicked realization when she resurfaced and saw the moon bore overhead. Her steps were quick homewards, muttering prayers to Gaia, to Rhaenys, to whomever was listening and she begged her mother would be unaware of the time lost. 

“You smell of death.”

Rhaenyra was the golden goddess of harvest and fertility, her mother the very embodiment of the sacred laws of the cosmos. Her eyes narrowed on her arrival, but she managed only a hint of anger to touch her overwhelming interrogative tone. “Where have you been, Kore?”

She hummed a lie, something enough to dissuade further suspicion her mother may hold, just a silly little goddess who had gotten lost within the cosmos. She continued to add another promise she would never dare return. 

This was another lie. 

“Aïdōneús,” she greeted him the next day and was pleased with his expression, which was almost incredulous at her return. 

“Kore,” he responded with the same warmth, the curl of his lip when he reached for her hand. She allowed him to take it without thought, a blush crept over as he brought her knuckles to his lips, the tickle of his breath to her skin. “Please, I meant to say this yesterday,” he did not release his hold, his dichromatic gaze watchful. “You may call me just Aemond, if you wish.” 

“Aemond,” and she said his name with the same sweetness and reverence, enjoying her familiarity with the king and how the rose color dusts his cheeks when she repeats it. “I admit, I have come to ask another favor.” 

“More souls you wish to return to the mortal realm?” 

He regretted his words the moment they left his lips, when he saw the pain that danced across her eyes. His apology was caught in his throat, the explanation for his tasteless jest, but she already shook her head and that pain was gone. 

“I wish to show you a place that is dear to me,” but her tone is careful. “Are you able to come with me to the mortal realm?” 

I would go anywhere you asked of me, he does not say and instead he nodded, the shimmer of his silver hair. “I can leave, though not for long periods of time,” he shifted his gaze. “It is a tether to the Underworld. There is a pull, almost an ache, that grows the longer I am away.”  

A smile returned to her lips, pink and inviting. “I will not keep you too long from the duties of your kingdom,” she promised and offered her hand to him. 

Traveling within the Gō vys requires a celerity to his movements; there is a rush of wind with his quick motion from one place to the next, whereas she seems to frolick, pulling to keep him at her pace as they flit from the shadows and move towards a small isle. At first glance, it only holds the wreckage of the temple to appease the averter of evil, its ruin ironically from a temper tantrum of the gods. 

“But why here?” Aemond was curious as he looked over the cracked stylobate and the broken pillars split, with stone embedded into the soft earth around them. 

“There is beauty in the broken,” she smiled and pulled him to follow. “After Daemon and his temper tantrum, the mortals abandoned it, but I wished for it to blossom with new life.” 

He watched her climb over a fallen pillar and she peered up to him, beckoning him to follow. He dropped softly at her side, while the soft echo of her words, there is beauty in the broken, remained in his ear. Aemond saw her focus was ahead and he followed her gaze. 

His eye followed the curl of a turquoise moss that curled and decorated the stones, blooming with pastels. It continued to the reflection of the morning dew glittering off the almost iridescent petals, gleaming brilliant in the rising run; it showed the sea scheme of colors that stretched around them.

She was the goddess of spring, of vitality personified, and he is the darkness. But in this serene moment, there was an emotion, an almost tangible passion that entangled with the ichor of his veins when she reached for his hand again.

There was a spark as their palms fit together, as his slender fingers curled around her hand. “It is beautiful,” he said and his tongue wet his lips. 

She peered at him, the flutter of her own heart when she saw how his features softened in the intimacy of the moment, a satisfaction to be privy to the reserved pleasure that played on his face. There was the intrusive thought that begged her to touch his jaw, to press up to her tiptoes and dare to taste his mouth, and she wished to bring back a piece to his kingdom, just so she could relive the hint of his smile on his lips. 

“It is,” she agreed, tucking the thought away. 

+ + + + + + +

That night, she tucked herself into the athenaeum to pour over the scrolls her mother stored away, with Rhaenyra both pleased and proud of her rekindled passion for her role within the cosmos. 

Kore did not correct her. She needed her focus to return to what initially brought her to the Underworld, the fate she shelved and the growing burden with that neglect. She told herself that Aemond would be more amenable with an offering more tailored for the god of death, but in truth, she also wished to understand the growing thrum beneath her breastbone whenever she was within his proximity. 

There was a simple spell that would serve both. 

Though he would never admit to waiting for her, she was still pleased to see him on the edge of the plane, close enough for the sunlight to touch and give an ethereal glow to his chiseled features. There was a gentle breeze through his silver, silk tresses and she stopped her steps so she could admire him, the glimmer. 

He tilted his head. “Kore, what is it?”  

“Aemond,” she breathed. “You really are beautiful.” 

His jaw steeled with the compliment and she was quick to grab his hand, leading him below like a silver beacon into the blue hue of the Gō vys. Once they were in the shadowed realm, she turned to press against his chest, her softness melting against him and with her whisper, “Aemond, take me back to the meadows.” 

He, of course, obliged her. 

There was a comfort with how his arms, so strong and lined with silver scars, wrapped around her waist with a hold she knew could be trusted. The jarring movement still caused her stomach to lurch, but it was quickly replaced with the exhilarating rush and her laughter spilled from her lips. Only when she felt the tickle of the silver grass beneath her soles did he finally release his hold of her and they were back beneath the pomegranate tree. 

She curled with grace onto its roots and beckoned him to follow. He paused for a moment to appreciate how her robes nestled against her curves before he sits, close enough, with one leg up to rest his forearm on and the other arm pressing himself upright, his palm resting on the earth. His expression begs curiosity, but he is quiet. 

Kore and her sweet smile elicited his hummed response and he watched as she began to rub her palms together. A soft glow emitted between and her focus returned to Aemond, a golden goddess with the light, before she pressed her hands to the ground. Her eyes closed for a moment, her thoughts poured into the practice incantation with the wordless flutter of her lips. 

She opened her eyes and smiled again, his gaze shyly dropped to watch her hands lift and reveal the bolt of green that begins to stem upwards. He watched as its leaves unfurled and the red bulbs bunched together began to blossom.

His expression is one of awe, his jaw slack from seeing the life sprout from the grey earth and flourish with color before him. Aemond looked pained when she reached to pluck one, cupping it in her palms with a whisper, the same golden glow, before she presented him the enchanted flower, the petals unbruised and a vibrant red. 

“This will match the ruby in your crown,” she explained, shifting her weight to look at him. 

His expression was stoic, just a red reflection in his sapphire eye. “What are they called?” He asked when she opened his palm, his fingers spread as if his touch would shatter it. 

“These are called snapdragons,” she shared, her pride aglow with her creation, her validation. “They are able to handle the cooler weather, but their lifespans are not very long, which is why,” and her fingertips tickled his palm as she picked it up, careful to pin it to his chiton, “I made this one for you. This one will never wilt.” 

His gaze fell to it, his slender fingers pressed into the fabric around where she snugly fastened it, still cautious to touch. “Is this magic?”

He did not see the touch of pink to her cheeks, how she hemmed for her words to reply to him. 

She sought out this spell in the archives of her mother’s anethum, that would allow a flower to eternally hold its blossomed vibrance with a condition in place, an emotion from the spellcaster, something that hinted its existence from the day they spent together at the temple.

An emotion she felt irresolute to share now. 

She had thought it to be carnal at first. Desire, the unbridled passion that hummed within her when she first laid eyes on the god of death and his aery beauty. It was a fervor that burned within her as she drank his deliberate movements, the glimmer of his silver hair, the perpetual smirk that played on his pink, bow lips. 

This will fade, she told herself. She returned, undeterred and with purpose to save her companions, the fate that brought her to the Gō vys to begin. With her offering rested on her hip, she allowed herself to be swept away in his arms, flitting further into his kingdom. It was his touch that sparked something more, the sweet candor of their conversation, how she swore his steady gaze able to see her bones beneath. 

She felt confirmation at the temple ruins, from the moment she watched the colors of her masterpiece absorb into the exquisiteness he carried with him. She saw something, she felt something. 

There is beauty in the broken.

He was a timeless deity that had seen the fall of Titans and she was only the little goddess of spring. 

In part, she was proud of her power that grew, the vibrant glow of the snapdragon, but she also knew it stemmed from an emotion from her that he would never reciprocate. 

So all she said was, “Yes. Magic.” 

Her cheeks grew warmer still with his steady gaze, her silent prayers that he would not press for the truth of it because she knows she would never be able to lie to him. Aemond seemed to accept the words and then said, “I accept your offering, Kore. Tell me your favor and I swear I will do the best that I am able.” 

So she spoke of the fate that brought her to the Underworld. “I wish to pay the passage for two souls.” 

Her question did not anger him, but there is a sadness that crept to his features. “Kore, I would not be able to allow this,” he sighed, unable to look her in the eyes. “If I am to make an exception for you, I would have to offer the same courtesy to the rest and…” there is a pregnant pause, a moment that allowed her to choke on the emotion that threatened to break through and she saw the glimmer of silver when he tilted his head to watch her. 

“Persephone,” he said with his low baritone. “Why do you ask for this? What brought you to my realm?” 

She wore her shame like the chiton draped over her curves. Her tongue wet her lips as her mind tried for the words to express the suffocating guilt that built with her every visit. Begin at the beginning. On that day, there had been an enchanted flower that she and her companions, Baela and Rhaena, came upon. 

“A flower,” Aemond hummed, his expression unreadable. 

His comment left her feeling childish, ashamed to admit what followed. The flower seemed otherworldly, its petals glittered in the sunlight and beckoned to her, but she balked and stayed within the parameters Rhaenyra had placed. Baela and Rhaena teased at her sudden shyness, pushing beyond and dared to pluck it. 

In return, the earth rumbled to split open and swallowed them both. 

“I know that it was planted for me,” she finished, her fingers fidget with the rope tied around her waist. “What other purpose would an enchanted flower serve than to lure the goddess of spring?” Her cheeks were tearstained. “It should have been me.”

Aemond hummed again, the severity returned to his gaze and he looked away. She allowed herself a breath, the slow intake and exhale through parted lips, to relax her posture and rest her hands into her lap. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it.

It was with his touch that she could admit she loved him. There was a tenderness to his large hands, how his slender fingers were gentle to hold her own and the soothing gesture of his thumb making circular patterns on her palm.

“Kore,” he began and she looked up at him. “I will look further into this. I meant what I said that I am unable to return souls to the mortal realm, it is beyond my power, but I will find…” he hummed again. “Will you please come back tomorrow night?”

I will always find my way to you, but instead she only smiled, nodding her head. 

[hrefna-the-raven]

Cat and mouse

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4

Words: 930

Summary: you try to win that game of cat and mouse you're playing with Raphael

Warnings: smut mention, kind of, no real smut, not yet 😇

"We delivered the devil, now I want what I'm owed! We had a deal!", Astarion snapped, the tone of his voice cracking ever so slightly at the shock the newly found information provided.

"Indeed we did. I discovered all there is to know about those scars. It's a rather grim tale, even for my taste", Raphael chuckled, "but what can I say? Dear old father has a taste for drama."

"Yeah I wonder who else does?", you muttered passing them, not even bothering to look at the devil as you made your way towards the river not far away from your campside.

The argument between the devil and the vampire subsided the further you got away and a sense of relief washed over you as the only sounds that filled the air were the gentle flow of the river and the soft chirping of crickets. Outwardly, you tried to maintain an air of indifference towards Raphael, but internally, a tumultuous battle of emotions raged within you. From the very moment you first encountered the devil, there was a faint connection, something special that lingered in the shadows of your mind, silently intertwining with the unknown threads of fate.

You undressed and entered the water, feeling a shiver run through your body as the coldness brushed against your skin. Inhaling deeply, you descended into the depths, enveloped by the serene silence of the currents, finding solace as your restless thoughts gradually eased. Time was elusive beneath the surface; it could have been a minute, two, or an eternity as it seemed, until an ominous feeling of peril slowly crawled up your spine, compelling you to resurface once more.

