#idv drabble

[naomifootes]

Norton's first taste of actual fresh and high quality food must've felt surreal, like yeah, he doesn't want to be here entirely, but hey, he's getting free food and a high quality bed to lay in at the end of the day, it's soft and he melts into it when he lays upon it, he could almost fall asleep just by *sitting* on the damn thing. The sheets and blankets were silky and incredibly soft to the touch, he's never felt a thing like it. Everything he touches becomes filthy to the touch, his hands are always filthy, however he's been more clean as of late, not being used to not being covered in dust and grease, his head *almost* feels clearer, almost.

Short Norton drabble becuz I felt a lil evil tonight and wanted to do something for Norton's birthday heh

[micyclemorton]

🎪 Final Spotlight - Mike Morton 🎪

[ this was just first-person experimentation, and came in at about 840 words! a little too short for my writing blog. written informally, too, with full lowercase and such. ]

~

i look down at my hands as they begin to tremble. bernard would criticise me, now, if he saw the sorry state of them - raw. bleeding and blistered, without gloves. those would just be stained anyway. do they hurt? i can’t tell. can you tell me? jugglers can’t juggle with hands like this. he told me i was an acrobat, but my movements are too sluggish to be deemed acrobatics now. my name is mike. you don’t have to know my surname. 

i used to be an acrobat. the days are blurring out in front of me, and i barely remember the faces i used to cherish. would murro be angry? margie? my friends… my friends no longer. after all, nobody likes a coward and a talentless performer. they were right to laugh and jeer and snarl. joker would be having the time of his life, i guarantee, if he saw me in such a state. that snivelling fool always took pleasure in my downcast days. i was the show pony, and i revelled in the attention just as a flower soaks in sunlight. 

i think he was jealous. jealousy turned to bitter words, and bitter words turned to blood. now, despite focusing on my hands, i can feel the dull ache of where his fists once were on my body - sometimes i was too slow. sometimes i got caught. i never doubted him, even when it was better to do so. safer. i wanted to scream at him, berate him for how he treated my dear friends. my voice proved too weak too often. maybe that was the first indication of my slipping - an early one, pushed to the back of my mind and left to fester until it was all too big to ignore. i’m filled with an intense regret, one that i can’t shake away even though i try endlessly to distract myself. 

patting my clothes to locate the leather pouch hanging on my belts at all times, small red prints and drags mar my uniform. my nose wrinkles and brows furrow, a stark contrast to the cheery disposition all the kids would know. perhaps i’m one of those hopeful children, naive and blind to horror, because i don’t find any recognition in my own expression. 

it begins to rain, fat droplets pooling in my hat’s brim and spilling down. my hands are still shaking, though i force myself to sit before i fall. there’s no reason for someone like me to be so shaky, is there? i’m headstrong and leap into danger, causing it more often than not. now, sitting against the cool ground, the tears begin to finally pour down my cheeks. i can’t say i’m unashamed, having invested so much energy into always maintaining a smile, but that’s not what matters most. the park around me is eerily silent, save for the sound of my own shuddering breaths and hiccups. 

maybe they were right to abandon me here. who are “they”? does it even matter? they wouldn’t care to see me again, no matter how often i plead. my voice has died in my throat, and all i can do is sob even more. the tears carve their way through the grooves in my skin, but they can’t wash away the glaring prints of my own failures. i won’t describe to you how much this hurts: blood and ash and salt mingling together tells its own story. 

for the first time in ages, i find myself able to make my own choices. despite the bitter loneliness chewing its way through my will to continue, i stand up and tip the rainwater from my hat onto my hands. it’s better than nothing to wash everything away. damage under the surface isn’t something I can fix, but my attitude is.

taking a small palette from my pouches, i busy myself in a fight with the weather, endeavouring to paint a smile onto my cheeks. the makeup drips and smears across my skin, painting a grim picture in direct contrast to my usual upbeat nature. 

maybe, i think, this is what it all comes down to. maybe this is the end of the line.

this morose feeling spreads outwards from my thoughts alone, blanketing me in such a way that i find it difficult not to bow my head. looking toward the ground, i select a few juggling balls from my pouch without bothering to check if they match. dragging my feet along paths that i know too well, i climb onto the now-deserted stage of the hullabaloo grounds. a deep, shuddering breath moves through my body, but all i can think about is the blank aftermath. 

no one is watching as i move through my practices, silent tears rolling. the one time i look up is to check the lights, even though i know they’ve been cracked and dim for far too long.

now, this is my final performance - i have no stage. i have no audience. i have no worth.

[evil-lovergirl]

!    short nsfw drabble . . . florian brand , fire investigator . . . >> includes lots of mentions of scars/calloused hands on reader, handjob [char. receiving], bondage [char. receiving], florian is a little insane, per his usual antics, but he really likes your scars, florian is a giggler fight me, lowercase intended >> should i make a rent-a-partner au . . .

"Ah, ahn, ahhahahah..." such lovely noises you've been lucky enough to hear for the past couple of minutes from none other than your amazing fire investigator, florian.

he's not exactly quiet, and he's not trying to hide how good your calloused hand feels as it cups the tip of his dick before squeezing and moving back down to the base in a pleasuring rhythm.

he loves it, struggling against the soft ropes binding his wrists above his head, knowing he could easily snap out of them - or better yet, tell you to take them off, - but he simply doesn't. he likes the thrill and the high he gets off it.

he whines as he feels one of your finger slightly slip under his foreskin before continuing to stroke him in a way that has his feet pressing deep into the mattress below you two.

god, he loves the way your calloused hands rub against him, rough fingers treating him so gently in some ironic way he can't seem to put into words for now. he loves how when he looks at you, his eyes immediately go to your face, then to your scars.

he wants to drag his tounge across them so badly. kiss them, claw at them, maybe even give you new ones.

his fingers claw at whatever their bound form can reach, the thought merely intensifying his arousal as you speed up the pace, whispering something he can't decipher in his fuzzy mind before he cums with a rather loud mewl, eyes rolling back and sweat beading across his entire body.

maybe he'll ask to lick your hands clean once he's put himself back together...

[bimboothefool]

Any identity v character x a modern day/future reader

𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭!

𝙋𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙈𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙣!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐚/𝐧: Ooo hell yea Anon! Honestly it’d be uber fun to have atleast another character that’s from the modern day or early to mid 2000’s.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Almost none, it’s a drabble and it’s just Luca and you being uber sweet to eachother. Good ol fashioned fluff and reader is gn as per usual!

Luca was extremely interested in how technology has advanced in your era. He’s often amazed by how such a small device can do so much.

“It plays music, you can send digital letters and more… How impressive!!” Luca’s joy was contagious, even if it was your norm. It still fascinated him, which was more than enough for you. “Wanna listen to some tunes?” You held out an unoccupied earbud his way. He excitedly nodded and sat next to you.

He pointed to the song within your many playlists, Luca’s head bobbed along to the beat as he wore an infectious smile. You gently pecked his cheek as Luca would ask you about each artist and their work.

You’d pretty much info dump, from who the artist is and what influences their music. Luca soaked the information in as his attention was squarely focused on you. With a dreamy look in his eyes. Soon you heard both of your names being called upon for a next round of matches.

“Wanna dance to a couple of those songs sometime, after we’re rested of course!” You laughed and accepted his invitation. “Hell yeah! Now let’s bust a move!” You both eagerly ran off to the dining hall, hyping each other up.

𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐨𝐧 | 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 | 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

[fishermanshook]

Edgar Valden who’d paint ‘till his wrists broke, would do anything for you. You want flowers? He’ll pick some out with the help of Emma and paint a jar of them for you. You want candy? He’ll save up his clues to buy you baskets upon baskets of them, and paint a jar of the sugary sweets while he’s at it. You want him and him alone? The Painter will strip himself of his dignity (and clothes) and work his magic on you under the sheets.

He might as well paint you naked too.

note: this is not the ACTUAL Painter fic, that one should be coming this Sunday, so you should probably follow me so you don’t miss it /hj

[endiecutieo6]

WRITE AN OVERWORKING FREDDY SICKFIC

AND MY LIFE

IS YOURS

HI! I’m so sorry this took so long, my brain wasn’t functioning properly. Making up a plot line was harder than I thought lol

For starters, a doodle inspired/made before I started the story!

TW: Mentions of sickness, mentions of vomit (no vomiting though)

Also, Freacher/Kreddy yay-

He doesn’t care about what anyone says, Freddy is not sick.