A gasp escaped your lips as you suddenly found yourself face to face with Raphael's naked human form, his eyes, a deep, mesmerizing shade of brown, locked on yours. The two of you were suspended in the water, locked in a moment of tension and hidden desire.

"Are you aware that cats usually despise water?", he asked, his voice low and seductive.

"Then perhaps this cat must be very tempted to catch the mouse", you shrugged, attempting to sound nonchalant and unaffected.

"A real temptress this mouse is and very... elusive", he chuckled softly, his breath caressing your skin as he inched closer, "you've been trying to ignore me."

"And you've been keeping secrets from me", you turned away, attempting to conceal the heat that was spreading across your cheeks upon realising the growing intimacy between the two of you.

You sensed a ripple in the water, causing the hairs on your neck to stand on end as if a scorching breath brushed against your skin.

But as you turned around, splashing water where the devil had been, you realised that he had vanished. A quivering breath escaped your lips and just as your heartbeat calmed down, something seized your foot and forcefully dragged you beneath the water's surface.

In a panic, you tried let out a piercing scream that morphed into a cluster of bubbles and you kicked in all directions, desperately fighting to resurface. Eventually, you emerged from the depths of the water, gasping for air. Your eyes darted around, attempting to make sense of what had just occurred. Still in a state of shock, your realised that you were no longer in the river. Instead, you found yourself confined again within that same room with its walls adorned in crimson hues and the opulent bed, this time pinned in the pool under Raphael's bare demonic figure. He leered down at you, his eyes flickering with an insatiable hunger and desire.

"My little mouse", he whispered into your ear, gently grazing his teeth along your neck, eliciting a suppressed moan that you fought to hold back.

In a desperate attempt to create some distance, you placed your hand on his chest, only to find your efforts futile.

"My cat", you swallowed nervously, "I propose a... deal."

Raphael raised an eyebrow, surprised by your sudden choice of words.

"A deal? How intriguing", his husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

"You'll tell me the complete truth about your feelings towards me", your fingers trailed down his chest in a newly found burst of confidence.

"And what do I get in return?", he half moaned, his growing desire evident.

This was a perilous game he found himself playing. If he wasn't careful, he would be ensnared by you instead of the other way around. Whatever enchantment you held over him was becoming increasingly difficult to resist.

"The chase ends once and for all", you wrapped your fingers around his hard length.

A primal sound emanated from the depths of the cambion's chest as he pressed his face against your neck, his hips instinctively moving to seek more of your captivating caress. It was at this precise moment that you realised you had him, despite any attempts he may make to cheat his way out this deal, his response spoke volumes, confirming the lingering doubt that had haunted you since the encounter at the mausoleum.

"So, do we have a deal, devil?", you leaned against his warm cheek.

The words slipped from your lips, a soft whisper while your hand kept stroking his cock. Raphael raised his head, his black pupils dilated with an intense longing. His lips crashed onto yours, submerging you beneath the water's surface, his weight pressing down upon you.

But just as suddenly as it began, it ceased. The sensation of his scorching skin against yours vanished, and you found yourself back in the river near the camp.

"Foul creature," you muttered quietly, attempting to push aside the pulsating heat between your thighs.

[rpgsandbox]

The Crooked Moon is a 400+ page tome that brings Folk Horror to 5E, drawing inspiration from eerie Folklore, legendary Horror Films, classic Halloween Aesthetics, and more. Evoke true terror with malevolent Monsters and Mechanics in a Campaign Setting of eternal night, or equip yourself with numerous Player Options to brave the dark wood. 

Weave Your Own Dreadful Folktale

The perfect supplement to craft an Unforgettable Folk Horror Adventure with your friends.

Sinister Campaign Setting

Explore Druskenvald, a mysterious realm trapped between dusk and the witching hour. Investigate the isolated valley of Wickermoor Hollow, where Superstitious Locals adhere to “The Old Ways” and Long-Forgotten Horrors stalk the deepest woods.

Terrifying Adventure for Levels 1-13 

Send shivers down your friends' spines with this chilling Folk Horror Story, where a party of Wayward Souls must journey through the shroud aboard the Ghostlight Express to uncover the dark machinations of the Crooked Man.

All-New "Fateweaving" System

Enthrall your friends with brand-new tools to Intertwine Player Character Backstories and Motivations into the main narrative. With this easy-to-use system, players will be More Invested Than Ever Before knowing that the fate of their characters is personally connected to the major plot of the adventure from the very start.

Brave the Dark Wood

All the player options you need to become the protagonist of your own Damnable Tale. 

Dreadful Subclasses

Become an omen of doom with the Grim Harbinger Ranger, harness the power of witchcraft with the Horned King Patron Warlock, roll the bones and twist fate with the Sinner Rogue, or dive into horror with any of the other 13+ Subclass Options for all core 5E classes. 

Halloween-Themed Races

Rise again as one of 13+ Lineages of Druskenvald, mortal souls reborn in the land of endless night and changed forever. Choose between the pumpkin-headed Harvestborn, the rat-like Plagueborn, the murk-dwelling Deepborn, or any of the other Race Options inspired by Halloween pop culture.

Upgrading Artifact Items

Equip yourself with 25+ Artifacts of Anathema, powerful Magical Items ranging from weapons to armor to trinkets and more that Level Up With You and unlock Powerful New Abilities, perfect for every tier of play.

Beware the Witching Hour

Unique features sure to add Thrills and Chills to any game, no matter your setting.

Folklore-Inspired Monsters

Face off against creatures of the night with 66+ Folkloric Monsters that require more than basic combat to defeat. Investigate local Myths and Legends, discover Secrets and Superstitions, and Perform Rituals in thrilling encounters beyond just rolling for initiative. 

Legendary Boss Battles

Charge into brutal battles with 11+ Epic Boss Fights, each with Multiple Phases and unique mechanics for Minions, Terrain, and More that will test your party’s courage, tactics, and will to survive.  

Chaotic Curses

Torment your friends by cursing them with 120+ Twists of Dread, random effects that range from Horrifying to Hilarious, keeping any tabletop session Totally Unpredictable and endlessly entertaining.

Kickstarter campaign ends: Thu, November 2 2023 4:00 AM UTC +00:00

Website: [Legends of Avantris] [facebook] [twitter] [instagram]

[femoso-seben]

Immortal Shenanigans

Task force 141 x immortal Freader

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3

TW: Gore, implied gore, violence, blood, Torture

Well, shit.

Like a sardine in salt, you could not slip out of this. You weren’t killed no simply knocked out. You awoke chained up and sore. You look over to see a group of armed men watching you. You realize what your fate has in tale for you, and you feel your lips twitch into a smile.

How fun.

The task force slowly explored the large warehouse. The smell of blood was strong. Blood coated the ground, so much blood. This was a killing place. The men turn to each other with a grim expression.

“HAHAHAHA!” They froze and slowly began to inch their eye to the noise. Peer around the corner and witness a violent scene.

There that mysterious girl, YN was chained down her leg and being sawed off. Blood pooled on the ground and all over the frazzled men. They kept trying to kill her, yet she kept coming back.

“Is that all you got?” You tilt your head laughing. It was incredibly painful but this was the funniest thing to you, as funny as being burned alive by witch hunters.

“Shut bitch!” One yes shooting her in the eye. You slightly fall forward pain disappearing before waking up in pain. How many rotations have you gone through? Maybe 10? Were you killed 10 times?

That’s fun.

“Hey, how long are we gonna do this, I’m bored.” You finally ask smile dropping as you gaze into the eyes of your supposed killer. He glared at you and hit you in the face.

“You punch like a bitch,” you grumble the chair falls down. Blood soaks down your arms and you rip your arms out of the demonic hold of the restraint. You slip your hands out and silently wait for them to set you up.

“Tell me how you know them!” The terrorist bellows hitting your neck with a machete.

“Bro, are you trying to get baptized in my blood? Because Jesus Christ will accept you—“You were hit hard in the sternum by a foot. They had these hateful gazes burning into your soul. You snicker and begin to laugh, religious people are so funny.

Someone prop you back up. You twist your body grab their gun from them and begin to shoot them. They shot back riddling your body with bullets. So much blood oozed out of the wounds. All of them fall dead and you untie your foot with the machete.

“Damn, what a moment.” You groan stretching your body out. You pick up your sawed-off leg and begin to reattach it to your body. You look around, there is so much blood on the floor. Like a perfect mirror.

You whistle and pull your phone from one of the dead terrorists. You took a selfie covered in blood sounded by your blood. You're so tempted to post this saying photo shoot. You chuckle and walk through your own blood.

“What the hell!” You look up to see those four again. You give them a peace sign and a large smile.

“Hey boys,” you call out walking up to them giggling.

“Is all this blood yours?”

“Who else?” You asked back like it’s obvious. It was there was no other dead body here.

“Why is there so much blood?”

“I have a lot of blood,” you shrug.

“Why the fuck were you laughing,” the mustache man ask… you really have to ask them for names.

“What’s your name?”

“Price, this is Gaz, Soap, and Ghost.”

“Dumb but ok.”

“Why were you laughing?” Ghost asks.

“Look at it from my perspective, that’s shits funny.”

“You were being tortured.”

“Nothing more painful than being set on fire.” You retort like it was obvious.

“You have been set on fire?”

“Soap, I was around during the witch trials in Europe. I was burned alive several times,” you nod your head with a smile.

“Why were you being tortured?” Price asked arms folded.

“They thought I was with you, not the fact I’m a very nosy archeologist who was following after my pots!”

“What is with you and pots? Is this a sexual thing?” Gaz asks, you turn to him with a ‘what the fuck,’ look.

“No, I’ve been around for the progress of pot making. To me, pots tell an unspoken human history.” You explain to Gaz who only nods but still looks at you with mild disgust.

“They thought you were with us?” Soap ask.

“Yeah, apparently you guys are being watched…” you state, “Did that box of pots get back to the museum?” You ask.

“Yes. How long have you been here?” Price asks.

“Maybe three hours, what day is it?”

“Friday.”

“Rad I’ve been here for three days,” you laugh and walk off.

“Where are you going?” You stop walking and turn around.

“My Airbnb, why?” You ask turning back to them. What’s with their deal?

“If you’re being targeted, we have to keep you safe,” Price steps forward looking down at you. You sigh and nod understanding their standpoint.

“Let me make a call though my colleagues must think I’m a flake or something. I mean I am, but I don’t ghost people like this.” You laugh and call your archeology buddies.

“What is her deal?” Soap asked looking at you with concern in his eyes.

“I don’t know mate, maybe it’s the price for being immortal?”

“She’s all over the place, manic if you ask me.” Ghost mumbles. The others nod she is manic a little wild, and definitely needs to be on medication.

The task force slowly led the enigma of an immortal with that back to base. How will they explain this to Laswell? They look at her covered in blood and riddled with holes. In her clothes. She looks perfectly fine besides her outer appearance.

“I miss historical violence.” She states breaking the silence.

“What!”

“Yeah like whipping, beheading, hanging, ugh just being tortured brings back some fond memories.”

“Your fucking weird.” Soap states.

“That is true!”

“You’re insane.”

“That is also true!” You adamantly agree with their sentiment.

“Why do you agree with them?” Ghost asks leaning forwards to see your face.

“Because I did lose my mind, being immortal fucks you in the head in a way so unique it makes you crave for something.” The others grew quiet that makes perfect sense.

“Also I’m the worse at getting shit done, if you think you procrastinate I can take decades to do something.” You honestly state.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the most insane thing you’ve done?”

“Besides diving off Niagara Falls, I say being a nurse from the American Civil War all the way to the Vietnam War.” The entire truck grew silent. You’ve seen war.

“Really?”

“I dressed up as a guy and became a field medic. I’ve seen a lot of death, I was there in Japan when the atomic bomb dropped.” You state somberly. The truck grew cold as no one wanted to say anything. They’re shocked, you're a veteran, and they didn’t even realize that.

“I was one the first to suggest a special unit to take on harder missions the average soldier couldn’t do. And here you all are,” you smile looking at all of them with a sense of pride. They were your making, indirectly but still yours, just like your living descendants.

“So… you’re a medic?”

“I was a medic not anymore.”

“You’re a veteran?”