Yes, he’d been having some… issues; it had just started with a bit of shortness of breath, then a tiny fever, only a little lightheadedness, and just a small bit of nausea, nothing he couldn’t manage. Freddy had been sick- actually sick- before and this wasn’t it, couldn’t be it. He wasn’t wheezing, he could keep food down, he wasn’t bedridden, and he sure as hell wasn’t weak.

Sure, his head swirled enough that he now took twice the time to get down the stairs to prevent himself from falling down.

Sure, he kept having to wipe away the excessive saliva that seemed to now be a constant (the fact that he couldn’t properly close his mouth due to his teeth didn’t help matters).

Sure, his vision basically blacked out when he stood up no matter how long he waited to move.

But, he wasn’t sick, he just wasn’t.

But, even if he was, the manor wasn’t going to clean itself.

It wasn’t like chores weren’t done, quite the opposite. To an untrained eye, the manor looked spotless, the image of high class perfection, but Freddy knew better. He could see it in the details; the spots of dust underneath the furniture, the books all out of place on the shelves, the plants that weren’t in the room last time he checked, and so much more. It had been bugging him for weeks, and only a week ago he finally cracked and started getting everything back in order. To hell with what everyone else said, it needed to be done. He’d done so much already, only a few people actually appreciating his work, but then his… symptoms started to flare up and make things a bit more difficult. He’d considered stopping for a bit, but if everyone was going to insist he was sick and “needed to rest” he couldn’t just confirm it. No, that would bring about all sorts of bad results, ones he's just barely been hiding from…

Freddy shakes his head. He’s getting off track, and from the looks of the spotless patch of floor in his sight he’d been done with this small task for a while. Alright, he’d gotten some dirt and mud off the floor (he’d talk Nortons ear off about this later- why couldn’t he at least try to clean his shoes before entering the manor?!), now he had to reorganize the bookshelf before making sure the pillows were in their proper place and weren’t dusty. After that, he’d have to go to another room and do the process again. No problem, should be easy enough, he’d done it countless times at this point, no doubt he could do it again-

He stood and started walking, only to get the quick realization of how bad of an idea that was. In an instant, all the weight in his body shifted downwards, making it feel like his feet were encased in cement. His vision was spotting up so badly he could hardly make out anything in front of him, his sight obscured by a gray static that seemed to swirl and spin, which definitely wasn’t helping. His eyes widened and he tried to recover but his foot was slow and wasn’t hitting the ground and now he was falling, hands reaching out to grasp at something, anything to stop his fall-

His hands found purchase, and Freddy just barely managed to keep himself upright. Even though he now had both feet on the ground, leftover adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, his heart pounding in his ears like he’d dodged death instead of an unpleasant fall, a total overreaction. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to move and try to brush it off, letting himself pant as he put a shaking hand against his chest, trying to calm his overactive heart. Something was dripping down his face, and he quickly clocked it as sweat. Normally, he’d just chalk it up to being sensitive to the heat, but it was the middle of winter and the manors insulation wasn’t terrible, but wasn’t the greatest either, no excuse for him to be sweating bullets after all he did was scrub a patch of dirt off the floor.

Freddy swallows hard, saliva filling his mouth much faster than usual. His stomach was twisting again, tugging at his gut and growling loud enough that it had gone from annoying to concerning. The latter really shouldn’t have taken him off guard; ever since the nausea joined the fray, he’d been skipping meals ever so often, not only because his appetite had gone down but to prevent himself from throwing up. It was such an obvious and distracting action, one he wouldn’t be able to hide or brush off easily. It seemed like a passable idea when it had first entered his mind, but hindsight is 20/20 and now he could only sit with the bitter realization that it was probably only making the situation infinitely worse.

Now that his vision had cleared up, his eyes flickered over to the chair not too far away. Wiping his mouth with his free hand, he considered a break. He’d been working for about an hour by now, maybe even more since he hadn’t checked the clock in a bit, a break wouldn’t be unreasonable, right? Surely, he would’ve earned it by now, especially with the amount of effort he’d put into this whole thing. He was alone too, meaning he didn’t have to worry about inadvertently confirming people's assumptions and having them dote on him like he was a child. It didn’t have to be a long break, maybe just a few minutes? His back was starting hurt anyway-

“¡Jesús Cristo! Freddy, what happened?!”

In an instant, Freddy was standing up straight, ignoring the way his stomach lurched with the sudden movement. He snatched his hand away from the cabinet like it burned him, forcing his hands to his sides. Naturally, his face was the first thing to correct, the forced indifferent almost just as natural as breathing to him. He doesn’t really know why he did it, as turning around revealed the obvious; Kreacher was at the door and it was obvious his little performance wasn’t fooling him. Faster than he could blink, Kreacher was right up against him, hands off his shoulders as his eyes darted over him to assess the damage, like a vase that had tipped over and struck the ground, like he was fragile.

Freddy didn’t know exactly why it made him feel offended, but it had sparked and was quickly beginning to burn.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kreacher,” Freddy said- too quickly for his own liking, made him sound desperate “I can, and already have, assured you that I’m just fine-”

“Bull-shit! K-Kreacher knows what he saw, and kn-know you’re lying through your teeth!” Kreacher interrupted, his frustration only becoming clearly with every word that was spilling out, possibly days worth of unsaid worries now flowing freely “fuck- why can’t you ju-just admit to yourself that your not feeling well?! You’re stumbling and panting, it-it’s just so obvious! Why- Why can’t you just admit it?! You’re sick.”

As soon as he processed those words, Freddy found himself tensing up, jaw clenching tightly as he found himself on the defense. Internally, it was a different story; how could he have been so careless about it?! He thought he’d been hiding it well, putting up at least a decent act, but if Kreacher was able to notice it so well, what have other people been thinking?! The only bit of leeway he could apply to himself was the fact that Kreacher would’ve noticed a lot sooner than, considering the amount of time they spent together- Kreacher was his partner, after all, so it was only natural that he’d pick up on Freddys stumbles and lapses in his performance. Really, it was only an inevitability that Kreacher would snap and confront him directly.

Unfortunately, Freddy had dug this hole too far to go back. He needed to stand his ground.

“Kreacher, I assure you I’m fine. I just stood up too fast, that’s all,” this time, his voice came out steady and composed, just the perfect amount of calm to hopefully soothe Kreacher's worries “maybe I’m not feeling the greatest, but I just can’t be as ill as you think I am. I wouldn’t have gotten so much done if I was really that sick, you would’ve instead found me in a much worse state if I really was that ill.”

For emphasis, he took a step back, Kreacher's hands leaving his shoulders as he took a step far too confident for his own good. Whether it was karma or simply just comedic timing, a wave of nausea struck him hard, as if punishing him for lying. It punched the air out of him, and that small distraction had his foot landing the wrong way, not enough to compensate for the shift in weight, and his blood went cold as he fell back. Once again, he was falling, but now he was too far away from the cabinet to grab hold of it. Fuck, unless he could roll onto his side mid-air, he was either going to land on his tailbone or crack his skull open. Either couldn’t be afforded, especially not in his current state, but he didn’t have enough time to think, just hope for the best-

Kreacher quickly reached out and grasped his arm, fingers clinging on tight before Freddy was hauled to his feet. Somehow, even that action was too fast, and Freddy ended up leaning against Kreacher to just keep upright as his mind (and stomach) reeled. Kreacher, thank god, let him have his moment to recoup before guiding him to the chair, moving slowly to make sure Freddy could follow. Freddy had to force his mouth shut and swallow down the sudden flood of saliva that now had decided to join with the nausea. Freddy doesn’t think he'd ever been more relieved to sit in a chair before than right now, if at all, but there was a first time for everything and if it meant the nausea would go away, then so be it. He practically melted into the seat, a hand over his mouth as he tried to will the remains of dizziness away and ignore the metallic twing that stung the back of his throat. He couldn’t throw up, at least not here- he didn't think he’d make it to the bathroom in time and he wasn’t going to vomit on one of the plants, especially not the ones Emma tended to… which was basically all of them.

During this, Kreacher had kneeled down in front of him, putting his hand on Freddys thigh and rubbing comforting circles as Freddy gathered his bearings. It was sweet, but it was overshadowed by just how humiliated Freddy felt. It was embarrassing- he wasn’t supposed to be so weak. He had taken blow after blow during his life, and endless more since he got to the manor, yet here he was; nearly swept off his feet twice and having to be tended to like a child, by his partner no less. Freddy wasn’t good by any means, but he was better than this.

“F-feeling a bit better now?” Kreacher asked softly, cocking his head and giving Freddy that lopsided grin that never failed to make Freddy gush just a little bit “Yo- you should rest for a bit. Kre- I’ll be with you.”

Freddy lowered his hand, taking a deep breath as he stared down at his lap. Kreacher must’ve noticed his shift in and he tried to reach out, but Freddy recoiled, unable to look his own lover in the eyes. His face burned, and he didn’t even know if it was because of the fever or not, but he just couldn’t look at Kreacher.

He. Was. Better. Than. This.

“I- um- thank you d-dear,” Freddy managed out, the effort to keep his voice steady and composed so obvious it only made him feel more ashamed than he already felt “b-but I need to get back to work-”

“Like hell you are.”

Suddenly, Kreacher was all too close, right up against him. On instinct, his heart skipped a beat and he got flustered, only for it to morph into confusion as Kreacher wrapped his arms around him, but not in a hug, like he was going-

“Kreacher Pierson don’t you dare-”

Freddy didn’t even get the chance to finish before he was lifted off the ground, fast enough that it took him off guard but slow enough it didn’t make him hurl. Whether it was his own indignation or a reflex built up from the matches, but he instantly tried to push himself away, wriggling to the side with as much effort as his body would allow. This didn’t work out in his favor, as it allowed Kreacher to hook an arm underneath his legs, lifting them completely off the ground. He didn’t even give Freddy any time to try again before he was moving, taking long strides over to the door as Freddy fumed in his arms.

“Fuckin’- put me down!” Freddy hissed, his free hand going up and fisting Kreacher's shirt, only tugging enough for his frustrations to be known “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but-”

The door, which had apparently been left ajar (what if someone else saw them!? Freddy doesn’t think he’d be able to bear it if anyone else saw him act so pathetic!), had easily been opened up further with a prod, and any words Freddy had yet to say died in his throat the moment they entered the hallway. Freddy gritted his teeth, pressing his face against Kreachers chest like he’d absorbed into it if he tried hard enough, hands clenched so tightly his nails were digging into his palms. This was embarrassing, utterly mortifying, and he couldn’t tell whether falling to the floor and cracking his skull open would be a better alternative than what the hell would happen if someone found him like this.

Kreacher seemed to pick up on his sudden anxiety (or maybe not so sudden- he actually had been anxious for quite a bit) and squeezed him a bit, holding him just a little bit tighter, making Freddy feel… safe.

“D-don’t worry, everyone is b-busy,” Kreacher whispered, taking long but steady strides down the hallways of the manor “Kreacher wouldn’t be d-doing this if he didn’t know that…’

Freddy opened his mouth to say something, but it didn’t take long to realize he had nothing to say anymore. Now that he wasn’t moving or swallowing the urge to vomit, he was tired and woozy and would probably fall asleep in Kreacher's arms before they got to their destination, wherever that was. He just opted to let his head lull, pressed against the crook of Kreacher’s shoulder as his eyes fluttered shut. Kreacher must’ve been outside for a little bit before he went to see Freddy because he was cold- not freezing, but a comforting cool that felt heavenly against his sweltering skin. Christ, why hadn’t Freddy put on something else? It felt like he was boiling in his own skin- is that why it was so hard to think now? Actually, maybe that was for the better. He could risk not thinking for a bit.

With his eyes closed, every sensation felt so intense; the steady rise and fall of Kreacher's chest, the way his fingers would occasionally squeeze as if he was trying to comfort Freddy, the occasional tune he’d hum when it got too quiet, it was all so mesmerizing, so much so that it felt he’d lost track of time. He only snapped back to attention when he felt Kreacher start to put him down. For a moment, it was blind panic, eyes shooting open and darting around, only to calm down once his mind caught up to him. He was in his room, now on his bed with a blanket (one of the thinner ones, thank god) being laid on him. Freddy let his head lull back into the pillow, watching with just a faint smile as Kreacher slowly untied his tie, putting on his nightstand before beginning to unbutton his shirt. Freddy raised an eyebrow.

“That better be just to keep me from overheating, young man,” Freddy, even in his current state, couldn’t help but tease “I need to be resting, remember?”

Predictably, Kreacher's cheeks flushed a bit, and Freddy giggled as he (poorly) tried to hide the grin spreading across his face. It wasn’t easy to make Kreacher flustered, especially when it was just the two of them, so he couldn't help the swell of pride in his chest, nor the smirk that was creeping across his face.

“Pervertido,” Kreacher chuckled, hands moving to roll up Freddys sleeves “Such an innocent action and y-you say that. Says more about you than it does about Kreacher…”

It got another laugh out of him, Freddy playfully swatting at him while Kreacher just stuck out his tongue in response.

This was… nice. It had been a long time since he’d been able to enjoy some domestic bliss, and it didn’t help that those memories were tainted with the grief that came with loss, so being able to do it, even all these years later, was a pleasant surprise. Hell, sometimes it still surprised him that he even managed to get to this point, where he could fall in love again; he didn’t think someone like him deserved to be loved again, if at all, but here Kreacher was, tending to him like they’d been married for years. Even now, with Kreachers hands actively touching him, it still didn’t feel real, like a dream…

“..g-gonna have got some clean clothes,” Kreacher was muttering to himself as he smoothed out the sheets “m-maybe some warm tea? No, n-not warm- ugh, I need to get Ms. Dyer-”

…that was going to become a nightmare-

“No!” Freddy nearly yelled, shooting up far too fast but he didn’t care “N-not her- I don’t need her. I’m just fine without her.”

It only occurred after he’d said it said Freddy could’ve been nicer about it, but it had already been done and he could see the frustrated burn behind Kreachers eyes, irritation making his fingers twitch. He stood up sharply, clearly exasperated by Freddy's continued stubbornness that he just didn’t understand. Freddy just wished he did, that it suddenly clicked in his head, that no words needed to be spoken for it to happen but by the time he opened his mouth Kreacher was already speaking.

“Por el amor de Dios- Kreacher knows you two don’t get along, but she’s- she’s the only doctor here!” Kreacher wasn’t shouting, but Freddy still shied away, lowering his head in what felt like shame, shame that he just couldn’t talk right, but Kreacher didn’t even seem to notice “Ada is not that kind of doctor, and I’m not- I’m not even a doctor! She’s the only one who can- who can help you! K-Kreacher doesn’t understand what you’re afraid of-”

Then it clicked.

Kreacher went silent, his face falling as it finally clicked into place, as he finally put two and two together. Freddy wanted to get mad, to yell that he should’ve realized sooner, but he just couldn’t; sometimes, you just didn’t think about it until you said it, didn’t connect the dots until you could see them, didn’t see how two things could be related until confronted. It wouldn’t have done anything anyway, the way Kreacher’s eyes widened, the way he hunched as his eyes went wide, darting around as if he couldn’t decide if he could look Freddy in the eye made it clear that he felt guilty. Normally, Freddy felt pleased, vindicated even, when people felt guilt, but now he just felt even more guilty than Kreacher did. Why hadn’t he said something? Gently nudged Kreacher in the right direction before snapping like that? Why did he just expect him to know?

“Mierda, Freddy, Kreacher is- I am- am sorry, I- I didn’t think about it-” Kreacher sputtered, fingers nervously fiddling with the clothes of his clothes, hunched into himself like he expected Freddy to scream at him or something “I sh-should’ve realized- fuck, I’m so sorry-”

“It- it’s okay,” Freddy sputtered suddenly, taking both of them off guard with how steady his voice was. “I should’ve just told you- and it's not just her, I don’t really trust any doctor, not one…”

For a moment, Kreacher just stood there, as if he was waiting for Freddy to suddenly snap at him, but Freddy never did and it made him confident enough to step forward, tentatively reaching out a hand and placing it on his shoulder. Freddy didn’t flinch, but couldn’t lean into it either. Thankfully, this didn’t deter Kreacher, who lifted his hand up and cupped Freddy's cheek. This time, he leaned into his, thankful for Kreacher's hands being so cold against his skin. Freddy still felt like he was on fire, though whether it was his illness or just a result of such high emotions. It felt nice either way.

“I- I think I understand,” Kreacher started after a long pause, clearly choosing his words carefully “but, if this d-doesn’t fade- like, it- it gets worse, I… I will ask her, but…”

“...only as a last option?”

Kreacher smiled warmly and nodded.

“Only as a last option.”

Freddy hesitated, but eventually nodded, even if his anxiety was telling him to do otherwise. He relaxed himself and let himself fall back against the bed, taking in a deep breath to cool his nerves. Kreacher just watched, before reaching out and taking his glasses off, putting everything that wasn’t a foot in front of him in a blur. It didn’t bother him too much though, especially as he audibly heard Kreacher folding them up and placing them down with his tie. He did raise an eyebrow when Kreacher placed a hand on his forehead.