“Technically I’m not because I lied when I was a nurse and then a field medic.” You explain to Soap who’s trying to wrap his mind around this new information.

“Oh, also I was in New York when 9/11 happened. That was horrific.” Everyone seemed to hold their breath, Ghost joined because of 9/11, so this was a big shock for him.

“You have a colorful history,” Price mutters breaking the silence with his calm demeanor.

“What can I say, I live long enough to be around when shit goes sideways.”

The truck arrives at this military base and they lead you to HQ from the looks of things. People stop moving and just stare at you, you completely forget you’re covered in your own blood. You’re used to being stared at, always doing dumb things.

“John— on my God!” You look over to see a middle-aged woman stepping backward.

“Laswell, this is the woman who we’ve told you about.”

“The immortal one?”

“Yup.”

“Hello, Laswell.” You turn to her with a warm smile.

------

1.3K words

@josieguts

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Through the Labyrinth the Thread Guides; Idia Shroud

Strings tie together fates. Strings build fates. But should the thread unravel, will your fate follow?

Supporting Roles; Ortho Shroud & Grim

Content; Soulmate AU (I use the term soul match instead), gender-neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, hurt/comfort, Idia being prime wet cat energy

Content Warnings; Idia & Ortho's backstory (brief mentions of death), some heavy self-depreciation & blaming (Idia), swearing, crying (Idia)

Word Count; 5.5 K

Do not put mine - or other creators’ - works into AI; that shit steals.

In rare instances, humans are given soul matches. It is an odd occurrence, but in a select few families, it is quite common to have one. One of these families being the Shrouds.

There is a story, a myth from aeons past, of a woman using a ball of thread to lead her and others in her company to safety. There is another tale, that one’s life is like that of a string, which the three fates cut with their shears. Strings connect things. Connect people in often invisible ways. They can create. If one snaps, or is loose, everything can unravel. But they can also ensnare; like the sticky strings of a spider’s web. Strings are something the Shroud family is well acquainted with. Alongside the family curse was a family blessing, placed upon them by the God of the Underworld.

No two strings are the same, as they reflected the qualities they shared with the person at the other end. The base colour would stay the same, but the brightness would change with their match’s emotions and well-being. The brighter and lighter the colour, the happier and better their match was. The darker the colour… it meant they were unwell, or under extreme conditions. But there were conflicting ideas within the family over the generations, all written down in a codex that dated back to the very first Shroud.

But, as with any blessing, there is a price to pay for such happiness. For nothing in this world comes for free. Each Shroud is born with two strings. The string on the right leads to the person who will love them for them, of comfort zones, a safety net if you will. The string on the left leads to someone who will change them, make them reassess their life. Right is the known, and left is the unknown. These strings can lead to many different types of relationships; familial, platonic, romantic, and many more.

The strings don’t ever disappear, but if the other person connected by the string dies, then their shared string snaps. The thread around their finger, now white, serving as a cruel reminder of what was. Or in some cases, of what could have been. 

Another steep price is that the person at the end of the winding thread, should they choose their match, will also be subjected to the Shroud family’s curse. So there are many cases across the decades of select Shrouds choosing to ignore the thread, to not bring someone else to their fate. But not all matches felt the same way, as a few matches actively searched and confronted their match. These pairings serve as a reminder; that even though you may try to ignore fate, it will catch up to you. And both are transported into a labyrinth, disguised from each other; only able to get out with each other and without the one looking back.

Is this guarantee of happiness truly worth putting someone else, someone innocent, through the same cursed fate as them though? Many a Shroud, if not all, are conflicted by the prospect. Should happiness really come at the cost of someone else’s? Even if they would be happy together?

…

…

…

Idia looked into the crib where the yellow string on his right hand led, glowing a faint sunshine gold. This baby — Ortho — was supposed to be the person who will love him for him? 

“Idia, honey, what’s with the frown,” his mom asked, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

Idia peered into the crib, where Ortho was peacefully sound asleep. “My thread leads to him,” he muttered. He knew that eventually he and Ortho would bond, but it would be several years until the two could really get close. You can’t exactly have a conversation or play more complex games with a baby. “What does that mean?”

Mrs. Shroud hummed, her usual chipperness being a bit more subdued due to the little amount of sleep she was getting. Well, both parents really, but Mr Shroud just was extra tired and quiet when compared to his wife. “Well, remember the stories I tell you when you go to sleep, honey?”

“Like… Ariadne and the string? But that’s just a story, Mom,” Idia huffed, pushing the mobile and making the pegasi fly in a slow circle. “Plus Ariadne didn’t have a happy ending… the hero didn’t stay with her.”

Mrs. Shroud’s eyes were fixed on him, and she was thinking. “Well, the string that led to Theseus was on her left hand, dear; the left string changes us, for better or for worse. But on her right hand was another string, much like the string on yours. The string on your right hand is for those who will love you as you are. Regardless of what happens.”

Idia looked down into the crib again, where the pegasi cast dancing shadows. “But he’s so … small.”  

“Well he is a baby,” Mrs. Shroud laughed, looking between her bewildered son and her peacefully sleeping baby. “Don’t worry, before long the two of you will be running and playing. You’ll be the best of friends, trust me. Okay?”

Idia didn’t look impressed but he nodded at his mom before heading back to his room. He finally knew where the yellow string, the string on his right hand, led. But why was the string on his right hand floating up before fading out into nothingness? A translucent thread, save for the tiniest hint of blue. No one in the stories, either old or new, had a string that went up. If his soul match were dead his thread would be white and hanging limply off of his finger. But no, it just led somewhere where he couldn’t see. A place that no one knew of.

Left strings lead to someone who will change us. But Idia had heard enough stories of how left threads led to either happiness or utter despair. After all, Ariadne’s left thread only brought her heartbreak, and her other soul match, the God of Revelry, was the only one that brought her solace. 

…

Laughter haunted his mind. Cheer-filled laughter. Love. memories haunted his mind. But they were only that, memories. Memories could not replace Ortho. Memories could not bring back his brother. Memories could not fix everything that has happened.

It’s all my fault. He looked down at the mechanical parts. It’s all my fault. How long has it been since he last slept? It’s all my fault. “It’s all my fault,” he hissed, shoving the parts away in frustration.

Ortho wouldn’t have… We wouldn’t- Ortho would still be here if it weren’t for me! That was what Idia constantly told himself since the incident. If it weren’t for me, Ortho would be here! I’m no hero! I just want my brother back! GIVE ME MY BROTHER BACK!

But he wouldn’t get Ortho back, not truly. Death is a permanent thing, it cannot be undone. But Idia was not the only one hurting, for his parents were also grieving.

“Island of Woe,” Idia sighed, looking into the reflection off of one of the many monitors. “Rather fitting. Nothing but misery… but pain. Is this to be our fate?” His hair, once a dull blue, was now shining a brilliant angry red. “Is this Ortho’s fate? To die because of my influence?! He’s a kid! HE DIDN’T KNOW!” I’m just a kid. But as soon as the anger came up, it vanished, and the room went back to its dim blue glow from the multiple screens showing blueprints.

Sighing, Idia went back to work, fiddling with wires and reading over blueprints and various magic texts. If magic alone could not bring back Ortho, then maybe technology could. The past two years have been like this; Idia working long into the night, trying to find a way, any possible way, to bring Ortho back.

It’s all my fault, so the least I can do is make it right. He didn’t care how long it took him, he was going to make sure that Ortho would be back home. 

The thread on the right-hand leads you to someone who will love you as you are. Idia loved Ortho, and he would still love him, even if his brother was now made of steel and wires.

“Here goes nothing.” What was this, the one-hundredth attempt? He spent nearly three months working on this body, but now was the moment of truth. “Please, please work.”

And he started up Ortho’s programming, waiting for the blue flame to ignite. And as the blue flame sparked to life, the string on Idia’s right hand connected itself to Ortho. Glowing a blinding yellow, changing from a bright pastel to a dark ochre, mirroring the complex emotions running through the older Shroud’s mind.

But the string on his left hand was still translucent and led nowhere, nowhere but up.

…

…

…

Eyes, eyes are everywhere. Voices are everywhere. And Idia could see all of this from the other side of the screen. Where the others were standing around the mirror chamber, whispering amongst themselves, Idia sat at his desk, watching everything take place. He really didn’t even want to be there, even virtually, but the Housewarden of each dorm was required to attend, he just happened to pull a few strings so he didn’t have to endure the social interaction.

Besides, the ceremony was the same every year, and Idia really didn’t need to be there to welcome the newcomers. So he wasn’t, instead watching and adding his input as needed, working on a new customization for Ortho. He looked down at his hand. The thread on his left hand was still translucent and went nowhere but up, fading into nothing. Idia still didn’t know what that was meant to mean, and there were no records in the family library or database about any other cases. 

Left is the unknown. Left is what changes you. But what is there to change? Why should Idia change? He looked to his right hand, where the yellow thread on his pinky connected to Ortho. Right is who loves you for you. All Idia needed was Ortho, he didn’t need nor want anyone else. Especially someone waltzing in uninvited to throw a wrench in his life. Ortho was all Idia needed. Ortho was all Idia wanted. Never again was he going to lose his brother. He would go to the ends of the world and back for him.

The ceremony didn’t go off without a hitch though. Through the screen, Idia saw blue fire, saw students clamouring out to escape the flames. But the fire is not what caught Idia’s eye though, no. What caught his eye was that the thread on his left hand was glowing blue, and led outside his door, out into the campus of Night Raven College. 

He felt a lump form in his throat. Left changes you. The thread dulled in its luminosity, becoming clouded. Confused. Both Idia and the person at the other end of the thread were confused. For Idia, it was that the thread was… active? It was the realization that the person who would change him was here, and that thought alone terrified him. But for the other person at the end of the thread, it was an entirely different kind of confusion. It was more along the lines of “Where the hell am I? WHY AM I IN A COFFIN?! WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE?!” type of confusion.

And out of all the possible colours it had to be blue. Blue has many meanings; inspiration, imagination, trust, and wisdom. But also sadness. Feeling blue was called that for a reason. Blue hardly brought anything without sadness. But at the same time, it was all too fitting that the thread that he shared with his soul match was blue. Of course, Idia would bring nothing but sadness to his match.

Would I change them for the worse? I can’t drag them into this… I can’t do this. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be in your life,” he whispered, grabbing a pair of scissors. He drew the thread taut and brought the blades in, before snipping. But the tread didn’t break, instead, it cut through the scissors, changing from faded blue to a blazing gold, before fading back to blue.

Yeah, there was no chance of Idia removing the molten scissors from the floor of his room. His face paled, and he stared at the thread.

Others had tried to cut the thread off before him, but the scissors just bounced off. They didn’t cut through and melt metal. That wasn’t normal. None of this was normal. Idia wasn’t normal.

“Who are you?” But the thread didn’t answer, still glowing faintly, shifting from cyan to navy. The cyan shifted to navy, indicating they were feeling much the same. Idia brought his knees to his chest and hid his head into the space between them. Who are you, and what’s going to happen?

…

…

Saying that you weren’t happy would be a gross understatement. You were the furthest thing from happy. You were here, wherever here was, you nearly got burned alive by some cat creature that had adopted you as his hench-human, and some weird birdman had “graciously” let you stay in a dilapidated house infested with ghosts. So yeah, you were not having a good night.

“Why,” you seethed, looking through the cracked windows at the darkening sky. “Why me?” But all you got for an answer was creaking wood and the whistling of wind coming in through the many cracks in the walls and ceiling. You plopped down on one of the ancient sofas and fell straight through to the ground. Yeah, sure, why not?!

Today was a mess, a disastrous mess. But at least now, everything was quiet… for the most part, but whatever was to come could wait until tomorrow when you were somewhat well rested. In all of the ruckus and noise though, there was a silent change. Curiously, on each hand, on your pinky, were coloured strings.

On your right, a purple string, glowing with lilac and deep violet. With that string, you saw where it ended, which was on Grim’s right paw. But on your left hand, you couldn’t see the ending for the blue thread, glowing a faint navy. It led outside of the door and kept on going before disappearing off into campus. You didn’t know what strings meant here, but back at home, red strings were a popular trope in soulmate fanfiction. Here though? No clue. What does it mean to have two? Why were they different colours? Why did they just appear now?