“Y-you’re still running a fever,” Kreacher muttered, before standing up “I’m g-gonna get something. Kreacher will b-be right back, promise.”

Freddy didn’t say anything, just nodded dumbly as Kreacher left, only frowning once he was out the door. Now that he was alone, anxiety was starting to crawl up his spine again, sinking its nails into his skin and prying open all the old wounds that resided. Even though the memories were fresh, they were already being twisted beyond his control; Kreacher could’ve been lying, could’ve gone to get Emily, just rip the bandaid off while he was vulnerable. Freddy doesn’t even know if he would blame him either way, it wasn’t like it was job to take care of him. Kreacher was doing him a favor, even if he was in a relationship with him. Still, Freddy trusted him, especially because Kreacher is one of the few people here who know that woman's true nature, know what she did.

Maybe he was going soft, but he wanted to trust Kreacher. He didn’t want to be on edge, always assuming the worst, especially with his partner. He wasn’t going to let his worries ruin this too, he just couldn’t.

Thankfully, Kreacher wasn’t gone for long, and he definitely didn’t come back into the room with that woman in toe. Freddy smiled at him- he hoped he did at least. God, his vision was awful- and he didn’t even need to ask what Kreacher was holding before the wet, delightfully cold rag was gently placed on his forehead. It felt like an instant relief, even if he didn’t fully like the way water dripped down his face and soaked his hair (his air was awfully curly when it wasnt dried properly). Already, it felt like his mind was clearlier, like he could actually think again.

“Th-thank you, Kreacher,” Freddy mumbled, tiredness seeping into his voice “I love you.”

“I love you too, conejito testarudo.”

———

I’m so sorry if this sucks I’m so tired lol

[adiluv-moved]

Trick or treat with Naib? 🧟

"... So that's where my jacket went."

Naib's voice is nothing short of monotone as he makes the observation, his figure remaining entirely still as he stood in front of you—almost as though he were one of Galatea's infamous sculptures, only meant to replicate your lover instead of the angels and devils she often favored. Not that you weren't used to it, of course. Not that you'd failed to accomplish anything, either, if the tiny glimmer of mirth dancing within his muddled blue irises were anything to go by.

Without another word, his hand instinctively reaches out towards you, playing with the familiar article, a low hum slipping past his chapped lips as you informed him of your costume's inspiration. A zombie, you'd stated, a sense of pride within your voice, and he decides to reassess your appearance with the additional context in mind.

It certainly was convincing. The murky tones of the fabric, combined with the clothing you wore beneath—old, and torn, and stitched back together after particularly brutal matches—certainly did work to your advantage; enough so that he could almost ignore the memories of you laying within the infirmary, carried back on the shoulders of your other teammates.

That train of thought is interrupted, thankfully before he can go down the rabbit hole, by the sound of your voice. And while he isn't entirely certain what you'd just said, he takes the opportunity to pull away and catch himself, raking through his brain for memories of the custom. He's aware of what Halloween is—had to be, really—having been constantly exposed to all sorts of different holidays after deciding to join the army, though he'd never once had the chance to truly participate.

Something so leisurely would've only slowed him down, back then. Made a difficult job all the more unbearable. But now he was stuck within this God-forsaken manor where reality was flipped over on its head and time was easily the most bountiful resource he had, so it's not as if it'd hurt to indulge you.

He turns around, and you follow him into his room, taking a seat on the bed as moves towards a hole in the wall—a stash for anything he didn't want others to know about, including the bar of chocolate in his hand as he pushed the dresser back into place. You reach out towards him in order to relieve him of it, only for your eyes to widen as he snaps the confection in two.

The larger half is relinquished to you, mattress weighed down as he sits beside you, wasting no time in indulging within his share. There's another beat of silence. "For stealing my clothing." He murmurs, and you let out a small laugh, bringing your attention to your portion of the bar.

... Naib finds he might like Halloween a bit more than he'd originally assumed.

[oletus-manors-log]

⚰️ ah !! i noticed it says we're still allowed to send you letters , still . if not then disregard this with my apologies ! if it is alright , could i request a norton campbell x reader ? i was thinking of something akin to taking care of each other after a match . it can be a small drabble or short story preferably , if that is alright . your writing is something i only recently stumbled upon , and i think it is incredible ! you are very talented , and i am wishing you the best !! thank you for reading , take care , observer !

OBSERVER'S NOTE:

" Hello, and yes, I'm still open to receiving letters (requests). Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong (unless you were one of my mutuals, in case... I do apologize for the potential hurt I end up causing /lh).

The request with Norton is so cute though- the idea of the prospector and his s/o taking care of each other after a match and especially against a hard one where the two won? Oh, it's so cute. I do hope this lives up to your expectation, even if it took me ages to get to this (also I kept this for too long because your words made my weeks because it's been stressful).

Again, I hope you enjoy this drabble! I enjoyed writing this a little too much, haha. "

Wounded Afterthought

It was a rare sight to see Norton be with someone like this, and especially with the mere thought of him being worried about another person after a tough match. People had assumed that he would simply ignore them, just like what he did to everyone else.

However, the same cannot be said for those that knew him well.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly as he patched them up, his eyes focused onto the scabs and scratches they got. They went up against Polun (from what he heard), so he knew that it had went rough. He could hardly believe that they had a tie with how difficult the triplets were in their streak.

... The only saving grace, however, was that it had been Arms Factory and there were more competent survivors that made sure to keep the team together.

Feeling a gloved hand on his shoulder, he turned his head to you, who simply shook your head. Ah. He must've looked terrifying, hm?

"I'm fine, Norton," he heard you answer, the feeling of the weight of your hand leaving as you placed it on your lap. Your attire had been torn, but it was better than last time.

Good, you aren't too heavily injured, he mused, sighing. "Quartz, you know that I'm doing this out of worry. Polun is a hard one to deal with, let alone escape against with the team you were with."

There goes an endearing nickname he called you— Quartz. He calls you something else, however, but that was the most frequent he'd choose. Unknowingly, of course.

"I know that. However, everyone wasn't as terrible against him, Norton," you reasoned, raising your left hand to gently cup his. Your gloved thumb traced over his cheek, and although he didn't want to show he liked it, you two could see him lean over involuntarily.

"After all, if they were, I wouldn't be here in your arms now, would I?"

Norton couldn't find an answer to that.

It was, unfortunately, true. If you had been hurt, he wouldn't have you in his grasp— he would've had you under Emily's care. And yet here you are, bandaged up, clothes torn, but still alive.

He couldn't help but sigh and bury his head on the crook of your neck, closing his eyes right after. He let go of you to simply adjust the position of his arms, wrapping it around your body to keep you close to him.

He wouldn't admit it, of course, but you can be quite stubborn for a priest. Not that he particularly cares— to him, what mattered was your safety, not your occupation.

... That, and unlike that Priestess, you rely on your own wits and snap decision to save you from being chaired.

Perhaps it's why he is so protective of you, and yet he simply backs off when you prove him wrong. After all, how could he when you both knew that you were right?

"... Maybe not. But I'd still like to make sure you're not in danger, if I can help it," he admitted, making you laugh at his own concern. He would normally grunt when someone else does it, but he didn't have the heart to do it to you.

You, a priest, who have left your past beliefs to find faith in a different God.

"Dear, with you on my side, I'll never be in danger. I can promise you that."

And for a mere moment, Norton knew those words rang true than the ones written in scripture.

© ᴏʟᴇᴛᴜs-ᴍᴀɴᴏʀs-ʟᴏɢ | 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹 ✧ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀʀᴇ | ᴀʀᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ʀɪɢʜᴛғᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀs

[fishandships]

Okay buy considering luchino is a fuckass lizard means that he’s big ass hell in terms of size…….like i assume the manor funds new clothes for it’s residents or they just magically clean themselves after their matches or something but imagine rosario sewing, knitting etc. various clothes for him because there is no proper size for him at shops or at the storages…….and like sometimes rosario has to get creative because of the lack of materials so they can use window curtains or those fancy napkins……sometimes it may look silly but it’s the thought that counts….collapses and dies

Oh my GODS i absolutely love this im so emotional thinking about it ;A;

It’s winter, and Luchino is struggling to stay warm enough to avoid going into torpor. Bane is occupied nearly full-time cutting wood to fuel the Manor’s fireplaces and stoves, and either Alva or Luca has fashioned him a heat lamp (arguments over who actually came up with the idea lead to violence, so it’s best not to ask), but it’s still not enough. So Rosario takes it upon themself to make him some warmer clothes. He may not be able to generate his own body heat anymore, but the right fabric should help hold onto external heat a little longer.