The glowing strings didn’t answer, of course, and continued glowing. Fading between different shades of their respective colours, but the blue string remained a dark navy. To be fair though, nothing really made sense here. So, sure, why not?

There’s no bed… well, a proper bed. So the floor it is I guess. It wasn’t the most ideal of situations, but it was a bit better than sleeping outside. Looking up to the ceiling, you started counting the cracks to take your mind off of things. Fifty-six, fifty-seven… How many cracks could a ceiling have until it didn’t count as a ceiling? Sighing, you tugged at the blue string, seeing if you would get some kind of answer back. But nope. Nada. Zero. You got zilch as an answer. But the string was less of the dark, deep, navy, and there was a hint of a true blue in the mix.

You rubbed your eyes and kept on tugging at the string every time you counted another crack. One hundred and … I lost count FU- you groaned in defeat. You gave one last pull at the string before deciding to try and get some shut-eye. If today was just beginning, then, boy howdy, more chaos and shenanigans were sure to come your way. And what chaos and shenanigans they were.

…

…

…

Idia was antsy today, more antsy than usual. Every night, at around the same time, he would feel the thread on his left pinky tug. It was insistent, but it was the same number every time. He hadn’t made any sort of move with his string since he tried to cut it. And honestly, he was scared to even touch it. Fearing that should he interact with the string, that it would bring his other soul match into his life. Finally, he felt the last tug, which was always the strongest, and sighed with relief.

At first, Idia thought it was just his match trying to get his attention, and that was still a possibility, but it was the same amount of tugs every night. They didn’t pull the string at any other time, only at night. So perhaps trying to get his attention wasn’t the point. Maybe it was Morse code? But the tugging was the same quick motion. Unless his match was just saying E two hundred and thirteen times with a T at the end, they weren’t trying to get a message across. Then what did they want? What were they doing? Why were they doing it? 

“Why am I thinking about them,” he hissed under his breath, placing his forehead on his desk. I don’t want to think about them… they’ll change everything.

And while many people in his family had good relationships with their match on their left string, there was always the chance that it could end horribly. They would hate me anyways… the only one that likes me is Ortho. All I need is Ortho.

“They can’t hate you if you don’t give them the chance to know you!” Ortho had seamlessly snuck into the room, and apparently Idia had said his thoughts out loud too. Ortho looked at Idia’s left hand, he couldn’t actually see the thread, but he knew it was there, and he knew it had appeared the day of the ceremony. Knew that Idia was quietly obsessing on not meeting his soul match. “You can’t avoid them forever, nii-san!”

I can’t avoid them forever. Ortho was right in that, since the threads would tighten and force the reluctant one — aka Idia — to them. And he cringed at the thought of his thread practically dragging him to his soul match. If they already thought he was some loser, then surely that introduction wouldn’t bolster any confidence. “They don’t need me… they don’t want me.”

Ortho frowned, and their connected thread turned a dark ochre, reflecting Ortho’s frustration at his older brother’s resistance. “How do you know that, though?”

“I just do,” Idia huffed. 

He loved his younger brother, loved him so much that he couldn’t live without him, but sometimes Idia wished that he would drop the subject of soul matches. Stop trying to make him change his mind. Right is for those who love you regardless of everything. But Idia knew Ortho only did it to try and make him happy. Left is who changes you. 

Ortho yanked on their thread, forcing Idia out of his own head. “No, no you don’t. And maybe they won’t change you, but you just might change for them.” Change is a part of life. Enjoy life, Idia. Ortho didn’t say that though, hoping that Idia would get out of his comfort zone, take a chance, go on a quest, and find the other person at the end of the string. Wherever they may be.

…

…

…

Something was wrong. The thread on your finger had turned black, and led to nowhere, fading into the air. It had happened right as you had entered the air zone of the Island of Woe. 

Go back! Turn back! Now is a BAD time! But was there ever a good time? Would there ever be a good time? And despite the alarm bells practically screaming in your head, you advanced. Originally you came here to rescue your friends — even if a few were more reluctant to call you that — but there was something more. It was as if you were here for a reason. 

The right string, your string that led to Grim, was glowing a faint, dark violet. He’s scared. And like hell were you going to abandon your demanding fur-child. Yes, he gave you constant migraines and set the kitchen on fire too many times to really count — forty-seven though according to Deuce — but you loved the little asshole. Loved him enough to face down Idia… Idia who was surrounded by blot. But that wasn’t all, no. Both of you were in a maze, a labyrinth, made of ink. And Idia wasn’t all there, and you knew that a part of him was outside of the maze, as was a part of you. But the parts that mattered were here, stuck in the dripping labyrinth, together.

  And then Idia was gone, either being teleported to somewhere else in the maze, or back outside. In your mind you could see the events unfolding, but you weren’t really there. In the darkness there were two sources of light. The thread on your left pinky was now glowing a blinding gold, and weaving between the inky walls. Going forward. But there was also the string on your right hand, glowing a faint purple and led up. In order to get out of this maze it looked like you would have to follow the blue thread now turned gold which blazed forward like the Sun across the horizon. 

In your mind you could see everyone fighting Idia, could see yourself fighting Idia, but you were following the gold thread through the silent maze.

“Where are you bringing me?” But all you got for an answer was a slight change in brightness. None of this made sense. I really should have researched this when I had the chance. That’s a problem for future me though. 

The thread eventually stopped though, stopping in front of a figure sitting on the ground with his knees to his chest, hugging them. A figure made of blue, gold, and yellow flame. 

…

Idia felt his chest and eyes burning. Why am I crying? He looked through his tear-warped vision, but he was in some sort of labyrinth. Why am I here? The thread was glowing gold, much as it had when he had attempted to cut it. But instead of being unbearably hot, it was warm, like his favourite hoodie. Comforting. But the thread on his right hand had snapped again, and was white. Ortho was gone again. It’s all my fault. Everything is always my fault.

Left changes us. Left is the unknown. Left is possibility.

But it’s also pain, uncertainty, fear, rejection—

“But how do you know that though?” That’s what Ortho said. And Idia didn’t know those things, not for certain.

He curled into himself, trying to ground himself. A curt laugh escaping from his lips. “A labyrinth of all places,” he said quietly into the dripping gloom. Fitting, since Ariadne was hurt most by the person she met there. Are you trying to tell me they’ll come in here, waltzing in like some hot shot hero, only then to ditch me for someone else?

But the thread only continued to glow, leading out into the maze. The only way out is forward. But Idia couldn’t move, he felt frozen, stuck. So he just sat there, letting out the built up grief of years and years come out. The tears gently rolled down his face before falling into the ink. 

“Are you okay?”

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Idia looked up. Standing at the entrance(?), exit(?) of the labyrinth was a figure, their voice distorted, and their body made up of blue, gold, and lilac flames. And he and they were connected together through the gold cord.

Idia moved in further on himself. “No,” he hissed. Obviously he was not okay. “G-go away! I don’t need you!”

But the figure only got closer, and came down to sit next to him, quietly waiting for him. “I may or may not know you, cuz honestly I can’t tell with the weird voice filter and flame suit, but I think you do need me… I know nothing about what this means,” you picked up the gold thread connecting the two of you together, “but I do know it means we’re connected in some way. Also that we can only get out with each other, regardless of if we like it or not.”

Regardless of if we like it or not. Idia hated this entire situation. He was stuck in here, in this maze with his soul match’s inner flame, but he was also outside. Left changes us. “I don’t want you.” I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t want any of this.

It stung a bit, but you knew there was no bite to their bark. “You may not want me, and I may not want you, but I think we need each other. Cuz whatever these strings are, seem to have a mind of their own.” You got off the ground and offered your hand to your gloomy companion. “Now, are you going to sit here in the dark, or do you want to get out of this place?”

Idia looked up at them. You may not want me, and I may not want you, but I think we need each other. They were right. He wouldn’t be able to leave this maze without them. And right now, they were glowing as bright as the Sun, warm, comforting, and bright. Left is to change. Left is the unknown. So, Idia took their hand.

…

…

The two of you walked in silence throughout the maze, the only sound being the drip drip drip of ink hitting the ground. The further you went from where your fellow flame person was moping, the more light there was, and the ink was slowly fading out. But there was still a long ways to go. But the silence was suffocating, especially since you had some questions that needed answering.

“So,” you cleared your throat, breaking the quiet. “What do these strings mean?”

The flame figure, who was in actuality Idia, beside you tripped. They don’t know? How could they not know? “... they’re soul match threads…”

Soul match? “And what does that mean?” It’s not my fault that I don’t know anything about this. I didn’t really receive a “Welcome to Twisted Wonderland!” brochure.

Idia sighed. He was still nervous around you, but the anonymity of the voice filters and the fact that you were made of fire helped calm his nerves enough. “The one on the right is for the person who loves you for you, regardless of flaws.” And his had broke again, Ortho was gone again. “The left thread is for the person who will change you… it also means the unknown.”

“I don’t want you!” So that’s why they were so defensive. “Well, change can be scary. It can be good or bad,” you hummed. “But life is filled with change… Life is change. You can’t truly live without changing, without taking a chance on the unknown.”

“You’re pretty wise,” it slipped out of his mouth before Idia knew, and he was glad that the fire didn’t change colour like his hair did, or else he would have been bright pink. “Sorry, forget I s-said that!”

But you just chuckled, “Meh, just have learned a lot in the past couple of months… blue does mean wisdom though.”

“It also means sadness.” Idia stopped walking. “I don’t want to bring sadness into your life… it seems to be the only thing I bring.”

“Blue can mean a hundred different things, you just have to decide what it means for you. For me? It means a bright clear sky. It’s water. It’s the bright blue of … my friend’s fire. It can mean anything. You just have to give it meaning.” You didn’t really know why you were saying all of this, but you felt like you could be honest with the stranger beside you.

Left changes you. Left is the unknown… the left can be something you choose for yourself? Idia had always thought that his soul match would be different from him. Try to forcibly change him. But they weren’t. They were helping him, giving him… advice? Helping him out of the maze. Which at first was filled with dark ink, but now instead of stepping on the dark surface, they were in a maze made of white marble, and a blue sky dotted with white clouds overhead.

You didn’t look back at Idia when he stopped walking, and instead waited patiently. You don’t know why, but you had a feeling that if you looked back, they would disappear, heading back to the darkness of the centre of the labyrinth. “Come on, we’re almost out.” You offered your hand again, waiting. “Let’s get out of here.”

This time Idia took your hand without a second thought. A blinding light forced the both of you to close your eyes and you found yourselves out of the maze. To the aftermath of the overblot.

…

…

…

It was a week before the physical string on your and Idia’s hand came back. But this time it was different; instead of being purely blue it was a mix of blue and gold, taking on a marbled appearance. Idia’s right thread to Ortho was back too, and he was overjoyed to have his brother back.

“You met them, didn’t you? In the labyrinth?” Ortho asked, noticing that his brother was different, not a bad different either. “That’s how you escaped the blot.”

Idia nodded. Without his soul match, he would still be stuck in the blot, stuck in the dark maze… stuck in obsessing and blaming himself for what happened in the past. Left is the unknown. Left is the future. “They… they were kind.”

Ortho looked at Idia, and there was a smile in his eyes. “Go to them then, nii-san!!!” He harshly pulled on his thread to push his message home. “What are you waiting for, Idia?!”

What am I waiting for? They had already reached out to him, saved him, so it was only fair to find them in return… to show that he changed. So, he gently plucked at the thread, holding his breath as he waited for an answer. And he felt a pull back as an answer.

Just think of it as a side adventure in a game. This isn’t some boss battle. This isn’t a bad ending in an otome game… This isn’t a game though. 

…

You were smothering Grim in hugs and kisses. “I LOVE YOU, YOU FLUFFY JERK!” You muffled into his fur as he tried to escape your affection.

“Nyeh! You’re choking me! Let me go, hench-human!” Grim squirmed out of your grasp, but hugged your leg. “... I missed you too.”