At first they try on their own, until their fingers are bloody from pricking themself on the pins and their nose is tingling with barely-restrained tears of frustration. Their results are a waste - missed stitches leaving gaps, everything is the wrong size (how did they manage to make it too big?). And so Rosario, normally too proud and too shy to ask for help for themself, begins asking around the Manor. Anything for Luchino.

They turn to Violetta, who is only too happy to enlist. She’s patient and encouraging as she teaches them how to properly prepare and follow a pattern, which stitches to use for which occasion, how to affix a button.

Leo and Lisa hear about the project and are excited to join in. The father-daughter team shows Rosario how to knit and generously provides some precious woolen fabric to work with. Slowly, an ensemble is coming together.

Robbie wants to help, too! He doesn’t really know about making clothes, but he cares about Luchino and is eager to learn. The grown-ups help him use fabric scraps to practice.

After much trial and error and many late nights, the project is completed. The little team presents Luchino with a heavy jacket, woolen trousers, knit stockings and a matching scarf, and a quilt made from the scraps of Rosario’s previous attempts. It’s not a surprise; even if they’d wanted it to be, it’s difficult to keep such a big project a secret with everyone living on top of each other. But Luchino is still a little overwhelmed as he accepts the gifts. He cannot thank everyone enough. Despite Rosario’s polite protest, Violetta, Leo, and Lisa all insist that, while they did help, Rosario truly did do the majority of the labor. Luchino kisses Rosario’s bandaged fingers before bundling up in his new outfit. It’s not exactly stylish - a mishmash of scrapped fabrics and different colors of yarn - but it’s warm, as warm as the smile on Rosario’s face when they see how pleased he is with their work.

[tallemy]

Florimatt Drabble - Unfinished

Time had already passed midnight and the rings of the bell became quiet whispers in the starless night, barely reaching the windowless office hidden in the heart of the library. No matter how much he listens, its melody remains unfinished, empty, just like the homunculus that never gained the spark of life and the letter that was supposed to be sent by the morning. His last words will remain nothing more than another unfinished sentence, a soft greeting written in pitch black ink cursed to be fed to the fire.

Eventually the only end Philemon had found was his own.

[zephyrusz]

```˖ ✦ › first time for everything . . ◞```

˃˂ ; short harper drabble about the first time their team relied on them for a rescue ! been on my mind recently ,, i love them. and. i love writing their dialogue ... also this is written in the time when harper like. just arrived to the manor so id assume their friendship with andrew wasnt as strong . sort of inspired by an interaction i had a few years ago when i first started playing just. way more dramatic ! for funsies !

harper felt the cipher machine begin to shake under their fingers as a harsh bell tolled throughout the playing field, signaling a fallen survior. they were beginning to get the hang of popping the light of the ciphers, shaking it or solving a quick puzzle. they had andrew alongside them, the man already injured from rescuing a survivor prior in the match, and had been so focused on getting the last two cipher machines done, he had ignored harpers desperate pleas to pstch up his wounds.

"you should go," andrew whispered in a voice so small they could barely hear. "youre the only one who hasnt taken a hit yet."

they pulled their hands away from the machine. before harper could think of the words spilling from their mouth, they spoke out a tiny, broken, "i-i cant."

andrew seemed to pause, "yes, you can."

"no- no.. no, you dont understand, ill mess up again." they felt the familiar feeling of their throat tightening and tremors overtaking their body. "i-i dont want to let you all down."

"w-who's to rescue, then..?" andrew murmured, the gravekeepers gaze darting around from place to place, but seeming to avoid harpers eyes.

harper rubbed the back of their neck as the entomologist was thrown onto a rocket chair, the timer beginning to tick down before her elimination. they couldnt afford to make anything else worse for the team. "i-i can.. get you healed..? please- i dont want to mess up."

"windrix," andrew turned to face them, "you wont mess anything up. you have to go now, you wont make it in time if you stall any longer.."

they felt their vision blur behind the tiniest layer of tears, feeling the urge to cry no matter how strong they needed to be. "o-okay. im going, im going." they couldnt get their body to move. they wished to go- to not waste time- but they were frozen in fear. "im.. going to go."

andrew looked down and let out a deep sigh. "lets go together."

"what..?" they huffed out, finding the courage to move. "no- no, im sorry- dont bother, ill go.."

"the.. ciphers are looking good." he shrugged, "luca can connect his transmission to this one. l-lets just get melly, alright..?"

"im sorry." they found themselves mumbling as they began to take trembling steps to the area the woman was on the chair in. "im sorry- andrew, just.. i cant do this.."

"ill be there with you," it was clear andrew wasnt joyfully looking forward to a team effort, yet it was better than nothing. "it cant.. it cant be too bad."

harper sniffled, trudging through the thick snow layers beneath their feet, leos memory not exactly their favorite place in the world- the kid having grown up in a place of minimal snow. andrews steps were in stark contrast to harpers own, they were larger in stride and more urgent while harper was sidestepping and taking faster paces to keep up.

on their way, luca had finished one cipher and had connected the transmission to the one the two of them had worked on prior.

and just as they were about to reach melly, their heartbeat picked up once more.

they did wish to be strong. its not like they found their panic to be something comical- it was crushing their life every day. harper assumed their biggest weakness to be their- rather unfortunate- sheltered life. only facing one real danger which had only lasted for a swift moment, the rest of their life was spent at their home, the only other threats manifesting as aching hunger and the occasional pickpocketer from their performances.

they came to the realization that an empty stomach was nothing compared to this place.

"harper, listen to me." andrew spoke in a low tone, keeping a look out for the bloody queen. "d-dont overthink it. if.. if something goes wrong-" he paused, seeing them tremble, clutching their mandolin with wide, stretched eyes. "ill be there. o-okay..?"

harper let out a deep breath, nodding their head as a nonverbal way of agreement- as they feared if they spoke a single word, theyd break down in tears.

luca finished their cipher, now on the last one, nearly primed as it was.

andrew gave them an awkward pat on their shoulder- the touch only lasting for a breif moment before he quickly pulled away, "i- you.. you can do it. just go, the ciphers.. ciphers nearly primed."

they nodded, remembering what they had seen andrew do many other times before- rush forward with a determined pace, fake out the hunter into attacking early- or outright hitting the survivors chair- to trigger them to recover their weapon and buy enough time to safely rescue.

they couldnt exactly see where melly was looking through her thick beekeeper hat, and worse, they couldnt tell her expression- whether she was discouraged or proud of them for doing their job. but they hoped to make her proud.

the bloody queen hadnt yet noticed them creeping from behind, but as they strummed their instrument, granting a slight moment of bravery deep in their chest that seemed to soothe the ache of their heart pounding loud enough mary could likely hear it- the hunter turned to face them.

they put their hands on the shoulder bar keeping melly locked in place, and they saw mary lift her blade. harpers fear led them to pull away just before the glass could strike them in the side, mary slicing into the padding of the bar.

the effects of their song still lingering, it wasnt even a second before melly had gotten freed from the chair, and harper was already putting themselves behind her to block any incoming attacks.

melly let out a muffled, out-of-breath chuckle, "kid, youre not too bad at that."

harper wanted to respond, but they were still too stricken with fear to muster up anything more than a nod.

turning behind them to look for mary, they caught sight of andrew with the smallest smile tugging at his lips, giving them a slight thumbs-up as he rushed off to wait at the exit gate.

harper saw a light, somewhat see-through version of the bloody queen appear in front of them, raising her weapon and striking melly across her shoulder. her tide turner effect from harper was still active, so she had around ten seconds left before she was on the ground.

"go! ill lead her to the basement, itll buy you all time!" melly yelled, holding her shoulder in pain, taking another hit for harper to prevent them from getting an injury.

they nodded, and carrying their mandolin, they sprinted off as fast as their legs would let them go. the cipher popped after the second hit on melly, giving her time to get away as she recovered her blade again.

the loud, annoying horn blared to signal the exit gates opening, and they continued running to find where andrew had gone.

it wasnt long before they found the gate, now opening its large, metal doors. mary couldn't make it in time, not without the ability to teleport- having used it earlier to pressure down the other survivors. andrew stood at its entrance, luca beside him. "w-wheres the hunter..?"

"melly.. melly led her down to the basement- she was already dead the next time she was put on chair- i tried to take a hit for her, but i couldnt.. im sorry, it wasnt a good rescue, i.. i got nervous, and.." they panted, out of breath from their rapid sprint here.

andrew shrugged, "the.. the thing about rescuing is.. is that you cant save everyone. t-theres always going to be times you dont.. get it ideal, but you got melly off of the chair..?"

they nodded, looking down at their shoes- the shoelaces now untied and dirty from being stepped on- and watching as luca beckoned for the two to follow him on the path back to the manor.

they held their mandolin tight as andrew gave them a quick nod of approval, walking down the extended path until they reached the doors of the manor, harper wiping off their shoes from any snow on the mat out front.

as the three entered the manor, they let out a sigh of relief. the warm rooms flelt like a luxury to the snow-covered team. they all began the walk back to the infirmary, knowing melly would be there waiting to hear how it went.

it wasnt an ideal situation. not for anyone to be in. harper didnt understand much about it- certainly not what the others meant when they told them they have abilities perfect for rescuing. it seemed like a big responsibility- what the rest of the survivors fit for rescues have told them, anyway. but for their first time rescuing against a hunter actively standing in front of a survivors chair, they wanted to convince themselves they didnt do too bad. the guilt of not being able to put themselves in front of harms way for melly still ate at their chest, but like andrew had said, they couldnt save everyone.

and maybe, saving one person was a start.

[naomifootes]

Mike's kisses are wild, no doubt about it, they're comparable to fire crackers, short bursts and pecks that only get deeper when you wrap your arms around him.

But when he's in his hunter form? Expect his tongue immediately in your mouth and his head titling to get his tongue as deep as he possibly can.

I hate hullabaloo/j

[princesslocket]

Fandoms: 第五人格 | Identity V (Video Game)  

Rating: General Audience

Warnings: No Achieve Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Norton Campbell | Prospector, Alice DeRoss | Journalist, Melly Plinius | Entomologist

Relationships: Norton Campbell | Prospector/Alice DeRoss | Journalist

Additional Tags: Ambiguous Relationships, Implied/Refrenced Character Death, Mentions of Blood, Nothing Graphic but its there, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ashes of Memory (Identity V), Written before Chapter 3, Hunting Game, Alice POV

Summary: Waking up to find oneself in the middle of a hunting game was not something Alice was prepared for. What's even worse is discovering she's the only one doing any decoding.

[evil-lovergirl]

!    general nsfw hcs . . . weeping clown , joker . . . >> includes mentions of pegging / fucking. referred to as 'dick.' trans hcs included.

⁀➴ crybaby alll the way. feels so bad about it too once he regains his senses ⁀➴ he doesn't want to be seen as weak or lesser than because he already had enough of the in the hullabaloo circus ⁀➴ needs reassurance that it's okay to cry from pleasure ⁀➴ actually he just needs reassurance in general ⁀➴ adores physical contact. hold him as closely as possible while you dick him down ⁀➴ i think he would really like a mating press just because he likes being able to wrap his arms around your neck, hold you closely, hide his face if needed, lock his legs around your back... ⁀➴ embarrassed noises at the start, probably. he doesn't want to be too loud, but he can't help it when a couple slip past his lips... ⁀➴ once he's cum once or twice, that's when he stops holding back and just lets them fall ⁀➴ more of a whiner and a whimpering person imo ⁀➴ probably hiccups. kind of cute ugm ⁀➴ adoressss it when you kiss his tears away... he likes kisses overall but these feel so loving to him during his pleasurable, vulnerable time with you ⁀➴ very inexperienced. what did you expect he's a skittish little guy ⁀➴ probably was too embarrassed to even try anything on his own... ⁀➴ not too fond of toys, prefers skin-to-skin ⁀➴ takes his robotic leg off after he gets more comfortable... it's kind of like taking your shoes and socks off after a long, hot day to him ⁀➴ doing so gives easier access? maybe? just be gentle, nobody really touches him there so it's super sensitive ⁀➴ actually he's just sensitive overall. brushing your hands over his waist already as him jumping and looking at you as if you just slapped his ass ⁀➴ isn't a fan of degradation or anything painful when having sex. he's showing you his most vulnerable side so you better love him correctly ⁀➴ average stamina. maybe 3 rounds, 5 if you really wanna push it ⁀➴ probably about ~6 in? maybe 5.5.. not too big, not too small... kind of cute ⁀➴ circumcised most likely ⁀➴ defff has a little bush growing.. gyatt! ⁀➴ itsy bitsy happy trail that he covers up ⁀➴ for trans hcs, i think his pussy would be puffy but not in an unhealthy manner ⁀➴ clit is very hard to find because it's kind of small, but his sensitivity makes up for it

⁀➴ love him right and he'll love you 100x more

[dotedlover]

fading stars