After everything with Idia’s overblot, you had been giving Grim extra love. Yes, he could be an ass at times, but he’s still your friend, and you loved him regardless. Right is for those who love you regardless of anything else. You loved Grim, regardless of everything that he’s done. And he loved you. You two were family. A vibrating sensation on your left hand pulled you from the sweet moment.

The thread connected to your hand was slowly vibrating. So, they’re reaching out? … maybe I did change them? And you lightly pulled on the string. You wanted to find them, if for nothing else than to make sure that they were okay.

“Grim, don’t start any house fires when I’m gone,” you placed a kiss on his forehead before going out the door. Ramshackle was still a disaster zone, but it was still home to you. You could always fix it later. It could wait. But the other person at the end of your blue and gold marbled thread could not.

You didn’t know who they were, you didn’t know who to expect, but you were open to the possibilities. You were open to change, open to the unknown. Open to the future, whatever that may look like with them.

Eventually your string stopped, and looking up from the thread you saw Idia, shaking slightly and looking at the string connecting you two. Focusing so strongly that you had came that he hadn’t even looked up to see who his soul match was.

“I know what you may think of me, but…” he took in a shaky breath, trying to get the vulnerability of his voice under control. “I’m trying to change, accepting that what happened, happened. But it’s going to take me a while to level up-” He cringed at the gaming slang he used.

You placed your hand on his. “How do you know what I think about you if you never really asked me?”

Idia’s head snapped up and he looked at you with wide eyes, hair flashing a flustered pink. “It’s you?!” He practically squeaked. The strong, responsible, and kind Prefect?! “NOT THAT THAT’S A BAD THING THOUGH!”

“Do you think change is so scary, now that we know it’s each other?”

Idia looked into your eyes, and he knew his answer. “As long as we have each other, no. It’s not.”

Fin!

Author's Note; Did I use a popular soulmate trope with the string of fate? Yes. Do I care? No~. I did tie in the mythology of Ariadne, but also of Orpheus & Eurydice. Also some colour language because I can. I hope you enjoy Idia's story! If you like my work, or want to read the other Soul Match AU stories I have, do check out my masterlist!

Tags!

@inkybloom-luv @eynnwwyjth @xxoomiii

[luxuriouswaigee]

The Demise of Muzan Kibutsuji: A Lego Block's Revenge

Once upon a time, in a breathtaking twist of fate within the awe-inspiring realm of "Demon Slayer," Muzan Kibutsuji, the dreaded demon lord, met a demise so shocking, so unexpected, that it sent tremors through the very fabric of his dark domain.

In the hush of the night, within the murky depths of his lair, Muzan brooded over his wicked plans, his heart filled with malice and ambition. Little did he know that a mischievous sprite had crept into his inner sanctum, leaving behind a solitary Lego block, innocuous yet sinister in its design. This seemingly harmless toy would prove to be the instrument of his undoing.

Lost in his own thoughts, Muzan prowled the chamber, his mind ablaze with treacherous plots and ruthless strategies. Oblivious to the imminent danger, he trod back, only to unwittingly crush the Lego block beneath his heel. In a sudden, searing pain that shot through his leg, Muzan staggered, he inhaled so hard that the lego block flew deep inside his throat.

The demon lord gasped in shock as he struggled for air, his unearthly powers useless against this trivial yet deadly obstruction. His loyal minions, once awed by his invincibility, now stood frozen in terror as they witnessed their mighty leader choking on a small plastic toy.

Despite his formidable might and unwavering resilience, Muzan's destiny was sealed. Each fruitless attempt to dislodge the block brought him closer to the brink of death, his once fearsome countenance growing pale in the dim light. In a final, desperate bid for survival, Muzan unleashed his demonic abilities in a futile effort to expel the accursed block, but it was too late.

With a strangled gasp, Muzan crumpled to the ground, his life slipping away before his horrified followers. The revered demon lord, whose very name had struck fear into the hearts of all, met his ignominious end not in battle against a hero or a rival, but at the cruel mercy of a humble Lego block.

The tale of Muzan Kibutsuji's downfall spread far and wide, a sobering parable of how even the most powerful beings can be brought low by the most trivial of circumstances. It stood as a grim reminder to all denizens of darkness of the fleeting nature of life, a stark reminder that even the immortal must face the inevitability of death.

[zairene]

WELCOME TO THE PARTY. osamu dazai

* ˚ ✦ synopsis: you’ve perished and after being in a limitless abyss that seemed to have no end, you found yourself having a conversation with the underground’s grim reaper.

* ˚ ✦ genre: fic, 1k count !

* ˚ ✦ author’s note: this is honestly a really good prologue for a series.

after becoming a victim of reality’s corrupt fate of death, you were surprisingly calm. were you satisfied when you died? obviously not. dying young meant leaving everyone and everything you had ever loved behind and it was definitely a hard pill to swallow. however, you just knew it was coming. you were free of the pain you were constantly having to endure when living, and now that it has stopped, you finally achieved a level of peace you haven’t experienced before.

you had been suffering from a terminal illness, when doctors immediately diagnosed you and relayed the news that you were slowly dying, you didn’t know how to feel. seeing the tears of your loved ones did not help your conflicted emotions, they were handling it worse than you and you were the one dying. so when it came to the day you were expected to die, you were just ready for life to take you away and put you in whatever situation that lay for you in the afterlife.

and here you are now, walking in this abyss-like place where nothing but the color black was in your vision. you didn’t know how long you were walking or where you were heading towards—hell you could’ve been walking in circles this entire time—but you didn’t feel any sort of fatigue or have any sense of time. being dead was a lot more dull than you assumed it to be. either way, you had no choice.

“well hello there.”

a deep smooth voice called from behind you. you turned around to see a figure with a tall and lanky physique, his bandaged hands held an enormous scythe. is he here to finish me off? that was your initial thought when you saw the being. he soon lifted his hoodie to reveal his face. his eyes were a piercing black to the point where a simple stare could make any regular person think he could see their soul. in this case, he probably could.

his wavy brown hair was layered, but his hair in the back reached the nape of his neck. even for being dead, it looked like he took care of it quite well, you were kinda impressed. his smile was oddly soothing, but you could tell there were many tales to be told behind it.

“are you just here to tell me i’m dead? i think i’m aware.” you said.

“no, no darling. actually, you’re not dead. not yet anyways.” he saunters closer to you. “this is the void.”

“the what?”

“the void.” he raises his hand that is holding his scythe and places it behind him to lean on. you are stunned by the fact that thing could handle his entire body weight. “a place between life and death where i make your journey into the afterlife somewhat easier, to put it into simpler terms, i guess.” he paused, taking a look at you. his expression changed. “you poor thing, you look awfully young. i take it you haven’t handled the news well, hm?”

“yeah, dying young wasn’t really a part of my resolutions for the new year but here i am. and i handled it just fine, thank you.” you were not about to have him treat you like some charity case similar to anybody else that has met their end here. he smirks. “sassy one, aren’t ya?”

“if being sassy means i won’t put up with pity, then i might be the sassiest of them all.” you retorted.

“point taken.” he puts his hands up in defense. “here, walk with me. unless you wanna be here forever, then be my guest.” he walks past you, and you follow shortly not interested in the idea of being lost for the rest of eternity.

“i’m your friendly neighborhood grim reaper, and yes, just like the forms of entertainment the humans like to indulge in.” he says disgustingly. you noticed his disdain for mortal activities but you weren’t bothered to ask.

“so you’re here to take my soul?”

“incorrect and that’s honestly boring. think of the opportunity that lies ahead of you as a second life.”

“a second life?” you were intrigued.

“yes. a better version of humanity, that’s what many have said at least.”

“oh really? what makes them say that?”

“my, you are filled with questions. as expected but i’m afraid i can’t answer them all as i am a very busy man.” you rolled your eyes. “however, you can refer to our consultant at the underground once our conversation here is finished.”

he held his finger up. “and before you ask, i’ll explain.” you closed your mouth since you were gonna ask another question.

“the underground is the place you go to once you’re officially dead—i feel that part was obvious but it’s part of the speech i give everyone—a wonderland filled with people who are also in your situation. dead and confused. some have resided there longer than others, so they know their way around the place, but for people like you,” he points at you. “it’s a redemption of sorts. to live your life eternally without the fear it may end due to unfathomable circumstances or stupid things like old age.”

“so you’re saying that i’m living life again but infinitely and with no consequences?”

“correct! you’re a natural.” he continues. “but this doesn’t exclude you from having responsibilities of course. we all have jobs here and you still have to play your part, alive or not. now, are you ready?”

“yeah, sure.” you weren’t. you were still very hesitant about the whole thing but you didn’t want to continue to bombard the guy with questions. “well then,” after those words a red portal appeared in front of the both of you. you looked at the man’s face and he gave you another smile. “welcome to the party.”

and before you could even comprehend what he told you, you were pushed into the portal, unaware of where it would take you specifically but you most certainly had an idea.

(📦) — BUNGOU STRAY DOGS TAGLIST // @4nthonyyliving @4kh

(📝) — TAGLIST FORM :: sign to be apart of the taglist!

[peakyswritings]

Bad Omen

Written for @zablife ‘s 2k celebration: “Tommy has eloped with a young bride the family has deemed untrustworthy from reputable sources. The couple has just returned from their honeymoon in Paris and now the new Mrs. Shelby would like to meet those closest to him. The couple spares no expense for their lovely housewarming party, but it's ill-fated from the beginning as those Tommy holds near and dear try to run her off with tales of horror. Every room holds a surprise and each guest a secret, but what could they be?” Congrats again, darling🤍🌼

Warnings: mentions of death.

Dividers credit

They didn’t like her.

An hour into the party, (Y/n) was sure of one thing: the Shelbys didn’t like her. Her husband had warned her that they might be a bit wary at first, that they would need some time to warm up to her, that they would eventually take her in, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. They didn’t want her in the family. Something told her that even before meeting her, they had already made up their mind. And now all of her efforts to make a good impression felt useless.

Everything had been planned down to the last detail. The decorations, the food, the soft music playing in the background. (Y/n) had personally made sure that nothing was out of place, or left to chance. That night had to be perfect. But what she had not bargained for was that even she couldn’t control the weather. A furious storm raged outside, the rain lashed at the windows so heavily that it was almost impossible to distinguish what was happening on the other side of the glass. The wind howled through the trees, dangerously swaying their branches, and the lighting flashing across the night sky cast an eerie light over the house, giving it a grim, somber look.

The lights flickered in the big room, making the hum of voices fade into silence. They flickered a second time, then a third, then everything went dark. (Y/n) instinctively grabbed Tommy’s arm, nestling closer to his strong frame.

“It’s just the storm, love.” He whispered in her ear. “Just the storm.”

In another occasion his husky voice would’ve been enough to reassure her, but the whole situation made it impossible for her to relax. The thunderstorm, the unreadable glances the family kept on sending her, the tense atmosphere.

When Polly slipped her arm through her own and asked her with honey-sweet voice to go grab some more candles with her, her request feeling more like an order, (Y/n) knew she couldn’t refuse. The matriarch had been watching her all the time, and it felt like her piercing dark eyes could read right into her soul, searching for a weakness, a flaw. A secret.

With a candle in her hand, Polly guided her up the imposing staircase and down the hallway, their steps echoing on the wooden floor. The older woman pushed a door open, and (Y/n) immediately recognised the small study. In the short time she had moved into the mansion, she had only been in that room a few times. For some reason, she didn’t like it. It was dark, and cold, and it made her feel uneasy somehow. They stepped further into the study, the floor creaking underneath their feet.

A loud bang made (Y/n) jump in surprise, and when she turned around the door was closed. Polly, on the other hand, was completely unfazed. She shrugged, placing the candle on a small table. “It’s the wind, love.”

(Y/n) nodded, taking a deep breath. It was the wind. Just the wind. There was no need to be paranoid.

The room fell silent again, and she suddenly realised that it had stopped raining. Hopefully the power would come back soon. She walked up to the window with slow steps, an unfamiliar nervousness taking over her. She pushed the burgundy curtain aside, then wiped the foggy glass with her hand, squinting her eyes. Something croaked outside, making her take a step back. A crow was perched on the branch of a tree, and she could’ve sworn that his glistening little eyes were staring at her.

“A bad omen.” Polly’s voice came to her ears, pulling her out of her thoughts.

(Y/n) shifted her gaze from the crow to Polly, then to the crow again. He was still looking. Shivering, she walked away from the window, eager to find the candles and get out of that room. But then something else caught her eye. On a dresser, there were the roses that Tommy had gifted her that morning. But the flowers, which up until a few hours before were lush and brilliant, were now withered. Their scent was gone and their vibrant colours had faded to grey. She ran a finger on the dry petals, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“Is there something wrong?”

Polly’s abrupt question startled her again. She was a few steps behind her, carefully observing her. (Y/n) gulped, shaking her head. “No. No, it’s fine.”

The woman nodded, going back to what she was doing.

(Y/n) hastily opened one of the drawers, and she exhaled a breath of relief when she saw a few candles and a box of matches. However, it was a brown leather book which grabbed her attention. When she pulled it out, she realised it was not a book, rather a diary. She lit one of the candles and placed it on the wooden surface so that she could see what it was about. She flipped through the pages, but the handwriting was so messy that she couldn’t quite decipher what was written in the diary, nor understand who it belonged to. Just a few words stood out, a few terrifying words. Curse. Devil. It’s with Shelbys. It’s in the blood. Something slipped from between the pages and fell at her feet. It was a card. No, it was a tarot. Death.

A chill ran through her spine, and her body froze in place as the Grim Reaper stared at her from the ground. The crow croaked again, louder, but now he was right outside the window, looking inside. He slightly tilted his head, then, as if scared by something, he flapped his wings and flew away.

“A bad omen indeed.” Polly murmured, glancing at the tarot. (Y/n)’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she hadn’t even heard her coming by her side.

Not showing the slightest hint of discomfort, the older woman crouched to grab the card and put it back in its place. Still frozen, as if she had no control over her limbs anymore, (Y/n) let her take the diary, which seemed to have become as heavy as a stone, and watched as she placed it in the drawer.

As if she had just noticed the horrified expression on the younger woman’s face, Polly gave her a sweet smile, bringing a cold hand on her face to gently caress it. Then she leaned in, and the chilling words she whispered in her ear held nothing of the gentleness she had just shown her.

“Don’t believe his lies.”

Edit: I forgot to add the tag list yesterday

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

[variousincorrectxreader]

quick word vomit.

my favorite genshin characters reacting to your death.

includes: Sucrose, Amber, Zhongli and Lumine.

Warnings: character death (reader), slight spoilers in Sucrose's part, blood in both Amber and Lumines part, reader is sick in Zhongli's part.

Sucrose

She was completely unaware that you had left without taking proper first aid, she was simply too distracted to do her usual check up on you. Oh how she wishes she did so now.

"dont worry! Sweets. I'll be back before you know it. Its just a simple supply run after all."

and you had left, leaving with a peck on the cheek and a murmured I love you that she barely caught, too focussed on her strange experiments to reply. You had run into a horde of monsters blocking the road. A very unlucky random encounter. Only you and two others were fully equipped to fight, and fight you did... you fought well, but you had sustained heavy injuries, and you had no way of healing them. How stupid you felt, how guilty you felt. Because now you were leaving Sucrose behind, just like her so called friends. your vision went dark, dot by dot, the yelling of your comrades fading away into nothing.

Sucrose was just finishing yet another experiment when a knock on the door was heard. 'Strange,' she thought. Normally you would just barge in, recounting your epic tale of the day. Well whatever. She was just happy to see you, excited to show you her findings. So why did her stomach twist uncomfortably as she approached the door?

Instead of your smiling face, smudged with dirt and who knows what, she was met with two grim faces. Both looked as if they had been through hell. Sucrose's heart dropped as she saw what they were holding in their hands. Her world faded away, tuning out the condolences given by your teammates as her focus zoomed onto the familiar weapon and- Your vision. Dull and devoid of color.

in that moment, Sucrose felt her entire world break, her usual anxiety around unknown people crumbling away as she snatched the vision out of their hands, sinking to her knees and sobbing her eyes out, tears fogging up her glasses.

You had left her alone.

———

Amber

The Outrider was there, with you when you died, having been assigned a mission around the edge of Mondstadt, responding to reports of treasure hoarders passing through constantly. Her mind frequently wanders to that fateful day, wishing she was able to protect you better... wishing to have been stronger. You had gotten shot. Twice, an arrow wedged painfully in the side of your ribcage and another buried in your chest. Warm blood was coating your lovers hands, drenching your shirt and sticking to Ambers body. Her brown eyes were staring fearfully into your own

"H-hey, sleepyhead... stay awake, alright! That way w-we can... go eat some sticky honey roast with P-paimon and the t-traveler..."

she knows its useless, you know its useless... you've been bleeding for too long, the wounds too deep to heal properly. But she still tries to cling onto hope. And all you do is smile, your breaths shallow. And in your last moments you comfort her, youre dying and yet... shes the one seeking your comfort instead of her giving it to you. She feels so worthless right now. As she watches your vision and the light in your eyes flicker, she pulls you close. Rocking you as if you were falling asleep. Your last words being a testament of your love for her.

and as your grip on her hand loosens, she knows you have gone somewhere she cant follow, not even if she ran with all her might, or crossed the most dangerous chasms with her wind glider. Youre gone, and she will forever blame herself.

———

Zhongli

The Geo Archon is grateful for the time he has with you, so many good memories of laughing and telling stories while drinking wine.

But he cannot stop himself from despising the fact that you, are a mere mortal. While he, he is a God with much more time on Teyvat that you could ever dream of.

especially when you are brought into the Funeral parlor he is currently employed at. Was this why Hu Tao was acting weird? Zhongli was no fool, he knew you were sick. He knew that your lifespan was short, even more so than the average mortal life. Bu he didnt expect you to just flicker out so fast. Zhongli is used to seeing the people he cares for dying, for he has been around to see the rise and fall of many things, including Liyue itself. But it still hurts just as much as it did a thousand years ago, to lose someone so important to him.

you left him letters, the first one he found in your shared home, on his bedside table. Along with the Vision he himself had given to you, The letter had been an apology, for not telling him that your health had gotten worse. You also said that there were more, more letters hidden in places the two of you shared fond memories. He finds them all quite quickly, his eyes watering as he looks over each one, lovingly written

'I love you,' these three words ended each letter, and in response, after reading each one. He would say "I miss you." Even hundreds of years after you are gone. ———

Lumine (Traveler)

Lumine couldnt feel anything. The only thing she could see is the blood, dripping from your gashes as you tried to stumble into Mondstadt. Presumably to the cathedral. She didnt care about the stains she couldnt care about anything as she ran with all her might, carrying you in her arms. She had sent Paimon go on ahead, to tell Barbara of your condition.

Right now, everything is dangerous. Anything could hurt you. It doesnt help that the blood loss has made you delirious, blurting out a sudden confession.

"shhh, save it for l-later."

its ironic, the words she wants to hear the most during a time she doesnt want to hear them. She tells you to hush, to save your strength for while Barbara heals you, knowing the Deaconess can only do so much. And yet you dont stop. You keep listing reasons why you have fallen for her. her determination, her skill, her voice, and her eyes. Oh how you love her eyes.

suddenly, before she realizes it, she has carried you halfway to the cathedral, and she can see Barbara rushing towards the two of you, fear clouding her ocean eyes. She begins to heal you, but she is being realistic. You have lost a lot of blood, the trail thick throughout the city of freedom. She tells Lumine there is a slim chance of survival, but she takes it. A slim chance is better than no chance at all. and she watches as the medics take you away, unaware that she was fighting them off until Paimon yelled at her to calm down. Before you are out of sight, she screams out. Desperately;

"I love you too! So... p-please survive so we can go on a date!"

your smile has a sense of finality that she despises, oh how she hates how youve accepted your fate. She wouldnt be able to accept your death. So how are you? After she has cleaned herself of the crimson staining her body, she makes her way to the cathedral, Paimon trailing behind, equally as worried. Its strange seeing the pixie so serious about something.

and the waiting game begins. Lumine was never patient, and this moment was no different. She was restless as she waits for an update on your condition.

when Barbara finally comes out, Lumine stands up, rushing over, seeking an answer.

the one she gets shakes her to her core. She has just lost another important person in her life. Barbara speaks up, her voice shaky. "They... they wanted you to have this..." your vision, lacking the beautiful glow that reminded her of your eyes. She didnt take it, despite you wanting her to have it, she couldnt. Seeing it broke her even more.

She's lost her brother, and now she's lost you. You've finally gone somewhere she cant follow And when she reaches for you again, you won't be there.

"w-we were supposed to go on a date..."

[msrhaxoz]

Otto's biography

I want to share with you the backstory of my Tav. This is the story before the events of the game. His name is Otto. He is a bard/rogue, trickster with an ambiguous character and a lucky guy with a love of life. He's also a bit of an idiot. Enjoy!

In the depths of Otto's memories lies a foggy recollection of his early years. Yet, through the haze, a handful of cherished moments with his family still shine bright.

Hailing from the dark depths of the Underdark, Otto's family carved out a life far from the bustling heart of the dark elf city, nestled near a temple dedicated to the Dark Maiden. His mother ruled with an iron fist, while his father exuded warmth and kindness. Alongside Otto, the middle brother, stood his siblings: the authoritative Audrey, who played both big sister and second mom and with whom Otto shared both resemblance and interests; and the youngest, Tae. It was Audrey who fostered their shared love for music and dance, though Otto diverged from her in his fascination with magic and warfare. Despite Audrey's attempts to impart basic magical knowledge and combat strategies, the boys often disregarded her guidance and forged their own path.

But the real tale lies in Otto and Tae's bond. Despite their five-year age gap, they were inseparable — so much so that they were often mistaken for twins. Where Otto went, mischief in tow, Tae wasn't far behind. Their connection ran deep, Their connection was so tight that punishment meant for one often extended to the other, under the pretext of "company" and "just in case," as their sister wryly remarked.

Otto exuded a serene aura, seemingly detached from the world around him. His devotion to his goddess knew no bounds; he prayed fervently, joined in the nocturnal rituals with zeal, and found solace in in expressing his emotions through the graceful movements of dance and the soothing melodies of the harp. Despite the mistreatment endured by his fellow drow, Otto remained unmoved, dismissing the tales of the fearsome goddess Lolth as mere myths. Yet, whenever he ventured beyond his secluded realm to gather provisions at his parents' urging, he encountered the disdain of surface dwellers. Thankfully, his protective sister often accompanied him, ensuring his safety amidst the hostility of the outside world.

This marked the sombre conclusion of happier times from the past. At the age of fifty, tragedy struck, forever altering the course of Otto's life. During one of the reverent nights devoted to dancing in honour of the goddess Eilistraee, malevolent dark elves launched a merciless assault on the drow community. The ensuing carnage was unfathomable - nearly all participants in the sacred ceremony were ruthlessly slaughtered by the followers of Lolth. Though Otto's parents were absent that fateful night, he, along with his sister and brother, witnessed the horrifying massacre unfold. Despite Audrey's valiant attempts to resist the attackers, her bravery cost her life, her severed head serving as a grim testament to her sacrifice at her brothers' feet.

Desperate to spare their lives, Otto pleaded with the dark drow, willing to endure servitude or any other fate to ensure his and his brother's survival. Whether out of exhaustion from the night's bloodshed or for other reasons, the drow relented, sparing a handful of captives to serve as slaves. And so, Otto and his brother found themselves thrust into the heart of the city of Menzoberranzan.

Otto spent the better part of his life toiling as a slave, his days consumed by labor in the mines and kitchens hidden beneath the earth's surface. For 137 long years, he lived in the shadows, cut off from the moon's gentle light, gradually losing touch with his goddess, surviving solely by sheer luck - or so he continues to believe to this day.

Despite being forcibly separated, the brothers occasionally crossed paths during their assigned tasks. Otto often found himself consumed by thoughts of Tae, grappling with the harsh realities of their existence and haunted by memories of past horrors. Yet, Tae remained a beacon of hope, preventing Otto from succumbing entirely to despair. As long as his brother endured, Otto found solace in their shared struggle. Despite the hardships, Otto found some comfort in knowing he wasn't alone. However, this hope was short-lived.