summary: ganji knows that lashing out at others when he's upset never brings blessings, so why did he choose to do it anyway? he realizes that he now has to live with the loss of his actions. 

paring: ganji gupta x cecille maduro (identity v ccxoc) 

warnings: vulgarism, violence, cecille looses her shit (bipolar qween), kinda ooc

note: this wouldn't be something that would really happen between the pair, for they don't have many angst moments between them like this. (they are so lovey dovey and cutie patooties). cecille wouldn't want anything to do with eli, nor would ganji ever stoop down to insulting her.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“You… slept. With him?” Ganji’s hands trembled, heart pounding with a raging adrenaline and his vision began to cloud with unspeakable anger, an uncomfortable lump forming at his throat. The mere mention of Eli Clark always made the Batter’s body be enriched with fury, and this topic made his being set ablaze with an abhorrent amount of jealousy.

The atmosphere in the Greenhouse was glum; the warmth of the sun was sluggishly inching its way towards its final destination. Blue hour flooded the room the two were occupying, the lights that were active pathetically bathed the area with a shallow glow. A distant chatter of those who inhabited the manor flowed to the conservatory, reaching the fretful pair.

“Mmh.” Cecille’s eyes didn’t even dare to meet the scowl and disgust Ganji wore on his face. “Well, not sexually. No.” Somewhere in her heart, Cecille was embarrassed, ashamed. She dreaded and had this dire urge for the topic not to make it back to her ears. Furious, Ganji stood over the Caregiver, unintentionally intimidating the woman who felt her displeasure with herself begin to burrow. She was uncomfortably seated on the ground, back towards the man, tending to flowers that belonged to an ill Gardener. The flowers were slowly losing their vibrant hues, slouched over and dying, the remnants of life had fallen to the ground. They were quiet for a few moments. Cecille then hummed, deciding that her favor to Emma was completed. She felt passionate, burning holes in the back of her skull.

Cecille rose, turning around to meet Ganji’s gaze, which was beyond displeased. Doing her best to ignore it, she made an effort to quickly move past him. However, the athlete wouldn’t budge, his movement mimicking that of a mannequin.

“Excuse me.” Her eyebrows furrowed, trying to not harm any of the plants with her dress as she still attempted to budge by. 

“You know he still likes you.” Ganji declared, his voice dulled. It lacked any form of life, dead and flat. The scorching inferno in his eyes now diminished into cinders, equivalent to the attitude of his voice. Ganji extended his scarred hands between her deltoids and triceps, cautious of her shoulder blades. “You sleeping with him makes him think you’re taking him back.” Her embarrassment slowly began to dissolve. 

Cecille sneered. “I am never getting back with him. We are just friends.” 

Ganji could only give a sardonic, trenchant scoff at her statement. “Who the fuck sleeps with someone else in bed if you’re ‘just friends’?!” 

Ganji was beginning to tread on her divine patience. 

“What are you implying, Gupta?” Her eyes constructed themselves into slits. “You should know me better than that. I am not doing anything wrong, nor am I picking favorites. I do it with whoever needs my help.” Maybe her stubbornness, maybe her morality, but she believed she was correct. In some outlandish sense, she was. 

The only problem that lingered was who she comforted. His jealousy inched towards ignition once more; repeatedly striking a match against its box, but only produced sparks without a flame. However, Ganji was taken aback at her sternness, silent. He stared at her eyes that reflected the somber lighting in the room. 

“If you’re concerned about my virtues, no. I wouldn’t do that if I was in a relationship. I’m not a whore.” 

That was definitely not what he was implying.

Ganji was an individual who called upon her services much too often. The man can remember the first time she arrived in his barren room; his few treasures from home were laid out upon his desk, the dormitory lacked personality. The Batter was an inconceivable wreck. A disgusting loss streak that chipped away at his ego and pride, hungry from the lack of familiar and edible food, and the passing birthday of a mother who waited for her baby’s arrival back at home in India. He snapped at anyone who let their eyes linger on him for too long, barking back at those who asked what was wrong with him.

Even in the setting where hope was offered, there was nothing but dry and meaningless promises in this lawless hell. 

However, on this particular night, Cecille was his star. The woman happened to work dinner service that evening; the survivors who attended the dinners thanked whatever god they believed in for her cooking. She always made extra, serving enormous portions that were borderline gluttony. However, she knew that carrying the responsibility of occupying this purgatory, being used as some sort of laughing-stock in an author's sick and twisted mind where you’d endure eternal anguish, would at some point call for exhaustion and hunger. 

She arrived in Ganji’s room with a plate that belonged to him, still warm and comforting. She gently moved his despondent being from his disheveled mattress to his desk, gently relocating his precious valuables and placing the familiar food on the flat surface. Although not a traditional dish from India, she told him it was called mole. It was a Mexican dish, and she made fresh tortillas to go with it. This was the closest cuisine he had to home, for neither he nor Naib knew how to cook more than simple meals. A gentle warmth of nostalgia traveled through his body.

Ganji lightly wept as he ate, the dramatic lighting of golden hour bounced off of every available surface in the room. Cecille tore everything off of his bed that the manor offered, replacing it with soft, fresh linen, warm comforters, and large, fluffy pillows. She folded the itchy and uncomfortable blankets and placed them into the corner of the empty room. She patiently waited for the sorrowful man to scrape up whatever was left on his plate. Ganji usually took his time as he had his meals, but he had been starving. Hunger dug deep into the pit of his stomach, feeling nauseated and frequent pain in his abdomen. Her cooking made it all disappear. 

Once finished, he stared at the woman who occupied the edge of the bed, playing with the ends of her hair. She wasn’t paying attention, but Ganji was now able to examine her person in a more intimate setting. The alluring light of the setting sun blanketed the room, making Cecille appear as if a god decided to make her his most divine angel. Her appearance and traits seemed to be hand-picked from the beauty of the stars and the comfort of a warm home. Gorgeous tanned skin shimmered like gold in the light, dark hair uncontained from her head-wrap looked soft. 

Cecille looked up from her own little world to check up on Ganji. His heart fired and began to thump, embarrassment flushed his body with an unfamiliar excitement with special attention to his ears, neck, and face. It was new, enthralling, and oh-so addicting. He didn’t even care (nor dare) to look away when she gave a smile; her brown eyes crinkled and seemed to glow a precious gold in the sun. Ganji’s breathing quickened, he felt lightheaded, his stomach flipped and turned in a foreign way. 

The whole experience at that moment made him feel euphoric. It wasn’t the same as the praise of his performance or adrenaline that hit him during a match which was something he’d always looked out for. This experience, this feeling, hit him like a truck. 

He knew that he’d abandon the chase of praise and adrenaline for a fraction of whatever this was. 

And it could only be from her. 

“Come,” She cooed, patting the empty space next to her. The vacant seat beside her was calling his name. “Want me to tuck you in?” 

Maybe Ganji wouldn’t admit the eagerness and exhilaration that reeked from the speed of his journey from the chair then next to Cecille, but it was damn obvious. Ganji made his home comfortably next to her, she reached her hand out to rub gentle circles along his back. Her touch sent a rippling feeling to every inch of his body, and he was accepting of it all.

“It’s all okay. Don’t get too stressed out about matches. We don’t have any consequences- maybe it damages your pride a little.” She lightly joked, having an upwards inflection in hopes of not sounding rude. Although Ganji would miss the contact her hand had on his back, he decided her promise would be much more rewarding in return; so he laid down on his new and comfortable bed. 

“You are okay with this, right?” Cecille asked out of curiosity, for almost all of the previous attempts of affection that were initiated from her had been rejected. 

“Yeah,” Ganji let out a shaky breath, he was elated. 

Cecille smiled at him, pulling the large covers over his body, making sure that he was comfortable. She was adjusting his pillow from underneath his head, and Ganji was allowed to take another look at her face. He was allowed to observe every freckle she donned, how her eyelashes fluttered against her skin. The moment was quick, but he absorbed every single part of it. Ganji didn’t want to seem like a creep, but the close proximity allowed him to realize that she smelled nice too. Maybe the woman’s thoughts were somewhere else, maybe she didn’t want to embarrass Ganji, or maybe she just thought he was cold; but he was shaking from excitement. 

Once Cecille finished making Ganji comfortable, she stood at the side of his bed. There was a moment of silence between the two, they both simply stared at one another. Usually, this would be awkward, but the moment felt right. Ganji’s thoughts were racing, feeling so many different emotions at once. Everything was powerful, and he had to have more. 

“You have to not be so hard on yourself, Gupta,” Cecille began to walk around his bed, making her way to the door. “Have a good night.” She reached for the doorknob. 

Ganji immediately shot up from his bed. He does not yet know how Cecille has him feel, how she somehow pulled this new version that even he has never met. His heart raced, this time anxious. Ganji was nervous, the feeling of nausea took over his body.

No, no, no. He couldn’t have her leave just now. 

“Wait!” He shouted louder than he meant to. Cecille froze and looked over her shoulder. “Can… Can you stay?” He said a little quieter this time, the embarrassment began to eat at him again. However, he became scared observing her reaction. She just stood there near the entrance of his room, staring at the man; he couldn’t quite pinpoint her thoughts, for her face seemed to have no emotion. 

“Hm.” Is all she said, still standing in place. The silence, it was deafening. It rang in his ears like an alarm that would echo along the floors and walls of halls that would take an eternity to pass through.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

His palms began to clam. What was he thinking? Of course he’d fuck everything up, this special time that they had together. Things just seemed to be perfect, everything aligned with her around. Now he felt shame riddle his body, chipping away at whatever confidence he had in the moment. Every precious interaction that he had built with her began to crumble down, all he did was pour gasoline on it and light it. Within the past half hour he felt healed, he felt new; but now, he just pulled back the scab just to let it bleed.

“Fuck, just- Nevermind. Forget I said anything.” He flipped around, his back facing her. He childishly covered his face with his blanket, facing the window that still welcomed that precious glow shine through the fabric. He felt disgusted in himself, he wished he could just take everything out. His throat felt tight, tears began to form at his eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What did he allow to come over him?

Ganji did not know what made him bring down the sturdy walls he constructed brick by brick, the timeless hard work that he spent every longing day assembling. Something that he took ages to build for the sacred protection of himself as a whole; everything he was had been locked up in a cold, barren cell. He knew that tearing the protection down would only bring bad things, so why did he do it anyway? 

Ganji does believe that he just ruined everything with the beguiling woman who still stood in his room. Ganji does believe that the sight of this woman in the hall would make his heart ache, but he would make it his mission to avoid her. 