Tae endured nearly eight agonizing years of enslavement alongside his elder brother. Over time, the once hopeful drow siblings grew weary, their dreams of freedom fading into the darkness that surrounded them. Despite the dwindling hope, they pressed on, silently bearing the weight of their captivity. Unexpectedly, Otto honed his culinary skills, perhaps finding sustenance and purpose that helped him to linger amidst the darkness that shrouded their existence.

One fateful day, Tae, utterly drained of energy, made a grave mistake in the warden's presence. Exhausted beyond measure, he collapsed under the weight of a heavy load, causing sacks of provisions to spill and inadvertently ensnaring a pair of goblin slaves next to him. Otto, who happened to be nearby, watched the scene unfold before his eyes. As punishment for his blunder, Tae was mercilessly dragged before the hungry rothe, and since he was guilty of depriving them of food, the little slave had to pay for it. To make matters worse, the warden overseeing Tae's punishment happened to be one of the drow responsible for the massacre during the night of Eilistraee worship. Upon recognizing the brothers, the warden, sporting a smug grin, gestured for Otto to approach him as Tae stood by the two wild rothe.

"Rothe may be herbivores, but they possess quite the temper," he taunted Otto with a smirk. "And this pair happens to be the most voracious and vicious of them all." With those chilling words, the drow warden launched a rock at one of the rothe, striking it squarely in the eye. Caught off guard by the sudden violence, Tae gasped in terror, triggering a frenzied response from the hungry beasts. Wild and merciless, they lunged at the defenseless brother, unleashing a barrage of kicks and trampling him underfoot. Frozen in horror, Otto watched helplessly, his hands trembling with silent anguish. His heart felt as though it might burst from his chest as he witnessed the brutal onslaught. Tae's desperate screams pierced the air, drowned out by the sounds of agony and chaos. Blood mingled with tears as Tae's eyes reflected a haunting crimson hue, his neck veins pulsating under the strain of the rothe's relentless assault. With a sickening crunch, Tae's belly was torn open by the beasts' horns, and he fell still only when his head was crushed beneath their hooves, his existence snuffed out in an instant.

And Otto just watched in silence.

He watched as the light faded from his brother's eyes, his gaze unwavering as he bore witness to the final moments of Tae's existence. The drow warden's mocking voice briefly pierced through Otto's numbness. "Perhaps you're not as feeble as you appear. Your selfishness served you well," the drow sneered mockingly.

Otto possessed a sharp intellect and a discerning eye for danger, especially in tense situations. It would have been naive to assume that the dark elves would permit him to aid his brother. With a sinking feeling of dread, he realized this was a blatant provocation. Even if they survived the rothe attack, the wardens would likely execute them both for insubordination, at best. Feeling utterly helpless, Otto made the agonizing decision to live on, letting his brother die alone.

In that moment, a torrent of negative emotions flooded Otto's soul - the suffocating weight of guilt, the insidious selfishness instilled by the warden. The sheer volume of these feelings overwhelmed him, erupting in a chaotic cacophony that left behind a haunting emptiness. Otto experienced a paradoxical sensation of both intense emotion and numbing detachment. Despite the turmoil within, not a single tear escaped his eyes. He knew that, in time, the suppressed emotions would resurface, threatening his sanity. To avoid succumbing to madness, he hardened his body against exhaustion and his mind against the encroaching chaos, embracing a chilling resolve to endure.

The passing century blurred into a directionless existence for Otto, a routine settled into over time, overshadowed by a constant fear of death. He witnessed the brutal executions of disobedient slaves by the drow, observed tears streaming down the faces of tormented men crumbling under the cruelty of the priestesses of Lolth, and watched with detachment as spiders feasted on the anguished cries of goblins. Yet, these harrowing scenes no longer stirred fear within him.

By sheer luck, he narrowly escaped his fate. A riot erupted among the enslaved Minotaurs and Orcs one day, fuelled by the recency of their enslavement, their vigor unchecked by reason. The chaos of the uprising rattled the dark elves, as the Minotaurs and Orcs, in their bid for freedom, wreaked havoc by demolishing nearby structures and liberating the imprisoned rothe. In the midst of the turmoil, with the attention of the Lolth drow diverted towards subduing the larger slaves, it presented the only fleeting opportunity for him to seize his chance at freedom.

Perhaps Otto possessed a natural inclination for stealth, or perhaps he was blessed by the Dark Maiden that fateful night. With meticulous care yet swift determination, he navigated his way out of the city, utilizing every available hiding spot - be it behind corners, haystacks, or barrels. Meanwhile, the other escaped captives drew attention with their frantic and clumsy attempts to flee, providing cover for Otto's silent movements. Step by cautious step, Otto distanced himself

from the chaos, his path guided by the cool touch of cave walls and the enveloping darkness. Despite the uncertainty of his destination or the reason for his flight, he pressed on, driven by an instinctual urge to escape the confines of his captivity.

Emerging from the depths of the Underground, Otto greedily filled his lungs with the crisp air of freedom before hastening onward, propelled by a newfound sense of liberation.

He ran tirelessly, his destination unknown, his only focus on putting distance between himself and his captors. With each stride, he stumbled and fell, only to rise again and resume his frantic pace. Otto pushed himself until his lungs burned, his vision blurred, and his legs threatened to give out beneath him. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he collapsed onto the cool grass, his body spent and gasping for air.

For what felt like an eternity, Otto lay there, struggling to regain his breath, his hands clutching the damp earth beneath him. Despite his fervent desire to rise and continue his flight, the searing pain in his chest rendered him immobile. As he coughed and gasped for air, he forced his eyes open, greeted by the serene expanse of the night sky.

Rolling onto his back, Otto found himself bathed in the soft glow of the full moon, its ethereal light casting a gentle radiance upon the meadow where he lay. In that moment, the young drow felt a sense of peace wash over him, as if the moon itself offered solace and sanctuary to the escaped prisoner. For a moment, the Otto forgot how to breathe, so mesmerised was he by the dark sun. And he finally remembered his goddess.

Tears welled in his reddened eyes, and an uncontrollable laughter bubbled up from his aching chest. Otto groaned, even screamed, burying his face and in his hands, gripping his hair. Turning towards the grass, he inhaled the scent of fresh greenery and damp earth, offering silent gratitude to some unseen force. Mumbling barely audible words, he offered apologies to his brother and sister. Thus, he passed the entire night, seeking refuge in the cool darkness until dawn forced him to seek shelter from the sun's burning rays.

Thus began the dawn of a new life for the former prisoner. Upon the surface, he would once again revel in the joy of music, the gentle strumming of the harp. He would seek out part-time jobs and explore new ways of survival, including, perhaps, resorting to stealing when necessary.

It's worth noting that the trauma of his survival would significantly impact the young man's behaviour. After experiencing a taste of freedom, Otto began engaging in impulsive actions that contradicted his moral compass. Stealing had never been characteristic of him, but the prolonged captivity and initial struggles to earn money pushed him to drastic measures. Thus, he developed kleptomania, an uncontrollable urge to steal even when unnecessary. Additionally, his youthful idealism, which caught up with him later, painted the picture of a naïve and irresponsible individual, despite his advanced mental maturity. He became a person marked by extreme chaos.

Many thanks to @mist1e for translating my text into English. I am very grateful to her for that!

[gorjee-art]

God I love ur art so much I just wanna squeeze it to bits- but anywho- what's your inspiration behind ur designs? By the way the lamb is posed i just- really think of aztec art for some reason, but they're all so cool GRAAAAH

Oh my gosh thank you!! That's so lovely to hear, you've made my day! As for the inspiration of the bishops and lamb, they're a cacophony of a multitude of things. Ancient Egyptian mythology, Ancient Greek mythology, Aztec mythology, The Divine Comedy, and EVEN the bible. Since the cult of the lamb is just drowning in symbology I wanted to really coat it in things that make the bishops look like GODS. Leshy was inspired by Dionysus (whoever guessed that in the tags you were absolutely correct), Heket was inspired by Demeter, Kallamar was inspired by Seth and various mythological sea creatures, and Shamura (you'd be surprised) by The Art of War, not a specific god, but rather philosophers, particularly Miyamoto Musashi who was quite the ruthless samurai turned that retired into a philosopher and painter. Narinder and Lamb are interesting though cause they were inspired by the bible. Narinder was specifically inspired by Moses and their need to correct their past ways and Sisyphus in their long journey of atoning for their sin. Lamb is inspired by a multitude of saints, Saint George and Saint David specifically with of course a healthy dose of death symbology and omens.

Almost everyone in the Cotl fandom views Lamb in a universally similar way, cutely evil or morally grey. To that I say...I don't blame you! The content is dark and grim and Lamb does it all with a smile, but I can't help but think of moments where Lamb...cries, or is scared, even enraged! When your entire kind is seemingly wiped out and you are now dead, a god gives you a promise of abilities to return back to your realm as...better, powerful, with the power to bring back the dead. What else do you really have to lose? A mortal becoming what is essentially a force of nature is so deliciously tragic and must be explored. You are no longer the helpless sack of flesh and bone that was shivering at the sight of your family perishing, you are now death, that can decide to reverse that fate, to right the wrong of your cowardice. Much like a...specific cat trying to right the wrongs of their arrogance.

My muse just-- goes nuts for this stuff, and I'm having a blast just shoving my love of myth and tale into this very silly game.

[cookeybg]

Gotham Possesses

Tittle: Gotham Possesses

A cryptid Batfamily AU in which Gotham is the main character and follows its journey to consciousness as it follows its Bat and Birds. Chapters are short and a bit gloomy.

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth (more characters pop up later, will add them then.)

No romantic relationships

Stuff to know: Cryptid Batfamily, grim, Melancholic mood (let me know if I should add more tags)

Word Count: 498

[Here's my table of contents]

Chapter 4 - Gotham Drank

Through the eyes of her Bat she saw them fall. Fall. Fall. From a great distance of their own making and when they landed, their bodies crumbled. Her Bat watched, unable to tear his eyes away and Gotham cried for him. Their warmth seeped into her soil, but she could not wash it away. She saw the boy, another broken soul, like the many who lived within her embrace. She had witnessed many a sad tale, but she saw and from her Bat, she felt the resemblance. He took the boy to the manor he would soon call home. The boy’s sadness was familiar. The transition to anger almost comforting. In his anguish, the boy escaped the safe confines of the manor and he kept doing so, over and over and over again. Each night he went looking for the parasites that had enacted the beginnings of his orphaned fate. She had seen many before him and she would see many after him, but she could not leave him alone. Her Bat had chosen the boy, they had a connection and so she followed. She help where she could, a clearer sound here, a clue there, her shadows caressed his hair. The boy found them and she thundered, a cheer for his success. The men grabbed him. Gotham waited for him to fight, just like her Bat, and he fought fiercely. She should have known, she had seen it many times, but a child was no match for the strength grown men. With a lift and a swing, the boy fell. Fell. Fell. From a great distance and his body lay crumbled on her cobbled stones. His warmth seeped into her soil and this time she would be able to wash it away. She wept for the young soul. She wept for her Bat. She wept for the resemblance. In an act of grief, she took a piece of herself, a wisp of a shadow, guided it to the child’s mouth and settled within him. The boy took a shuddering breath. His crumpled body righted itself. Through his ears she heard him scream. Through his eyes she saw the darkness lightened. She helped him by making sure that no one heard his screams, that no one saw his body be put back together. When he was done, dirty and weak, she guided him back to her Bat, her Knight. Within her loving embrace, where the real bats roost, she felt the bond grow. The rope thickened and knitted itself, like fine lace, between the boy, her Bat and herself. When the boy found himself outside, he flew. Her buildings were his branches where he glided like a bird. He flitted from one place to the other and she made sure to always help carry him. Eventually her Bat and their little bird, their Robin, found the men responsible for the boys sadness and met justice. A bit of warmth was spilled that night and Gotham drank.

[delirious-donna]

A Bound Offering [Grimmjow Jaegerjacquez]

Oct. 20 - Grimmjow Jaegerjacquez x female reader

Selected as a fitting tribute to the monstrous man that protects your village and surrounding lands, you expect to meet your end. What might happen if he takes a liking to your innocence? He especially likes you bound and at his mercy... does he have any?

warnings: bondage (specifically female bound with arms behind the back at the wrist and elbows and bound at the ankles), mentions of sacrifices, dub-con, mention of ‘mates’, reader is a virgin, pussy eating, squirting, Grimmjow being softer than expected

Masterlist

You were going to die.

A part of you had come to terms with your fate, quiet sobs of anguish bubbling from you lips as you lay there and awaited your doom. There were no more tears to fall from your puffy eyes, they had flowed freely hours ago as the village elders held you down and restrained your wrists and ankles.

Their faces forever etched into your memory; the sorrowful expressions evident and yet there was a burning, grim determination in their eyes. You had heard tales of the offerings left to the monster that was said to protect your home, but you had shrugged it off as a scary tale to ensure children did as they were told - now you knew it had been true.

You were the offering, the sacrifice made to a beastly deity that was known for his merciless killing sprees and voracious appetite. No one had ever seen him, not and lived. The images in your head made your stomach curdle, curling into a foetal position and wishing you could hug yourself. The bindings on your wrists and elbows burned on your skin, the rope rubbing from how tightly they had twisted the length.

The stone tablet lay within the heart of a dense forest to the east of the village you had once known as your home and there was no use in screaming or yelling, it was simply too far for your voice to be heard. Dressed in only the thin white nightdress from the previous night, you shivered as the early morning wind whistled through the trees.

How long would you lay here? Would he come only at night? Did you want him to arrive quickly and get it over with?

A sense of self-preservation had you shaking your head at the last thought, you didn't want this to be the end, there was so much you wanted to do and experience before succumbing to what hid behind the veil.

You froze at the sound of twigs snapping underfoot, neck craning from the precarious position you were in and swinging your eyes wildly from side to side to try to catch which direction the noise had come from.

The birds scattered from their perches, a foreboding sense of dread crept over your bare legs and arms and your blood turned to ice in your veins. Laughter, dark and ominous, cracked through the clearing like a bolt of lightning. It whipped against you; the tremble of your limbs so pronounced that the lactic acid in your muscles burned from the exertion.

"Well, now. What do we have here?"

The male spoke like brushed velvet, feline yet utterly masculine. You rolled to your stomach, sensing that he was approaching from the direction above your head. It was uncomfortable, yet you endured the pain to keep your eyes on the beast you had assumed would break through the treeline in a second.

You didn't expect the man who appeared; the tall gait of a human male with broad shoulders and a torso that tapered into a narrow waist. The shirt that barely covered him was ripped and bloody, fabric hanging from his muscled forearms and dried blood smearing his tanned skin. There wasn't a mark on him, or at least none that you could see.

His face appeared chiselled from purest marble, with angular cheekbones and a perfectly straight nose. Pale blue eyes that sparkled like chips of artic ice swept across your prone form and it made you squirm all the quicker upon your stone deathbed. He smiled; a wide grin full of brilliant white teeth that were sharp enough to cut clean through bone.

Terrifying, yet beautiful.

"Are you my latest offering? You're certainly far prettier than the last one, so young too…" The man spoke mostly to himself, a hand tipped with razor-sharp nails smoothed along your foot and you twitched out of his reach.

"So jumpy, little one. I shall not harm you, just as long as you follow my instructions," he offered with a tilt of his head. Tufts of the most vivid blue hair you had ever seen fell into his eyes.

Your heart hammered wildly, pounding against your ribs to the point that you considered you would die from the fear alone. Yes, there was a strange beauty to this beastly man, but he was still an animal in some way. He smelled different, even beneath the stench of blood that clung to him. Of magic and power that spoke to a primal part of you.

He walked around your bound torso, humming, and twisting his head as if appreciating what he saw. There was no reason that you should enjoy being viewed in such a manner, but you couldn't deny that you felt desired beneath his heavy stare and the hand that ghosted above your flesh in places.

You could feel the heat of him invading your bones, the chill from earlier dissipating as it was replaced with a warmth that certainly was not soothing but not uncomfortable either.

"You got a name, little one?"

There was nothing you could say, no word to find its way out of your mouth. It was as if every thought from your head had been stolen, held hostage much in the same way your body was being treated. After a moment of your silence, he shrugged as he rounded back into your field of vision.

He bent low, the fan of his breath caressing your cheek as he whispered into your ear. "No matter, I like calling you little one, it suits you. I'm Grimmjow and I assume you are aware that I am the one that protects these lands, yes?"

All you could manage was a nod of your head and he smiled in response. Grimmjow reached down your back, a claw-like nail raking over the tight knots that bound around your elbows and then to the ones around your wrists. He tutted, withdrawing his hand to cup your cheeks, lifting your face to stare straight into his own. A thumb traced the curve of your jaw and ended with a quick swipe over your dry lips.

"They've treated you so poorly, little one. Should I punish them?"

"Wh-what?" you squeaked, your voice broken and strained from the hours you had spent crying. He groaned at the sound of your voice, his eyes shutting slowly as if sinking into a hot bath and it made your body heat even more. There was an unfamiliar dull ache between your thighs, a pressure that settled into your stomach and forced you to press your legs even closer together.

Your admirer noticed; a sly wink levelled at your mortified face. He hefted you upwards, seating you on your butt and you couldn't help but notice the dirt that had marked your nightdress, how it was torn at your hip and exposing the cotton underwear beneath.

"Your predecessors, they aren't dead," he offered with a shrug, slipping out of the bloodied shirt and revealing just how defined he was. You had never seen a man look so cut, the strength that he owned a true sight to behold. "I merely took them elsewhere and let them live out their lives in whatever way they wished… but you, you're different."

You hadn't noticed that his nails had been slicing through the ropes at your ankles, not until the coils fell to the forest floor did you realise. Grimmjow pressed closer to you, spreading your thighs until he was nestled at the apex. That dull ache grew hotter, more intense.

"You're the first one whose scent does not offend me, you're prettier than the others as I already said, and you're the first one who is truly… innocent."

The word innocent was said in such a seductive manner that your toes curled, gripping into his calves and letting your hips drop to accept even more of him into your heat. His sculpted chest was pressed to yours, his breath feathering your shoulder and his hands planted on the stone at either side of you.

"I like you bound in this way," he groaned, and you felt the first sweep of his burning lips against your neck. He licked over your pulse, his tongue dancing over the spot until you whimpered and let your head rest upon his shoulder.

"Grimmjow," you murmured into his shoulder, unsure whether you should kiss him back or if this was even rational in the slightest. This was the beast that was meant to devour you whole to ensure his continued protection of your village, and here you were thinking most improper thoughts about him.

"Hmm, yes?"

Hands that you knew were capable of snapping necks and shattering bones, shifted to your waist and travelled over your front to touch your breasts. Drawing guttural groans from his chest when a nail swept over the peak of a taut nipple. Your nose was filled with a strange scent you hadn't noticed before, the stench of blood no longer evident as it was overpowered by a musk that succeeded in settling your nerves.

"What are you going to do with me?" you asked with a whisper, daring to be brave enough to kiss the skin at the hollow of his throat. You sensed him still, fingers digging into your flesh until you squeaked in displeasure.

Pulling you to your bare feet, the cold of the earth felt nasty against your toes. "That depends," he hissed, capturing your earlobe between his lips and sucking it in earnest.

"On what?"

Grimmjow jostled you around until you were bent over the ceremonial altar, the cool stone nipping at you in places that made you hiss and writhe, but his grip was firm and reassuring. He massaged at your aching shoulders and arms, soothing the ache that had been building for hours now but not untying the knots as he had done for your ankles. He even wiggled your fingers and tickled the palms of your hands.

"On how addicting I find your taste."

You frowned, not understanding his meaning but you shrieked as the hem of your nightgown was lifted and your underwear was exposed to him. Grimmjow pressed a thick thigh between your legs, grinding it against your most intimate area and you burned with embarrassment.

"I know that you are a virgin, little one. How have you managed to remain so chaste when you look this utterly delicious?" he cooed, sending rivers of arousal to rush from your innocent pussy. In one quick jerk, your underwear was ripped apart by clawed talons and the gentle touch of those killer fingers' kisses against your glossy lower lips.

"Don't know," you mewled, ashamed that your hips had rocked to meet his touch, eager for more of something you had always been told was sinful and forbidden. All you knew at this moment was that it didn't feel wrong to want this, that it was natural and to be enjoyed, not feared.

The rumble of decadent laughter tickled your senses, the sensation of a wide grin against the small of your back as this God at your back kissed down your spine was enough to spark white lights behind your eyelids.

For someone more than capable of destroying you with one swipe of his hand, he was careful and delicate as he parted your folds like a rare bloom. His kisses travelled over the plumpness of your behind, learning the curves, and softly biting into the fat with soothing licks to alleviate the slight pain of his sharp canines.

Your arms struggled in their binds, your chest flush against the surface of the table and a hand held your captured wrists with a groan leaving his lips. His nose nudged at the ticklish crease of your thighs, inhaling deeply and you were rutting with some primal animalistic desire.

The first touch of his tongue against your pussy was heaven, a breathy whine caressing his ears as you sought more of his attention on your aroused little entrance. For someone as innocent and untouched as you, it was a sight to see you becoming undone so quickly.

Grimmjow felt the tell-tale pheromones enter his subconscious, mingling with the animal that he housed and the answering deep rumbling purr of delight. He had found his mate, the one that was fated to be his above all others and you were right here below him.

Bound and beautiful - the marks of the tight rope both pleased and annoyed him, they were too restrictive, and he would correct this the next time. Truss you up like the exquisite little cock tease you would be for him.

Bare and bashful - your naked cunt was a marvel, the trimmed pubic hairs on your mound and the glazed appearance of your blood-filled lips made his cock harder than he thought possible. Yet you were shy about it, and that only encouraged him more.

Your taste was on par with nothing else that he had ever experienced. It was as if your slick was made for him, sweet and flowing like honey down his eager throat as his tongue swept wide circular paths to collect all that had fallen from the briefest of interactions you had shared to this point.

If this did not cement the knowledge that you were meant to be united, he didn’t know what would. No human would agree to this so readily, certainly not with a being known as a monster and who had appeared to you covered in the blood of his foes.

His middle finger dipped towards your hole, watching as the silken walls fluttered and begged for something to grip onto. He would give you that something soon enough, nothing could stop him when he reached that inner gate within himself.

You were moaning like a lewd bitch in heat at the rubbing motions against your clit, the sweat clung to your skin, and he chased the salty droplets with his tongue. The taste mixed with your sweet lust was overwhelming. Grimmjow's head tipped skyward and a sound like a hissing howl rent the air and silenced all the noises of the forest.

He could feel your release near, the way you were bucking wildly and trying to run from his expert fingers. Holding you by your captured wrists, more of his weight pressed down atop your body as he worked you into a furious fever pitch.

"Let go, little one. Trust me to make you feel good."

His lips tugged on your folds, thumb rocking from side to side over your pulsating little button and you stiffened for a moment and the next his face was covered in your slick. The gush continued as he blinked slowly at what had just happened. You were sent heavenward, so focused on the relief of your pleasure that you didn't feel his finger slide into your pussy and puncture through the thin membrane of your innocence. It would make things easier for the next time, and there would be a next time and soon.

Grimmjow stood to his impressive height, sweeping the blue locks from his eyes and licking at the splashes of slick that dripped from his lips and chin. Your smaller frame trembled on the altar meant for his offering, and he sent his thanks to a village too stupid to realise that they had signed their own death warrant. He wouldn’t act yet, but in time they would learn of the punishment for treating his mate so disrespectfully.

At last, he sliced through your remaining bounds and massaged your bruised skin with reverential care. The man cut from pure steel bundled you with ease against his chest, adoring how your fingers instantly toyed with the hairs that framed around his neck and your face nuzzled into the crook of his arm.

"Sleepy…"

"Rest, little one. It is time I took you home, we still have a lot to learn."