Then, peace. It swallowed him whole. Her weight on the bed, the thunk of shoes on the floor, and the comfortable sigh she let escape her mouth as she made herself cozy seated in his bed lifted all worries.

She quietly laughed. “I don’t mind.” She whispered to him from the other side of the blanket. She reached to uncover him. “Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t mind staying here.” 

His heart soared. 

She inched closer, searching for any signs of protest. When they were absent, Cecille sat close, reaching her hand for his beautiful curly hair to remove his headband that she assumed caused him a disgusting headache. She shimmied down, her back facing the man out of respect. Warmth radiated off of the two, their beautiful night coming to an end, the sun finally made its way past the horizon. 

Ganji knows that he will chase her warmth whenever he has the chance. He knows that her touch would be the only thing that he craves, he’d chase her saccharine praises that he’d be sure to leak from her mouth when he’d go above and beyond to show off in front of her. How’d she tell him how stunning he looked as he ran to her chair heroically to save her, how he’d insist that he would be the only one to come to her aid, and would bark back to others if they were her savior. For he would not want to hear any words that were meant for him to be directed to someone else.

God forbid he overheard the praise while she comforted her rescuer once they were finally safe, “Wow, look at you, what would I do without you? Ohhh, my knight in shining armor.” She’d laugh and hold them lovingly as Ganji would watch from afar as envy would infest his body.

He would do anything to have her loving presence in his room, for her hands to play with is curly hair to put him asleep. For her to accept his plea of being in her arms, to be reminded of a hope that he thought was long gone.

As the two fell asleep in the company of one another, Cecille muttered a promise. 

“You’re a good man, Ganji, ” She slowly stretched her neck to his shoulder, the pressure of her mouth giving him a comforting kiss goodnight. “I promise to take you home.”

Thinking that this is how she was with Eli that night vigorously struck the match against its box, setting it aflame. Ganji’s jealousy roared.

“Go ahead then! Tell him that you’re just ‘friends’! Tell him that you dont give a single fuck and that he dosen’t mean jackshit to you anymore!” He reached for Cecille, but she looked at the man in astonishment and pushed his hands away. “Tell him that it didn’t mean anything, and see how fucking disappointed he gets and watch him leave you again! For him to throw you aside after using you like you’re some fucking toy!”

Cecille did not move. She gave Ganji a look of disbelief, and it slowly became one of scorn. 

“Tell him that, and maybe he’ll just fucking leave you! Just like everyone else in your unfortunate fucking life!” Cecille squinted her eyes, biting her lip to not make a sound. Ganji could not seem to stop the malicious and ugly words from spewing. For he was in pain and had no other way to let out the hate he felt for Cecille’s actions. Her hands turned themselves into fists, nails digging into her palms. “Maybe you’ll lose him too! Maybe he’d be gone like your ex-fiancee and all of those damn fucking kids!”  

Silence. 

The sudden halt of pernicious words left a bleeding wound. The crickets that occupied the greenhouse seemed to gossip; the lack of conversation that previously filled the manor was now gone. This will surely be a juicy scandal for the weeks to come, hearsay that even the walls would become familiar with. 

The Batters breathing was loud as his adrenaline began to fade. The clouds of anger began to dissipate, leaving him to finally observe the damage that has been done. 

There was the woman who owned his heart standing in front of him. There was a new expression on her face that he had never seen her don, and he became frightened; for now the weight of his actions came crashing down onto his body, bringing a guilt that surpassed anything that he’d ever felt. 

Despite her tears, there it was. Disgust. Horror. Outrage. 

Ganji could practically feel the loathing bubbling from Cecilles core.

Then, Cecille mumbled something faint, quick, and fleeting. Ganji could not quite catch it. However, any thinking was cut short by a crack to his nose. Cecille had taken her chances, throwing a blind swing though angry tears. Blood spewed, Ganji was taken aback from the force, shuffling away from Cecille as his heel met a decorative rock. The woman lunged as he fell, placing all of her weight upon his legs so he would be unable to get up. Her hand met his face once more.

“How,” Smack. “Fucking,” Another smack. “Dare you.” She seethed through her teeth, clasping her hands and raising them towards the heavens. She brought her fists down to his chest, smashing down all of her might onto the Batters sternum. In some sense, Ganji was not surprised; he pushed this poor woman to her edge. She choked sobs from her mouth, angry grunts and screams of incoherent pricks of words. She continued slamming her hands onto his chest, and Ganji could not do anything but pathetically lift his hands to block hers. So far, all of her barely conceivable words stung like paper cuts. 

“You’re fucking just like him! That son-of-a-bitch! We were doing so good and then he ruined everything! He killed everyone I loved and left me to fucking DIE!” Cecille roared at the top of her lungs, shortly halting her violence at his chest, reaching for his face. 

This comparison did not “sting like paper cuts”. Instead, this was a knife straight to the heart. However, Ganji made no rebuttal. He knew better than to be bold with her on this topic. He knew he shouldn't have let those ugly words flow out as if that is what he truly meant. He regretted it all. 

There was that moment of gentleness, she held his face as she slid her thumb against the blood that ran down from his nose, attempting to wipe it off. Failure. It only smudged. Her angry eyes slowly seemed to dissipate, turning to a look of bittersweetness. They flickered around his oh so beautiful and bloody nose, apparently the scar upon it's bridge wasn’t enough damage. She quickly pulled her chilly hands away from his cheeks, placing them in their new home in her own face this time, ignoring the blood still present on her fingers. She began to grieve on top of his chest, and this time he made no effort to even push her off. He took this last bit of warmth from her as their final interaction. 

“I… oh my God. I can’t believe I loved him.” Her hands went back to his head, gently lifting it up once more so their eyes met. “I can’t believe I thought you were different, Ganji.” Disbelief, an airy statement of disappointment. Ganji could only choke at the realization. Like Cecille, tears began to form in his eyes.

These two people who had everything they ever knew or what they ever wanted torn away from them. 

Ganji, the loss of his home, a mother, a family, a loved one.

Cecille, the loss of her home, being a mother, having a family, to be a bride. 

She lingers there, holding his head gently, caressing his face. Maybe Ganji doesn't catch on, but she’s waiting for him to throw some sort of apology, something half-assed, scraps thrown to her like a dog. Nothing comes. Maybe she doesn't deserve one. She accepts that thought, however, not before scowling and letting him go. 

Ganji has heard rumors of Cecille's alternating mood swings. He's never had the first hand experience up until now, nor has he taken it upon himself to ask her about it, not wanting to offend her with assumptions that may be false. Now, he realizes that this woman has high-high's and low-low's. He couldn't seem to shake off the eeriness of her screams immediately halting into sweet lingering touches. It made his head spin in ways more than one.

The woman decides that she has lingered for long enough. Cecille rises, looking down at Ganji’s body. He’s defeated, tired, in dismay realizing how much he’s lost. He now knows it's all gone. It vanished before he even knew he owned it. Cecille wipes Ganjis blood from her fingertips on her white apron, she could care less of how much of a pain it will be to remove. 

“Don’t talk about my ‘fucking kids’ like that.” 

As Ganji looked up at her figure for the last time, he saw that hateful look on her face once more.  He never thought he’d be on the receiving end. 

“I thought you were better than this, Ganji.” She speaks to his figure, now attempting to use any strength to prop himself up onto his elbows. Somewhere in her heart, she still pities this man. Tearing off her apron, she throws it to his pathetic state, for he is shaking on the floor.  She knows she doesn't want it back. 

She’s quiet, staring at Ganji who scrambles for her apron, more tears begin to flow. Whatever blessing she thought Ganji was is now completely gone. He is no longer her star. She swallows thickly at the idea, berating herself internally for letting something like this happen again. 

“You’re acting like I broke your heart.” 

She turns swiftly around, leaving Ganji in the dark Greenhouse. They both know that if she doesn't make it back to her room in time, there will be people stopping her along the way. Their prying disguised and coated with fake concern. Anything to fill their entertainment in this disgusting hell-hole. How pathetic. 

Making her way out of the door, she blubbers muddled words that Ganji could not quite comprehend. He does, however, catch a fleeting name. Oh, poor Cecille; crying for her twin brother back home.

[fishermanshook]

MY DUMBASS DELETED THE FUCKING REQUEST IM SO SORRY 😭😭😭

anyways…

yan!mercenary who’s like Kafka x gn!reader

I’m so sorry but I literally have never played LC before 😭😭😭, grammar and spelling warning!

The Mercenary is a cold and selfish person who had killed many in the past. His heart is as cold as ice and would’ve stayed that way if he never had gone to the manor.

If he had never met you.

—

What do you do when you fall in love? When your head over heals? Probably not gaslight, guilt trip, and possibly kill over it. Right?

But Naib Subedar has never been in love, nor has he (probably) ever seen it. So when you manage to befriend him (despite the handful of people who told you not to…) you hadn’t realized what you were getting yourself into.

He enjoys teasing and flirting with you just to see what kind of reaction you give him. Seeing if you’ll get all defensive (which he loves) or if you’ll go beet red in the face (which he adores).

He LOVES showing off and managing to impress you. He carried you to the exit gate once because you were hurt and he “didn’t want you to get injured more then you already were”. You were all red and trying to cover your face with your hands and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. You mumble a little “thank you” before he puts you down to enter in the code to the gate. He’s got a smirk plastered on his face as he leaves with your hand in his.

When this man gets obsessed, he gets OBSESSED. And while I’m sure that you can say that about any yandere, Naib wouldn’t hesitate to pull out all the stops on trying to get you to himself.

He thinks that this is just him showing how much he loves and care about you. How he adores you and you alone. How nobody could ever replace you, and that you’ve stolen his heart and are keeping it captive. The Mercenary doesn’t know the difference.

He’s possessive, obviously. Assuming that you don’t have a clique or many close friends in the manor, he won’t hesitate to spread rumors. Saying that he overheard one of your friends say something negative about you, and that you should probably drop them.

Wouldn’t waste a second if he had to kill someone. When he sees you getting too close with someone, their a goner.

You soon realize that all of your friends/crushes are either dead or don’t wanna go near you in fear of getting killed themself. The only person who you can interact with nowadays is Naib, who would’ve guessed!!!

But by the time you notice, it’s too late. Naib’s got you all to himself now. And with everyone else who’s left him in his life (either willingly or unwillingly…) he won’t let you go so easily. No, not this time and not the next.

Not till death does thy part.

note: hahaha get it? cause they can’t die??? hahahaha so funny!!! (also I am SO sorry again I did NOT mean to delete this persons request) (also this request was total shit IM SO SORRY 😭😭😭) (I really hope this person sees it and likes it)

(2023)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform