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merakiui · 16 days

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[0] 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, abuse of power, descriptions of religious imagery, attempted non-con, hypocrisy, solitary confinement, rollo is immensely creepy, archaic mindsets and logic masterlist // prologue (you are here) // one

Without a shred of sympathy, discarded like dross, you are thrown before Father Flamme’s feet.

You have enough grace and dignity to resist the urge to grasp at his robes and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you condemn yourself to silence, allowing his piercing stare to stab through you with a judgment so precise it might just slice the skin from your skeleton. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you can almost taste his disapproval, much like a snake might parse chemical witchery in the air.

“Lift your head, if you would,” he commands gently, and you do as you’re told. He folds his arms over his chest and looks on, cold as winter’s frost. You watch his finger tap out a soundless rhythm. “I must ask of you, Sister, to provide reason to your recent absences. As a child of God, you have taken oath to follow His wise teachings and devote yourself to serving this church. Am I wrong?”

“You speak wise and true.” You rise to your feet and, ignoring the brutes who so rudely cast you forward in the first place, bow your head in apology. Father Flamme waves them out without sparing so much as a second glance. “You are right that it is my duty to serve the church. I ought to be doing just that and yet I have failed to do so. Undeserving I may be, I ask that you pardon my negligence.”

Father Flamme hums. Standing in front of the altar, backdropped by a stained glass depiction of the crucifixion, he is bathed in a colorful, angelic array. He strides towards you, covering the short distance in just a few clicks, and places his hand upon your shoulder. You’re led from the steps and down the aisle. It feels more like you’re being brought away for slaughter, a lamb primed for punishment.

“There is no doubt you are genuine in all that you do,” he notes, sliding his hand down your arm. Those slender, spidery digits curl into your woolen sleeve. “You are impartial and well-bred, a woman of impressive patience and virtue. Qualities of which arouse an admiration most potent.”

You know the rest of your convent is much the same, which is why it puzzles you that Father Flamme should praise your humble name in such a sickeningly fond manner.

“You are too kind, Father,” you acquiesce. “As a modest servant of God, it’s my pleasure to devote myself to Him, the church, my fellow sisters, and the community.”

“Hmm. A laudable outlook.” His lips quirk up in a smile. Strangely, it looks sharp and predatory. It does not reach his eyes.

Father Flamme steers you in the direction of another stained glass window. This scene is of The Resurrection of Christ. You gaze at His face and wonder if there truly is something up there, watching over the world’s sheep as they live out cyclical days in their pastures.

Immediately, you realize you should commit yourself to writing lines to chase that doubtful notion away.

Father Flamme rests his hand on your other arm to hold you in place. “A quote paraphrased from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verses thirty-six through thirty-eight, if you’ll listen: ‘When asked which is the great commandment of all in the law, Jesus would reply, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.’”

You nod mechanically, only half-listening. After observing you closely, he frowns.

“What troubles you, Sister?”

“It is hardly a burden worth shouldering. I assure you I’m of sound health. My recent habit of absence is most unbecoming of a sister. I should sooner confront the great shame of my actions than let it fester within.”

“There is still time to atone. You must seek counsel and, having taken it in your arms just as God embraces all, you will know forgiveness.”

You rest your hand upon Father Flamme’s, which has somehow found its home at your hip. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

He smiles that empty smile again. “If He is to provide for you, you must first lay yourself bare before him. I am no fool, Sister. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I have been truthful, Father. I would never lie under this sacred roof, nor would I have the gall to do so in your presence. It would be an offense so beastly I could not bear to let it weigh heavy on my heart.”

“Yet, rather than scorch your tongue with a dissolution of the truth, you evade the simplest of queries.” His fingers toy with the knots of your cincture. “What manner of tale will you spin to mystify me next?”

Reacting on instinct, you rip yourself from his immoral grasp. The nave is as silent as the grave, so stuffy it’s suffocating. Father Flamme narrows his eyes at you. His gaze cuts through you like blood swirling through the cracks in ice—like a scalding brand pressed onto flesh.

A thick tension blankets the air. You merely stare at him, and he levels you with the same calculating intensity. Both of you are searching the other’s face, hoping to find an explanation for such polar opposite behavior.

You’re courageous enough to break the quiet first.

“If it would please you, Father, I will graciously offer myself up for confession. There is no reason or need to circumvent the Lord.”

“Sister (Name), if you may spare the time, I entreat you to take a short stroll with me.” Before you can object, he offers his arm. “All children are lost lambs who will soon find their way when following the path illuminated by God’s brilliant light. You are no different. It is my duty to see that you are no longer led astray by temptation and the litany of filth propagated by the fiend.”

Sensing no other option, you link arms with him and subject yourself to his whims. “I’ve a frightful feeling. Most frightful indeed.”

“By all means, confide in God and trust that He will provide shelter. Under His sacred roof, He will lend an ear just as I am doing now.”

You inhale a steadying breath. At this moment, Father Flamme is all you have. In the depths of your heart, you’re aware he’ll never understand. He will never know the morbid secrets that dwell in darkened corners, swept expertly away. And if he knew, you would never be welcome in the church again. Your fellow sisters would certainly turn their noses up at you, loathing the sin of your very existence.

Even as you walk alongside the righteous bishop, you feel an overwhelming itchiness.

“Recent events have led me to believe—though I pray it isn’t true—that my heart has been possessed with a ghastly malady. Umbras waltz in my peripheral—no trick of the light, I assure!”

“Perhaps it is merely a case of wicked dreams?” he posits, leading you through the aisle like a father might accompany a bride on her wedding day. You shake your head insistently, and so he holds his hand up to soothe your frazzled disposition. “Peace, Sister. The songs of night are naught but whimsical folly weaved from the silk of zealous minds. You would do well to shake yourself free of their deceitful shroud.”

“I shall do so most ardently.”

“To rectify this trouble, might you consider attending evening mass? It can only do you good.”

You step up towards the altar, keeping pace with Father Flamme’s casual gait. “Oh, I couldn’t. As of late, I’ve felt uneasy in my solitude. I fear my shadow is not my own…”

His verdant eyes are so stark against the pallor of his face that it reminds you of coins placed over those of the dead. His arm slips away from your waist and, gathering your hands in his, he assesses you more carefully. Under the watchful stare of both Father Flamme and a crucified deity, you feel as if someone has taken a spoon to your soul and scraped it out. And then, for extra, unnecessary measure, they’ve flattened it out on a table for dissection in hopes of picking apart each of your dirtiest secrets.

“Oh? Do elucidate.”

Hazarding a glance at the cross situated grandly in multicolored glass, you lower your voice so as to not be heard by any outside parties. Paranoia grips you in a clenched fist.

“Something—what it may be, I could not begin to form ample conjecture—is hunting me.”

He does not grace you with a reply, and this only incenses the unrest bubbling within you.

“How say you, Father? What is it that causes me such nocturnal torment?”

His features are set in perfect neutrality; it’s impossible to glean any sort of emotion from the way he acts. He coaxes you closer, pulling you along towards the altar.

“It is with great devastation that I must behold you as you are,” he says, breaking the suspense. “Tainted with the despicable sins of the world outside, young and promising as you are… I shall remedy that.”

You open your mouth to voice concern, but in one swift motion he shoves you against the altar. You land with a thud, your back colliding against sturdy mahogany. It happens in a flash, like the final expulsion of breath from your lungs in the wake of the end. He’s between your flailing legs, pushing you up and onto the cloth-covered surface. Brass candlesticks scatter in a haphazard clatter. Globs of wax bespatter stone floors.

In the quaint tranquility of the church, the struggle is louder than a newborn’s cry.

Your chest heaves in a panic.

Gracious God above, I implore you—save me from this wretched devil!

Your pupils flit wildly, assessing every area within your range. There must be a means to escape! Above the ornate display, his head hung, your god looks on silently. He does not offer a whit of protection.

“Father—”

Frigid fingers crawl upon your legs like a flurry of scurrying rats. You blink up at him, helplessly hopeful.

He inhales a long, steadying breath and shuts his eyes. “God, have mercy. Have pity on this wayward soul. May she be cleansed beneath my fingertips, pure as freshly fallen snow, and may you forgive her every transgression.”

You sputter an incoherent noise.

He opens his eyes and smiles serenely. “Amen.”

Squirming beneath him, you resist his touch like it’s flickering flame. “Father, I beg of you… Quell your frustrations and release me at once. I am innocent.”

He sighs, unconvinced. “You are exquisitely venust, Sister. As sweet as the first buds of spring. You must know it is impossible for beauty to exist freely when there are fiends who wish to tarnish it—who will trample upon the virtuous garden in which you bloom and pluck you by the root, rough as barbarians. Thus, it is my duty to see that you are scrubbed of their detestable influence. May God pardon my iniquity.”

His hands slide up your calves beneath your habit. You watch, prickled with horror, as he parts your legs.

“Belle chose, unfurl your petals so that we may make feet for children’s stockings.”

He leans over you, reaching to secure your wrists with one hand. The other climbs higher in its rapacious pursuit of a place most sacred. In the midst of your ferocious thrashing, you espy His divine eye once more.

I adjure you, Lord… Save me from this demon. You must. Please, Lord…

Silence. A haunting, engulfing silence.

There is no salvation to be found beneath the cross. None for you, as it appears so disturbingly clear.

“Unhand me! Unhand me at once!” you snap, tearing your arm free. “You would allow yourself to fall lower than the ground you trod upon—to so flagrantly commit sacrilege in His hallowed home?!”

“It is not I who is to be scorned so. I am guiltless,” he sneers. But then he smooths his scowl into that of pristine, practiced patience, and he speaks in a soft, pitying tone. “Oh, Sister, you have allowed them to tip poison into your precious ears… Your perception is clouded with the cobwebs of that uncouth crowd.”

“To stand at his feet and reveal your malice in such a grotesque manner… You are no better than swine!”

“You shall see there is no better solace to be found than with me.” Tenderly, he fits his hand, cold and skeletal, in yours. “I shall shelter you from all that is cruel and unjust. You need only take my hand.” His fingers flicker at your inner thigh, waltzing in circles. His incessant petting sends a shudder wracking through your body. Paralyzed as you are, you recognize the monster lurking just beneath human flesh. A demented desire flashes in his eyes. You’ve never felt more lost. “And your sins shall be forgiven.”

Father Flamme leans down, chancing to catch the scent at your neck. You reach between your bodies, searching for the garter secured around your thigh, and unsheath the dagger from beneath your habit. It’s thrust at his throat, the sharpened edge pressed close enough to pierce through the collar of his alb and draw the slightest pinprick of blood. Clasping the ivory handle in a trembling fist, you face him with a fire burning in your fear-filled visage.

Perhaps it is his own disbelief that prompts the rattle in his chest—an ominous chuckle.

“You are a bride of Christ, yet you dare turn a blade on me?”

“You’re a man of God, yet you besmear His holy name with the sin of your incorrigible lust?”

“You are mistaken, Sister.” He grabs hold of your fist with both hands and folds his fingers over yours in mock prayer. As if intending to stoke your ire, he tilts his head in taunt. “Let my blood run red on this altar and you shall know of my humanity.”

“Defile the Lamb of God and you are no shepherd but, rather, the wolf who adorns himself in woolen mendacity.”

Before he can utter a response, the doors burst open. Father Flamme releases your hand and climbs off of you, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. An icy gale claws at the interior, and with it two men arrive in a whirlwind rush.

“Your Excellency, forgive our intrusion!”

Your arm falls to your side and, with a mounting sense of defeat, you gaze at the ceiling. You don’t feel soothed, but you must compose yourself. And so, shoving your frenzied emotions to the side, you sheath your blade and scramble to make yourself presentable once your feet are back on the floor. Brightening at the sight of the two villagers, you cradle your rosary and pray silently.

Dear God, may you smite he who spreads abhorrent rot with his fingertips and, in witnessing a most magnificent death flail, gralloch him without mercy.

“Ah, gentlemen, what fortuitous timing,” Father Flamme greets them, smiling. “Do come in. I’ve a task for you, if you would be so inclined.”

You linger behind, cautious like a gare-fowl often is when at the receiving end of a hunter’s rifle.

“Your Excellency, you need only ask and we are at your service.”

“Before that, you must accompany us to the hogs,” the other interjects. “Death has soiled these grounds, Your Excellency. A sight so barbarous it forebodes only the worst! You must come—come and behold the infernal darkness which has cursed this village!”

Father Flamme glances between the both of them, assessing the urgency of the situation that has been so cryptically illustrated.

“As you have described, the present circumstances appear dire. Oh, but I do require your assistance before that, gentlemen. It shan’t be too arduous a task.” He turns on his heel and indicates you with an outstretched hand. “Sister (Name) totters at the precipice with her fickle faith. As it is my duty to ensure all are well in the arms of God, I must take…caution—you might say—in sorting such a sensitive matter.”

The men exchange bewildered looks.

“You imply…punishment, sir?”

“Nay, I think not!” you interrupt, striding forwards. You’re stopped by Father Flamme’s arm, held just in front of your chest to keep you in place. “Father, I am steadfast in my faith. I have—”

“If such were the truth, you would not speak nullifidian filth.”

Pushing past him, you plead with the men: “Sirs, he knots his tongue and utters dishonesty! You know of my virtue—my loyalty to Him. And of my father, who has provided comfort and care, the means by which I was raised into the woman you see before you, I am justly proud. As the daughter of (Last Name), I sicken with the thought of bringing dishonor to my father, my faith—all of which I hold true in my heart. Sirs, you must believe in—”

Father Flamme lifts his hand to silence you, but you’re aware of his cunning machinations. “I ask of you this, good sirs. When sailors set out at sea, do they allow themselves to fall prey to the song of the siren? Just as those wretched sea-beasts sing, so, too, does honey pour spoiled from the mouth of a sinner. Her words serve to chart a course for ill-founded temptation.”

“Sister, your virtue I do not question.” The villager addresses Father Flamme next, disregarding your presence entirely, as if you are naught but a worthless speck. “What shall we do, Your Excellency?”

A smile curls on his lips. “Take her to the tower just beyond the village. She shall remain in solitude for seven days. That shall provide her with ample time for contemplation.”

The men approach you without a hint of remorse on their lips. Cornered, you look to Father Flamme for guidance.

“Father, I beg of you—you mustn’t send me away! I shall repent! I shall do so before you now.”

“It serves me no satisfaction to subject you to solitary confinement.” He folds his hands in front of him and observes the spectacle of your resistance. “You have proven to me your doubt in the capabilities of the Lord. It is my right to correct your contumacious thoughts. I’m certain your father would share this sentiment. No daughter should empty her mind of His valuable teachings.”

“Do not speak as if you have dined with my father,” you hiss, wriggling in the firm hold of both men.

Father Flamme steps closer and smiles. “Let us away.”

You are dragged, struggling all the while, out of the church and down the steps. There is a ferocious bite to this year’s autumnal weather. Father Flamme is gracious enough to drape his cloak over your shoulders just before you’re lifted onto a horse. He mounts his stallion and, with the crack of a whip, the four of you are off towards the decrepit tower at the rugged foothills of the mountains. No words are exchanged. You’ve said more than enough and you still remain the accused, guilty due to distorted logic.

The tower, which had once appeared so distantly out of your mind, gains striking clarity as you approach. You gaze helplessly at the man transporting you. He offers nothing of substance, his gaze focused squarely on the dirt footpath ahead.

When you were but a babe, the tower served as a warning for all children in the village: Those whose souls are stained with the sins of their atrocities shall wither away in silence.

There was once a raving madman who was imprisoned there in your youth. A heretic, he was called. Driven to his end, his sanity thin as a hair, he scraped at the walls and pulled loose bricks free until his fingernails cracked and blood trickled down his hands in rivers. When he had created a sizable opening for himself, at the peak of his derangement, he climbed out to meet the sun’s soft rays, a singular blessing owed for years of captivity. And then he threw himself from the tower, landing in a broken spattering at the very bottom.

In the years following, the tower housed numerous prisoners. It is a cold, unforgiving place, existing solely for the ugly and the crooked. And, now, the misunderstood. The wrongfully accused.

As you’re helped down from the horse, you ponder how many have been sent here to live out time for unfair accusations.

You’re joined by the second villager shortly, and they flank you like soldiers as they shove you along.

“Have you no sympathy, sirs!” you snap, shaking yourself from their grip. “To treat me so callously when my devotion is fervent and true! I am no fabulist.”

The men say nothing and amble onwards, pushing you closer to the tower. One of them attempts to seize your wrist; you evade him gracefully. Father Flamme observes your outright stubborn refusal and hums his disapproval.

“Unhand me! I’ll go of my own accord. I’ve feet for a reason, and thus they shall work as God intended. I need not the assistance of fools. My legs shall be the ones to carry me.” Punctuating that with an indignant huff, you stride ahead.

What brutish handling… These doltish fiends sit under the tree of knowledge and yet not a single fruit falls into their laps. To think this is how they would treat someone sworn to the church—and a lady, no less!

The latch is weather-worn, and it creaks a discordant note when lifted. You peek into the shadowed entrance and frown. Before you are subjected to the impatience of the men at your side, you step into the dimness. It is alight with the red-orange slivers of a setting sun.

“You shall wait here. I will accompany this misguided Sister to the very top. After which, we shall return to the village and I shall accompany you to the hogs.”

The men nod and stand at attention.

If you’re so dedicated to foolish play, you would be wise to salute, you think with a sardonic tut.

Father Flamme offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Ignoring his attempt at chivalry, you lift your habit so as to not trip on it and begin the lengthy ascent up the spiraling staircase. He chuckles and follows your lead. Every wooden step creaks under your weight. Something brushes your face—dust, perhaps. You swat at your face, grimacing. The scent of mold and rot clings to the bowels of this tower like maggots on a corpse, impossibly redolent in ways you shall avoid giving thought to.

I must not breathe so deeply, lest I wish to savor the taste of decay and bitter rage.

You carry on, ignoring the creeping revulsion and the stench of death as it clouds the air, accompanying you on your journey. A door waits for you at the top. You note it is without a lock.

“A bird will not fly in captivity,” Father Flamme advises, pushing it open to reveal a sparsely furnished room. It’s equipped with the essentials a common prisoner would need. You can’t help feeling less than human the moment you pass through the threshold.

It is enough of a sight to wear on my eyes and render them woefully sore.

He meets you at the door and offers an embroidered reticule. “I shall retrieve you in seven days’ time.”

You eye him dubiously and, upon sensing no additional malevolence, swipe the reticule from him. “May you rest guilty on your bed of lies.”

He leans in close, his voice as faint as a phantasm. “May you reflect on what it is you hold dear, for I assure you it is well within my reach.” He pivots and begins his descent, his footsteps tapping out a resounding rhythm. “You will learn a glorious lesson here. Treasure it as you would a child.”

Minutes later, the door below shuts and the latch is dropped into place. The noise races up the stone spiral in echo, filling your ears with its haunting reverberation.

Now you’re truly alone.

“How boorish he must be to condemn me to this prison!” You slam the door in your anger and drop the reticule onto the bed. In an effort of appraisal, you feel the lumpy mattress. It’s packed full of straw. “I am not nameless, nor am I a harlot. Yet I am gifted the opulence of peasants. I can scarcely accept such generosity.”

Alas, this is your new misfortune.

To busy your idle hands, you open the reticule and peer inside at its contents. A thumb Bible rests beside a bulk of misshapen cloth. Gingerly, you unwrap it to find bread, cheese, and salt pork. Somehow—and you have every right to be fastidious—you doubt this modest portion will be enough for seven days.

“And not a drop of water!” you announce to the empty room. “He has an astounding amount of faith in me if he thinks I will surrender so simply. One day he shall get his gruel. I’ll make sure of it.”

Until then you will never know peace.

Bundling the rations, you place them within the reticule alongside the Bible. Perhaps you should have requested writing implements or a book—anything to preclude the impending accidie.

Beyond the window, which is sized perfectly for the smallest bird, the sun disappears below the horizon. Ink spills across the sky, darkening the surroundings outside the tower and leaving room for stars to speckle the vastness. You sit at the edge of the bed and wrap your fingers around your rosary.

“Dear God, you know I am faultless and so I ask that you guide me in understanding your ways. Father Flamme speaks of protection in your home and yet when danger is knocking you are not there to answer.” You tug anxiously at the beads. “If you are there, show me… Show me that you hear my prayers. Show me that I am not alone. That even I, imperfect as I may be, am deserving of your sanctuary and forgiveness. Amen.”

Shrugging the cloak off, you fold it into a neat square and set it at the end of the bed. Your veil and coif are next to go, and you take immense care in handling both. You slide your dagger out of its sheath and set it on the bed. The night is cool and so you resolve to remain dressed as you are, in your robes and chemise.

“I will endure these seven days. Each one, night and day, I will be strong. My faith will never falter. I will never waver,” you whisper, repeating this oath like a mantra. You settle into bed, sparing a final glance at the square cut into the brickwork, where a starry sky wraps the world in a celestial counterpane. “Perhaps then you might acknowledge me.”

Clutching the rosary close to your chest, comforted with the weapon at your side, you drift into dreamless slumber.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamme x reader #yandere rollo x reader #yandere rollo #the test of faith #the test of faith prologue

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sunrizef1 · 2 months

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Coming Soon… (TBD)

☆ Glorious Thorn

☆ I couldn't utter my love when it counted • ah, but I'm singing like a bird ‘bout it now ☆

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Summary: 17 years. 17 years since your life was turned upside down. 17 years since your fiance betrayed you. 17 years of raising a child on your own. 17 years of caring for a child who's driving potential would rival that of even Verstappen. 17 years after Lewis Hamilton tore your life apart, you get a call that brings you right back to where it’d all started, 17 years ago.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Mother!Reader

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“I could apologize a million times and I know I still wouldn't deserve this life with you”

“Ive spent 17 years mourning what we had. After that much time, its not that easy to bring something back to life.”

“I don't care how long it takes, I would spend the rest of days by your side, praying for forgiveness. Even into rebirth, id come back just to be by your side once again.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ Index:

Meet the Characters

Prologue: I’ll Be Your Shrike

Chapter 1: Made in Your Image

Chapter 2: Summer Cut Like a Knife

To be added…☆

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Authors Note: Ahhh! This story has been rumbling around in my brain for quite a while so I was really excited to post this. It might take a while to get chapters uploaded and it will not be very consistent but I really like this so well see where this goes ☆ Until I get consistent again and finish WHIV, this is more of an idea than a solid fic, pls remember. Im just getting this out there so I will, eventually, commit to it ☆

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

☆ Tags: @ironmaiden1313 @lottalove4evelyn @jaydaaasworld @xoscar03 @assholeinatrenchcoat @crowdthena

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #lewis hamilton x fem!reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader

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felassan · 2 months

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youtube

New interview video from GameSpot: 'Dragon Age: The Veilguard Won’t Leave New Players Behind'

"BioWare talks about making sure its new Dragon Age feels like an exciting new chapter for fans and how it’s also bringing new players into Thedas 0:00 Intro 0:17 How Does It Feel To Reveal Dragon Age: The Veilguard 0:54 What Was The Mission Statement? 1:55 How Have Other Fantasy Releases Affected Dragon Age? 3:03 How Does Dragon Age: The Veilguard Introduce New Players? 4:48 How Do Characters Grow/Progress In Dragon Age: The Veilguard? 6:55 How Much Do Voice Actors Affect The Character? 8:52 Are You Prepared For The Fans? 10:07 How Do You Balance Old And New Gameplay Mechanics? 11:20 Outro"

[source]

Notes:

They have always kind of known what the game they're building is

"Once you jump in, especially the prologue, we onboard you pretty quickly, you understand the stakes, you understand what's going on, and your character is also learning about these stakes, like what's going on, kind've at the same time as you are in some cases".

"It really unfolds, the writing did such a good job of fusing the past with the future, and you can see that in the characters that are coming back, that I can't talk about"

"Our companions [...], it feels like the Veilguard is your on-guard around Rook"

"We wanted characters that offer the most difference, the most choice, to bring along in your party. So how can these seven followers really diversify, juxtapose each other, fight with each other, how do they get along?"

"Actors have lots of opinions, as they should"

"Seeing how excited and passionate the fans are, it's something that you can't really tell someone, you can only, they have to see it themselves, and I mean, we've had some of our voice actors out here and they've expressed surprise. We did the signing yesterday and I think one of them came up and said, 'yeah, I came up and I saw this giant line, and I was like, who's that for?' I was like, 'oh, that's for you'."

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games

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dark-frosted-heart · 2 months

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Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 0

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there. Some dialogue's taken directly from the English version's prologue.

This world, it’s full of despair.

It comes in different forms, both big and small.

Even so, it wears down on the mind all the same, and can even take lives.

(I’ve been searching for a way to fight against it)

Ellis: Thanks for queueing with me, Roger.

This morning, Ellis had asked me out of the blue to go with with him to a cafe that looked like something out of a picture book as a “favor”.

In a space that was full of women, Ellis and I drew curious glances.

Roger: So, what the hell is that “thing” making people queue up so early in the morning?

The cafe recently went through some renovations and the first 30 customers would get some kind of gift.

Ellis: A tin of biscuits. It’s something Harry wanted but since he’s on a mission, I came in his place.

Roger: Haha, so that’s it. Then I’ll give him my share too ‘cause having two will make him “happier” than having one.

The man sitting in front of me’s been busy making people happy today.

Ellis: By the way, I had some business at the pub yesterday and a woman asked me where Roger was. I gave her some excuse because I know you don’t like dealing with that kind of trouble.

I’m someone that doesn’t believe in romantic love.

It’s something that’s not scientifically proven. If “romantic love” does exist in this world, then…

(It’s a dysfunction of the brain or a misunderstanding caused by sexual desire)

Seems like Ellis knew me well.

Roger: You’re too good for Jude, you know. I’ll buy you drinks as thanks.

Ellis: Yippee. Ah, I think I’ll get something for Jude. I’m going to take a look around, okay?

Roger: Do what you want. Pick what would make Jude “happy”.

As I watched Ellis make his way into the store with nimble steps—

(...Hm?)

I heard a voice cutting into this peaceful morning coming from the flower shop across the street

Flower shop owner: The delivery was delayed due to construction? Ha, how typical for a female postal workers.

I couldn’t see the face of the postwoman that was getting yelled at from here.

However, with my ears that let me pick up sounds 100 yards away, I could hear her heartbeat.

It was unsteady, probably because she was scared.

(“How typical for a female.” …What a bastard)

(If it escalates, I’ll step in—)

In the moment, her dignified voice rang out.

Kate: My sincerest apologies! I will be more careful in the future. For now, will you please accept this?

The man who was yelling is taken aback, likely feeling guilty after her apology.

Flower shop owner: Y-yeah… As long as you understand. Just be careful from now on.

I heard her let out a deep breath.

(So that postwoman’s someone that tries to be strong… Not bad)

Ellis: I’m back, Roger….Is something wrong?

Roger: No? Wow, you bought a lot?

Ellis: I wanted to get something for everyone. I’ll ask Victor to make tea and we can all have them together. Oh yeah, speaking of Victor…He said he has a mission for all of Crown.

Roger: Oh? Having us all together’s pretty rare. Could be an annoying one so let’s try not to get hurt.

Having said that, it ended without a single injury or incident.

—At least it was supposed to until an uninvited guest wandered in.

The woman standing there covered in blood, looking pale, was neither cursed nor a target. Just unlucky.

Jude: Tch…That’s why I toldja to lock the damn door!

Roger: Haha, well I didn’t think we’d have a trespasser! She’s a naughty lil’ thing, isn’t she?

My ears picked up an irregular heartbeat.

(...This sound. …No way)

—But that hunch soon came true.

The lil’ lady called Kate who stumbled upon Crown was presented to the palace’s grim reaper like a main dish.

(Now that she knows some classified info, she can’t leave without consequences)

(Worst case scenario, what waits for her is—)

Then, the lil’ lady in her hopeless situation spoke up with a dignified voice.

Kate: I swear I��ll never tell anyone about anything I just heard!

Victor: Hmm…Hm? What’s this?

Kate: I swear to protect your secret. I-I’m a letter carrier, and we’ve been trained to…maintain strict confidentiality!

Victor and William: …

Kate: If you think you can’t trust me, then go ahead and keep me under watch until you believe you can! I promise I’ll prove it.

A brave and logical proposal.

However, despite her demeanor, her heartbeat continued pounding in my ears.

The sound that didn’t match the attitude—it had me convinced.

(Ah…so she’s the postwoman from that time)

Her loud heartbeat gave away her true feelings.

(“Please don’t kill me”)

Among the anxiety was the strong desire to live and fight against despair.

(...Nice. This lil’ lady could be interesting)

I didn’t feel any sort of love or affection, but I felt this strange exhilaration in my heart.

So I thought—It'd be a shame to kill her.

(Come to think of it, at that time…)

I did “hear” her footsteps and heartbeat when she wandered in.

I could’ve made her avoid Crown.

(But I didn’t)

(Deep down, I was waiting for “something”...which is probably why I invited this heartbeat in)

I could imagine how angry this lil’ lady would be if she knew…

Victor: Well, well, what a good idea! I think we can actually make use of you. Accepted!

Kate: …Really?

Victor: Let’s see…All right, from today forward, you shall be Crown’s own personal…Fairytale Keeper!

Under the command of Victor, the Queen’s aide who controls Crown, enigmatic position of “Fairytale Keeper” was filled by Kate, saving her life.

Roger: Let’s try to get along this month, yeah?

Kate: Of course, Roger.

Ellis: Hey, Roger. Earlier, why did you look like you were having fun?

Roger: Earlier?

Ellis: When we were discussing whether or not to kill Kate.

(...This guy can really read people)

Roger: Well…I guess it’s ‘cause it’s been a while since I saw something interesting.

Ellis: Hehe, I see. Then… Would Kate being here overthrow your theory…and make you happier?

Basically he was asking if I’d fall in love with Kate and be happy.

Roger: Ellis, you’re aware of my curse…right?

Ellis: The double-crossing hunter from Snow White.

Roger: Right…The queen had ordered the hunter to bring her the heart of the detestable Snow White. But the hunter betrayed the queen by letting the girl go in the forest and instead, brought the queen a heart of an animal. After that, Snow White met a prince after her life was saved…And now here’s a question. Why do you think Snow White chose the prince instead of the hunter who saved her life?

Ellis: Huh?...I don’t know.

Roger: Because that’s just how it’s supposed to be. Because there’s supposed to be a happy ending.

Not to mention the fact that this is reality, not a fairy tale.

A man who doesn’t believe in love and a little robin who’ll leave after the month’s up—the relationship won’t develop into love or affection.

(...That’s what I think)

(But then why does my heart beat weirdly when I look at the lil’ lady?)

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil jp #ikevil translations #roger barel #ikevil roger #ikevil roger route

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bueckersstrap · 4 months

Text

THROW AWAY

paige b. x reader

masterlist + playlist here !

warnings : language, cheating

wc : 850-900

tags : @mayghosts

a/n : ok so idk this was really short so imma make it like a prologue if ya catch my drift 😉 hope yall enjoy, chapters will be longer ofc. lmk what yall do and don’t like 💘💘💘 xoxo - cel

0. told her i would call her back, i forgot to text her / PROLOGUE

paige : dude it’s literally not what it looks like chill tf out 😂 11:56 PM

you : chill out ..? ur out cheating and im supposed to chill out ? alr . go have fun w ur lil home wrecking ass friend. 11:58 PM

paige : i’m out tryna enjoy my time w my friends nd ur stressing me ? imma call u after tho , ight? 11:59 PM

paige : i didnt mean it like that ur not stressing me 12:00 AM

deadass i didnt ???

read at 12:02 AM

seriously y/n 12:09 AM

bro y ru acting like that

nah fuck u

wait

wait yes

fuck you

read at 12:10AM

‘paige’ has been blocked by ‘y/n’

—

the loud knock that erupted on the apartment door must’ve rung throughout the empty hallways of paige’s complex.

nervously shifting her weight between her feet, holding the cardboard box — that was filled to the brim with all of paige’s stuff — was heavy of a weight enough and the extra anxiety wasn’t helping.

y/n felt like she must have been waiting at paige’s door for hours when it really was only a minute or so.

paige’s expression turned blank, not expecting to ever see y/n again after the incident.

“your stuff. i didn’t need it taking up space in my apartment anymore.” you said, shallow and shoving the box into her chest.

“I- uh. thank you?”

it seemed as if paige swallowed her pride and was going to say something but before she could you flashed her a tight lipped expression and begged yourself not to give in to her antics if she tried anything.

you two had been in this situation countless times, it always ended up in sex. but you didn’t want that this time. not yet, atleast.

it was the awkward silence that confirmed the end of you two was catching up to the years that lacked apologies and proper communication. there was nothing you could’ve done to stop it, what was done was done and paige’s actions couldn’t be controlled. that’s just how she is.

paige looked scared, almost. her expression was unexplainable and as hard as you tried to study the way her lips curled or the way her eyes scanned your own face; you couldn’t figure it out.

without saying anything more, you gave her once last look and walked away, completely shattered.

—

‘the incident’ that was referenced was the moments leading up to when you were sitting in your apartment, innocently and mindlessly scrolling on tiktok when you came across your girlfriends’ friend — ice brady’s — live.

you clicked to see them all out at a bar. this wasn’t unexpected as paige had already told you what her plans for the night were. you watched contently for a little bit, admiring the night your friends were having, that you weren’t invited to. it was weird to not be invited to a group hangout and not be asked to go with, not even by your girlfriend. it had already made you uneasy but it didn’t matter and you brushed your feelings under the rug.

ice shifted the camera to her left and for a split second the world stopped. you immediately recognized the blonde. the grown out roots with the slender hands that wrapped around presumably — from the back — her teammate, azzi fudd.

it wasn’t just a hug as you might’ve thought, her hands were on azzi’s waist and azzi’s hands were around paige’s neck. the distance between them was non-existent and very clear to everybody on live.

ice uncomfortably shifted the camera back to her, exchanging looks with her friend caroline. both the women’s expressions turned into ones of pure shock and slight panic as her and caroline tried to play it off as normal. nothing was normal about this, though.

“what the fuck?” you mumbled, furrowing your brows to try and capture the moment in your brain. it didn’t last as long as it felt though.

for a couple minutes you set your phone down, pacing around your apartment. too many thoughts you had to calculate came at lighting speed in your pounding head. at first, you tried to justify her actions, thinking, maybe it wasn’t what it looked like. but then you started thinking more rationally. you knew what you saw and there was no defending her actions no matter how much you tried. you attempted reading between the lines, trying to catch a loophole in which azzi and paige weren’t kissing within an inch of life between them but the hand placement was a dead give away. the realization made your blood run cold and gave you the confidence needed to say something, not wanting to silence you or your feelings anymore.

that’s how the whole text situation ended up happening because the pure shock turned into pure anger. you concluded that azzi fudd was a home wrecker, and paige bueckers was a lying slut cheater.

was it fair to label azzi that, just by seeing the live? probably not. but the heat that rose to your cheeks in your anxiety driven body made it hard for you to think straight. but this wasn’t about azzi, this was about paige and her extremely ignorant tendencies. especially her intoxicated ones.

it hurt but you knew it was a long time coming, anyway. the toxic relationship you two shared had been ongoing since your junior year when you hooked up at a halloween party and were on and off since.

you couldn’t tell whether knowing that the cycle between you and paige would continue until one of you broke— which wasn’t going to happen— brought you comfort or sadness. it was very unfortunate that you wasted this much time on paige, but considering your past and the very foreseeable future, it was hard not to. as fast as you tried to run away you knew you’d probably end up being caught up to sooner or later. until the pattern repeated itself, you’d try and heal like normal and be destroyed when she came back and ruined your life.

it was the circle of paige.

#Spotify #bueckersstrap #throw away #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #smut #azzi fudd #ice brady #caroline ducharme #writers on tumblr #wlw #lesbian

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 5 months

Text

To Love You (Platonic Yandere! Child x Monster!Reader)

Chapter 0: The Body I Stole

[part 1,2]

(CW: death, femme bodied gender neutral reader, child abuse) very short prologue for a story idea I had

There was a muffled sound of a woman struggling quietly as she chased the terrified gasps of a child running for his life. A small boy, maybe five years old, covered in scrapes and bruises new and old, was fleeing his mother as she limped after him.

Avery had caused the accident.

Her eyes were cold and sharp, glaring at the road ahead of her as they drove down the curvey mountain. It wasn't his fault, the scene at the birthday party, but his mother didn't believe it. She never did. The fear of being "disciplined" was something Avery never really shook, in fact, it was something he learned to expect..

He didn't know why he did it. But a surge of adrenaline electrocuted his fingertips, and launched his little arms towards her and the steering wheel. The family car swerved towards the trees, rolling twice before smashing into a tree.

The mother was practically dragging her shattered ankle through the weeds as she tried to catch her kid.

"AVERY! COME BACK HERE RIGHT! NOW!" Her voice tore through the woods. The venomous words that promised pain was heard by more than just Avery, however.

They didn't know what the situation was, nor did they care.. All (Reader) could think about was their hunger.

A twig snapping made the woman stop, believing she had found her child. The scowl on her beautiful features deepened, making the woman look more like a monster than the creature who had just woken up.

"Avery. If you come out right now I won't be mad. I promise."

Even to a monster that had been sleeping for the past hundred or so years, her lies were obvious. (Reader) listened to the little one covering his mouth a few feet away, and guessed that he was the Avery this woman was speaking to. But unfortunately for her, Avery was hiding in the opposite direction.

She couldn't even fake a smile as she hobbled over towards where the monster hid, stretching out their creaky joints.

As she passed the thick trees to where she heard the snapping branches, a small look of hateful triumph was shattered as she found something else standing where she assumed her son would be. The eight foot tall creature with grey skin smiled down at the human. Their body smelled of dirt and moss, but looked like a mummified corpse stretched out. Black hair fell around their shoulders, almost covering their six, blood red eyes, focusing on the trembling prey before them.

Her beautifully painted lips weren't given a chance to scream before the creature opened it's jagged toothed maw, and bit her pretty little head in half.

(Reader's) strong jaw crushed the woman's skull easily, splashing her soft innards down their throat and across their naked chest. It had been so long since they ate that they forgot to take the basic feeding steps.

What was her height? Her hair color? Her chest size? They forgot to care. It wasn't until the only thing left of her body was her left leg.

"Ah.. I made a mistake." (Reader) mumbled to themselves as they tried to recall what their meal's appearance was. If they hadn't been starving, they would have morphed into their new persona before eating them.

They did their best in replicating the woman.

Their spine snapped loudly as they shrunk, hair and skin rapidly changing in color and texture, until they were the woman as they somewhat recalled her to be. 'I'll just find a better suit later..'

Not even the woman's clothes remained in the bloody aftermath. (Reader) sighed as they shook her leg. 'My starvation made me sloppy.' They finished off the last leg of their meal, before turning and surprising themselves with the appearance of a small boy with black hair watching them. (Reader's) new eyes widened, having been so focused on their food that they hadn't noticed him sneaking up on them.

As they contemplated killing and taking the young boy's form, he surprised them again, rushing forward suddenly and wrapping his thin arms around (Reader's) naked flesh.

A/N: I know it's short, but I had an idea for a multiple chapter story, with a clingy adoptive son ❤️ needed to get the OG mother out of the way before the story, because even though this is what I want to happen in the story, it doesn't fit the way I want the first chapter to start haha

#yandere #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #yandere family #prologue #monster reader #gn reader #afab reader #kinda not really #cw blood #cw death

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koqabear · 7 months

Text

till tomorrow comes [0]

♫: rises the moon, Liana Flores

“It’s official; the human life expectancy is now lower than it was ten years ago— and it’s expected to keep lowering in the future. Humans have become weak, feeble beings; with morale low and the human population lower, you find yourself clinging onto the last hope there is: the news of a new ongoing experiment, hoping to find the cause and restore human beings back to their prime— you’ve been told only good news about its progress.

What you haven’t been told, however, is just how far they are willing to push the limits of humanity and science.”

ot5 x fem!reader. Beomgyu centric.

▹genre: Zombie Apocalypse!AU, interactive au!

▹chapter wc: 3.7K

▹about this chapter: beomgyu focus, fluff, a bit of angst if you really close your eyes and believe; the tension is there yet its not at all.. but no warnings otherwise. check masterlist for more information

notes: this is the prologue, so there’s no poll that will go along with this! that’ll happen… soon ! but for now, our characters are safe and sound :)

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[0]— There's Always Tomorrow.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

A half-pitied, half-sympathetic look is all Beomgyu can muster to send your way. Your back aches and your eyes have begun to dry out from how long you’ve been sitting before your computer, continuing to tackle the workload that never seems to end. You find yourself pouting at your friend’s lack of response to your dramatics, straightening up and stretching your sore muscles as you glance back from your spot at the kitchen table; your eyes linger on his form, slouched and tired as he hovers over the stove, clearly lost in thought as he stares off into the distance, out the small window placed beside him— and you sigh.

“Smells good,” you mutter quietly, breaking Beomgyu out of trance, the boy flinching at the sudden sound of your voice; he turns back to you, eyes lighting up playfully, examining your equally tired form, “d’you make enough for two by chance?”

“As if,” Beomgyu scoffs, but even so, he proceeds to reach into the cabinets to grab dishes— two bowls, two cups, two pairs of chopsticks— the sight garnering a roll of your eyes, choosing to bite your tongue as you turn back around in your seat, back to the essays and assignments that no longer seemed to make sense to you; behind you, a soft clatter sounds— you find yourself softly humming along to the playlist Beomgyu has put on in the background.

“You really should learn how to manage your time better,” Beomgyu scolds you softly, setting a bowl of ramen before you, followed by a glass of water— and he roughly takes a seat beside you, scooting his chair closer, your shoulders bumping as he looks over at your screen, “You’re always procrastinating for no reason.”

“I know you’re not talking,” you sneer light-heartedly, shutting your laptop before placing it off to the side; you’re mixing the ramen around absentmindedly, watching the steam pour out as you speak, “you’re literally worse than me.”

He tries to refute you yet again— only this time, Beomgyu finds that he can’t say much to that; he’s had an impeccable track record of pushing things back until the very last minute, and the vice of his has burrowed its way into him since high school, much too late for him to be able to change his ways now. You laugh mockingly at his defeat.

The rest of your meal is mostly spent in silence; it’s times like these where conversations with Beomgyu always seem to dwindle, having already spent so much of your day together to be able to talk about some new or interesting thing that happened— because by the time the sun has begun to set, you’ve already told Beomgyu everything that’s on your mind. But, with the way life has been going for the both of you recently, even that seems to be sparse. Your body deflates at the reminder of your painfully plain life; a sigh falls from you involuntarily.

“What’s up with you recently?” Beomgyu asks, raising a brow at your sulking posture, “I’ve never seen you so depressed.”

You’re sending a sheepish smile his way, lips parting to give him some generic excuse, unsure of the real answer yourself— but you’re distracted by the sound of Beomgyu’s calm, quiet playlist switching to something much more drastic, the abrupt sound of nature and birds chirping making your brows knit together, glancing at the speaker that blares these noises to you both.

“Ugh, I forgot you still have ads on your account,” you groan dramatically, leaning back in your chair to send your friend a judgemental look; Beomgyu seems unphased by it, muttering tiredly for you to be quiet; your comment is both predictable and repetitive, yet you never fail to send him a teasing smile after.

“It’s okay, nothing wrong with being broke,” you tease further, the monologue of the advertisement practically memorized in your mind; you pause for a second to listen, the familiar preaches to take care of the Earth and the people in it swiftly transitioning to the real purpose of Beomgyu’s music break:

“BioGen seeks to bring back what once belonged to the beings of this planet, to bring forward hope, and develop brighter, stronger generations. Join the cause and…”

“This alone was enough to make me buy premium,” you say, standing from your seat to go wash your dishes, “I was so sick of having to hear that ad every five minutes.”

“You learn to block it out after enough times,” Beomgyu replies, coming up behind you and placing his dishes in the sink, just as you were about done— your eyes glare sharply at him yet your hands have already gotten to work, the boy only giving you a triumphant grin in return, “Guess I’m just better than you.”

Placing his dishes on the drying rack, you protest petulantly— he’s just as quick to mock your whiny tone and taunt you, body closing in on you as the two of you going back and forth like children— with no end to the bickering in sight, you go to flick water at him playfully; he yelps, and before either of you can really think things through, he goes to retaliate.

The kitchen is filled with sounds of screams, curses, and laughter, the wooden floor becoming slippery and the reasoning behind your quarrel long forgotten; Beomgyu’s playlist queues back on in the background all the while.

The night ends with exhausted giggles and another round of cleaning; your shirt sticks to your body and Beomgyu’s hair drips, and you follow the boy back to the bathroom to get a towel to dry off— leaning back on your hands against the counter, you watch him with tired, heavy eyes.

“Your hair’s getting longer,” you comment softly, watching Beomgyu fluff and dry his hair, his own gaze glued to the mirror in front of him; his eyes flicker over to you before they go back to himself, fingertips grazing the hair that’s begun to grow past the tops of his ears.

“I’m getting it cut in a few weeks,” is all he says in return, lips twitching at the way you complain at the news.

“What? I thought you were gonna grow it out,” you pout, the sight of Beomgyu shaking his head softly only making you frown, “What happened to the guy that was so desperate to try and get that wolf cut look?”

“Well, that was when I was seventeen and wasn’t allowed to grow out my hair,” Beomgyu counters, raising a brow and throwing you a knowing look, “plus, I did grow my hair out that summer, remember? It was hell to take care of, I hated it.”

“You were just lazy,” you mumble to yourself, yelping at the smack you receive on your bicep from the words, “It’s true! You barely tried to style it properly.”

Beomgyu simply smiles and rolls his eyes— he doesn’t bother to respond because he knows you’re right.

“All of us loved it though,” you say quietly, staring down at your feet and tapping to an invisible rhythm— a song from Beomgyu’s playlist that got stuck in your head probably, he did have some catchy songs in there— “We always thought it made you look pretty.”

The boy huffs out a laugh; memories of your friend group cycle through his mind, all the days where they teased him and played with his hair playing like a movie— jabs and jokes followed with gentle hands that smoothed down his head, tucking stray hairs back and calling him a pretty princess with that annoying cooed tone— a small smile finds its way onto his face, a glance back at you showing that you must be reminiscing the same things, eyes alight and lips curved into a fond smile; feeling his gaze on you, you meet his eyes boldly, fuzzy memories of summers past fading from your mind, taking in how the scrawny boy you’ve known since birth has now turned into the man he is today— and your mind inevitably wanders off to the others.

“I wonder how they’re doing,” you confess, not needing to say any names to let Beomgyu know who you’re talking about; Beomgyu’s face softens, and he turns back to the mirror, squeezing out the last bits of water that remain in his hair as he hums softly, lost in thought.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” he reassures you, curious with the way your gaze remains downcast, “You act like we’ll never see them again.”

“Well, I haven’t heard from them in ages,” you complain, head tilting back to the ceiling, letting out a big sigh for dramatic effect, “the group chat is so dead, and everyone’s so busy these days.”

“I know; I almost miss Yeonjun spamming it,” Beomgyu jokes, bringing about a soft laugh from you; the atmosphere around you lightens up, and Beomgyu finishes up the final touches with his hair, fluffing it up before he throws the towel at you; it lands on your head and covers face unceremoniously, and you yelp indignantly, quick hands taking it off immediately.

“We just have to make it to Friday,” he says firmly, innocent grin an instinctive response to the glare you send his way, “Only a week till Friday and we’ll see everyone, right?”

“Right,” you murmur, narrowed eyes following his figure that backs out the door slowly, clearly trying to escape your silent wrath, “Just make it to Friday.”

“Exactly,” he chirps, your eyes trained on him as he starts to step out the doorway, “try not to be so depressed till then.”

He jumps out of sight just as you throw the dirty towel right where he once stood; it lands with a sad, heavy plop, and Beomgyu’s victorious laugh rings out the hallway as he runs off to his bedroom, a loud goodnight! is the last thing you hear before his door closes.

It’s silent; your eyes fall onto the towel that remains on the floor, the roll of your eyes contrasting the smile that grows on your lips.

“Goodnight,” you call out to the empty hallway, throwing the towel into the hamper before you turn the lights off; the house is shrouded in complete darkness, and you make your way to your bedroom with slow, tired steps; Beomgyu’s words echo in your head without you realizing.

Just make it to Friday.

Taehyun’s place has always been the ideal place for hangouts for three obvious reasons: it’s the most spacious, he lives alone, and of course, he’s the best cook.

It’s a fact you’re reminded of as you lay back on the couch and glance over at the mess happening in the kitchen— because Hueningkai just had to insist on helping out, the clumsy boy resigned to dish duties after almost chopping off his finger— twice, all five of you practically jumping out your skins each time he let out an undignified screech, followed by the sound of the knife clattering on the cutting board. And though Taehyun had sent the youngest a scathing glare, the relief in his face was obvious by the way he clutched the fallen knife close to his body and shooed Hueningkai away to the sink filled with dirty pots and pans.

A random drama drones off in the television; it was clear that the show was there for background noise and nothing more, seated next to Beomgyu on the couch as the two of you catch up with Soobin and Yeonjun, listening to them rant and complain about the heavy workload of their classes or angry customers they’ve encountered at their jobs.

“Did you know the mall is closed down?” Yeonjun says, your surprised gasp and incredulous glance to the boy beside you enough to answer his question, “yeah, some pipes burst and flooded like half the place— they’re closing down for maintenance for the next two weeks.”

“But what about the workers?” you ask, watching as two of the said workers shrug their shoulders dismissively, clearly not as stressed about the situation as you expected them to be.

“We got an email from our supervisors that we’ll probably be paid for the days we were scheduled,” Soobin says, the undeniable twinkle in his eyes telling you that he didn’t really mind this whole situation, “Like PTO, I guess.”

“Wish that place got closed for a month instead,” Yeonjun huffs, a yawn ripping through him as he stretches his arms over his head, letting out a big sigh once they fall limp at his sides, “fucking hate that place.”

“Same.”

When there’s nothing to complain about and they’ve seemed to have updated you on every miniscule detail of their life— how their finals are approaching, this new snack they’ve recently discovered at the gas station on the way home, apparently attempting to “put you on”— the three turn to you, not expecting the way you shift and shrink into the couch at all; they ask if there’s anything new or interesting going on in your life, and all you can do is clear your throat in nervous thought.

“Not really,” you say with a sheepish smile, watching as Soobin and Yeonjun send you a curious look, as though they didn’t believe you, “Life’s just… been really boring recently. Nothing interesting has happened.”

Nothing? They echo, humming softly at the sight of your affirming nods; quite unlike you, they can’t help but think, always having something to do, something to say, a new story to tell— Hueningkai’s loud and projected voice calling you all to the kitchen seems to be your saving grace, the tension slipping off your muscles as you all rush to gather around.

In a big, scary world like this, where your lives are in a liminal state and you couldn’t even bring yourself to confidently talk about how your days have been going, it was moments like these that mattered the most— because even if Taehyun lived on his own, with no family in town to constantly check up and dote on him, his kitchen said otherwise; the dining table was large and full, and his cabinets were packed with more dishes than he knew what to do with on most days— you all pretended you didn’t notice the fond smile on his face as he set down dish after dish, ramen and meat and enough side dishes to leave you all stuffed and drowsy.

“I’m gonna cry, I haven’t had a proper meal in so long,” Hueningkai was the first to cry out, his plate full to the brim yet his chopsticks still reaching out for more, unfazed at the way Soobin and Yeonjun continue to sneak meat onto his dish, “I’ve had to survive off reheat stuff ever since I got that stupid internship, I almost went insane.”

“Awh, you poor thing,” you coo out, a teasing smile on your face as you reach to place rolled omelets on his plate as well, already guessing he’d try to reach over for them anyway, “You gotta make sure you eat so you get big and strong, okay? Don’t skip out on meals.”

Hueningkai scoffs at your jabs— but before he can try to give your teasing a rebuttal, you’re craning your head to where Taehyun sits, on the other side of Beomgyu and completely lost in his own food; he visibly jumps when you call his name, wide eyes peeking up at you mid-bite.

“How is that internship going for you two so far, anyway?” you ask, glancing back at Hueningkai to make sure he was listening, “I keep hearing the stupid commercials about it when Beomgyu plays his music.”

“That’s for another division of the project,” Taehyun is quick to correct, Hueningkai nodding along at his words, “they’re looking for people to test on.”

“What?!” you exclaim, everyone else but Hueningkai as equally surprised as you are, “Is that… safe?”

“I mean, it’s legal,” Hueningkai slowly begins, a bit sheepish as the sight of your concerned frown that forms at his words, “everything is thoroughly discussed beforehand, but with a project like this, there’s obviously bound to be some risks.”

“And people still agree to it?” Soobin asks, his words muffled by the mouthful of food he chews through— he gets a slight jab on the side from Yeonjun because of it.

Hueningkai nods.

“We’ve already had a few hundreds go through testing already in groups; placebos, beta products, reactions to certain ingredients…”

“It probably pays good,” Beomgyu pipes up, looking at Taehyun for confirmation, “doesn’t it?”

Taehyun thinks the question through, humming in thought before he finally answers.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says, “but I’m not exactly sure how much it is.”

“Woah, maybe I should volunteer,” you say, watching as Taehyun and Hueningkai turn to you in surprise; a coy smile tweaks at your lips, and you send them a wink with your next words. “But only if one of you is the one testing on me.”

The table erupts into laughs and groans; Taehyun’s grumble of don’t be weird, isn’t lost on you, but soon enough, everyone else finds themselves joining in.

“You should test on me too,” Yeonjun grins, reaching over to try and grab Taehyun’s hand; the said man recoils immediately, “maybe then I won’t be tired all the time.”

“Me too— c’mon, stop gatekeeping that BioGen stuff!”

“You should sneak some of the finished product over to us.”

“Yeah, that’s what true friends do!”

“Pleaaase?”

“Hueningie!”

Voices melt and stack in a loud cacophony— you don’t know who’s saying what anymore, or who’s talking to who, but you’ve all erupted in your own conversations, teasing the two smartest members in your group or choosing to talk about something else; it’s lively, it’s restless, and soon enough, all the food from the table has disappeared.

You play rock paper scissors to see who does the dishes; you and Soobin lose with loud cries of dismay.

“Do you remember that ice cream truck that would always go around our neighborhood at this time?”

Spring must be near; you find yourself thinking that as you lean back against the porch fence, your legs spread haphazardly over Soobin’s lap— all the comfortable lawn chairs had already been taken by the others by the time the two of you finished cleaning up, leaving you to sit on the floor, not that you really minded— you got a better look at the few stars that were still visible in the sky this way, anyway.

“The one that never stopped for us?” Soobin asks, causing you to laugh with a soft nod, “I hated that truck.”

“But it had the best ice cream though,” Hueningkai says, you and Soobin craning your heads back to where the boy sat in the corner, curled up in his chair and staring back with drowsy eyes, “nothing could top it.”

“Maybe ‘cause we had to run down two blocks to catch it,” Yeonjun interjects, smiling at the laughter he gets in response, countless memories seemingly flooding into everyone’s minds— the coin purses or ziplock bags that were clenched in your hands, the relentless sun that shined in your faces as you tried to yell at the ice cream truck to stop— the music must’ve drowned you all out, you think to yourself, because each time the old lady driving stopped for you guys, she always seemed to have a genuine shock that would paint her face.

Oh my, you guys look so tired!

“I miss that lady,” you find yourself blurting out, unable to stop the nostalgia that drips through your words, “I miss those times.”

The air grows a bit heavy— you gulp, mentally scolding yourself as your friends fall into deep thought.

“This place does look a bit sadder, huh?” Taehyun wonders aloud, eyes drifting along the neighborhood; the once lively streets and lit up houses now barren, now dark, “a lot emptier.”

Silence. Though no one says it, you know they all agree.

“But hey, that’ll fix itself soon!” Yeonjun pipes up, throwing an arm over Taehyun’s shoulder, shaking him out of his reverie; Yeonjun only grins, sending Hueningkai a knowing look, “we got our two geniuses working on the magic cure. It’ll get finished in no time at this point.”

“I don’t know about that,” Taehyun scoffs lightheartedly, shrugging off Yeonjun’s arm, “it’s a lot more complicated than you think.”

You all recognize that little trail off in Taehyun’s sentence: there’s more to his words than he wants to tell. Beomgyu is curious enough to be the first to bite the bait.

“More complicated than we think?” Beomgyu echoes, cocking his head to the side and raising a brow, “what do you mean? Is there something weird going on behind the scenes?”

“No,” Taehyun quickly says, causing all of you to stare at him in clear disbelief, “Well, I can’t tell you anyway.”

“So there is?” Hueningkai asks— when you send him a confused look, the said man only shrugs. “Hey, I’m in a different department, I’m not directly involved in making the thing.”

All eyes are back on Taehyun in search of answers.

“Well,” he sputters, actively avoiding all ten pairs of eyes that keep track of his every movement, “I… even I don’t know, honestly; they’re not letting me take too much of a direct part in making the solutions— I’ve never even seen the test subjects they gather.

“There’s like. A division of three people that are directly involved with the test subjects. The rest of us only receive vague feedback and instructions.”

“Creepy,” you shudder, Soobin nodding along at your exclamation, “sounds like they’re hiding something.”

Taehyun doesn’t refute your words; if anything, his brows knit together in thought.

“They said they’re gonna release an update of the first test subjects tomorrow,” Yeonjun jumps up again, quick as always to relieve a tense mood, “they’re making it sound like it’s nothing but good news.

“This place will be back to normal before we know it,” Yeonjun smiles, eyes falling onto you knowingly, “the future will be better.”

You nod along to his statement, even if you don’t find yourself believing it. A silence falls shortly after, and you’re looking back up at the sky again.

“The stars look pretty tonight,” you mumble.

You hear a scoff behind you.

“What stars? There’s like two out.”

“Do you always have to try to ruin my fun?”

The bickering is endless between you all— but it’s not malicious in the slightest. No, it feels normal, feels familiar, even as you make faces and gestures and call each other names.

It feels like home, and it feels like the only thing that makes you hope for the future.

[taglist // bold usernames could not be tagged.] @0x11s @boba-beom @icouldntcareless22 @fairyofshampgyu @heeharmony @yunho-mp3 @yyeonzi @beomfrost @wolfytae-exe @basicallyanothernotebook @archoive @mapofthemazeinthemirror @kaisplushies @agustdiv1ne @matcha-binz @mwahvvis @marksluvr0

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a-aexotic · 1 year

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i can see you, 𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒔.

✫ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 . . . y/n cromwell was nothing if not a sophisticated, pampered, and ambitious socialite. she had lived in manhattan for about five years with her workaholic mother since her divorce with from her father. in the five years she had lived in the upper-east side, she had conquered the elites and made them her minions. she was living her best life until she heard the worst news she could ever fathom...

tristan dugray was nothing like y/n, in any sense other than maybe the fact they were both rich, spoiled and rather confident - okay, maybe they had more in common than what meets the eye. they hadn't seen each other since she had moved away with her mother five years ago and they were happy that way.

until of course, her mother decided it would be best for y/n to spend the next few months with her father back in connecticut after y/n got in trouble with her friend group. what y/n didn't know until she eventually got to connecticut was that her father was engaged to none other than tristan dugray's mother. how could her year get any worse?

✫ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ;; tristan dugray x fem!reader, platonic!paris geller x reader, platonic!rory gilmore x reader

✫ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ;; not canon gilmore girls timeline (for the most part), rom-com energy, adult humor, asshole!tristan, family issues, the rest is to be determined...

✫ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ;; i am rewatching gilmore girls and of course, i've been inspired to write a fanfic because there are not enough tristan fanfics on tumblr. i hope y'all enjoy, this is very self-indulgent lmao. i love tristan sm and i think a rom-com esk fanfic would bring me (and everyone) so much joy. thank you so much for reading! let me know if i should make a taglist for this series.

dedicated to my beautiful best friend, @autumntales 🩷

main masterlist. gilmore girls masterlist. playlist.

0 of 15 chapters published. started: july 31, 2023 deadline: october 1, 2023

prologue

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

. . .

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tortiefrancis · 2 months

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📝 Sponsor a WIP for Palestine, Sudan and DRC

Hello everyone. After seeing many fundraisers shared here on tumblr struggle to get funds, I've decided to do something to help them raise money.

> From July 11th to August 11th, if you donate at least $5 to any verified fundraisers, I will write one of my WIPs (works in progress) of your choice. If this gets a lot of support, and I find the time to do so, I'll change the deadline or just do this again.

> For every $5 donated, I'll write 100 words (same amount for whatever currency the fundraiser is in). If I finish any of the WIPs here, you won't be able to sponsor it anymore. I'll try to add new ones as we go.

> I'll try to write as soon as possible after I get the donation receipt, and I'll post updates here on this blog.

❗️How To Join:

1) Donate to a verified fundraiser or a trustworthy organization, highlights below

- GazaFunds

- Sudanese Fundraisers

- Sudanese Fundraisers 2

- Palestine Organizations

- Congolese Organizations

- Sudanese and Congolese Fundraisers

2) Save the receipt and send it to me via (non-anon) ask or DM

- Make sure that the following information is visible on the receipt: the amount donated, the date, and your first name (optional but preffered)

3) Send me, with the recepit, the WIP you'd like sponsored

- You can send the title, number or fandom of the WIP, whatever.

✏️ WIPs:

1) (Untitled). Fandom: Sherlock Holmes. Wordcount: 393 words.

- Holmes and Watson ride horses in the countryside to help with Holmes' stress due to lack of cases.

2) Herdólia. Original work. Wordcount: 224 words.

- A group of kids grow up together while their country spirals into fascism. Based on the real dictatorships of Latin America.

3) SUMMER. Fandom: Fantasy high. Wordcount: 0 words.

- Character and relationship study of The Bad Kids centered around body image issues and summertime.

4) Loyal Dog. Fandom: Lupin III. Wordcount: 100 words (rewriting). Chapter: Prologue.

- A multi-chapter fanfic in which Jigen is a werewolf. After a terrible accident with the gang, he has to learn to forgive himself and heal from his past.

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dearyuls · 2 months

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#. — chae yul x reader (she/her pronouns used.)

#. content warnings! — extreme yandere behaviour, failed recovery, obsession, stalking, kidnapping, murder, violence, blood and injuries, gore.

#. word count! — (so far) 13,500.

#. < full fanfiction, slowburn, no update schedule just whenever I feel like writing. only three chapter have been written so far, slow updates. also being crossposted on ao3 and wattpad as “ hand in unlovable hand”

#. > 0 | 1| 2 | <

PROLOGUE.

He swore to himself that this would be a new chance, he wouldn't waste the second chance at life that Eun Sian had graciously gifted him, in not ruining his life, that was all he could do in thanks to his dear person...well. Ex-dear person.

It was only one picture, he wouldn't let it get out of hand again, he probably wouldn't see you ever again, fate was cruel like that, and more than anyone, he knew he couldn't bend it to his will, even if he were to break all of his fingers doing so.

He had been moved far away from Sian, all on his own. A fresh slate. And, now he had no school to preoccupy himself with, he figured that finding a job would be the best thing for him to do in order to try and get his life back on track from the disastrous place he had steered it to, he blamed himself for it all, so, he decided he must be the one to fix it.

His father had given him the money to move in, and apart from that, he had no contact with his family in the slightest, he had no family left that wanted anything to do with him, he had no support system, and with this came more reason to job hunt, with no money he wouldn't be able to feed himself, or pay the bills he had.

Since he was already skilled in photography, that was the easiest first step in his mind, he'd build up a portfolio and become a photographer for events ,such as weddings, and put his prior experience to use.

It was a somewhat warm day in spring, Yul stood outside, camera in hand, snapping pictures of the scenery around him, he was just wandering around, finding whatever he saw pretty he wore a plain outfit, all black, with a hat on so that less of his face was visible, he was aware nobody that knew him could be here, they had actual lives to attend to, but, the thought of it happening but him on edge, he was lucky to be holding his camera or he would've bitten his fingernails half to death.

" At least it's a nice day out.." he mumbled to himself, as he moved to snap a photo of a water fountain that he had found in the middle of one of the nearby parks, surrounded by the greenery it made for an aesthetic picture, just what he was looking for.

CLICK!

The shutter went off and Yul waited to check the photo on the screen...

Fuck, He'd have to retake it, he couldn't have that person standing in the frame.

He looked up, he had to see if whoever you were had moved, and, it was as if the first domino had been pushed over, you were looking away, it appeared an orange butterfly had caught your attention, so you didn't make eye contact, but Yul felt his heart speed up. The rays of sunlight painted your face, the gentle breeze made your hair flow ever so slightly..and you were just wearing the cutest outfit..he wondered what Sian would look like if she wore it.

He slapped himself in the face. He hated the way he thought, he needed to stop thinking about her, it wouldn't get him anywhere. He wanted to change, it was what she wanted. He knew Sian would never wear a skirt like that, what a dumb thought.

By the time he'd finished his self argument, she had already gotten out of the frame, and Yul hesitated before taking another picture, he wouldn't delete the first photo, something compelled him not to.

He bit his lip, harsh, almost like trying to draw blood as he went back to the first photo, infact, your presence there seemed to elevate the scene, maybe it was better with you in it... the more he looked at the photo the more he seemed to agree.

He shook that feeling off and kept walking, he had to learn to do something by himself without the thoughts of her creeping in.

By the time the sun started setting Yul had already gone home, he felt strange, unable to take anymore pictures. His mood had turned completely dejected. It hasn't been all that great after getting out of hospital, he had been miserable despite trying, and today he just started to feel worse.

He was on his computer, which sat on a little desk in the left corner of his room. And was clicking through the photos which he had taken, figuring out which one would be the best to show to professional companies, he had only found two of actual quality for that day, and he clicked right, going to the next one, the one with that girl in it.

He zoomed in, and in and in.

He just sat in his dimly light room, illuminated by a single lamp, with his eyes pressed to the computer screen. Staring at you, Unblinking.

He stared, and stared, and stared.

It didn't take him long to realise he was being creepy, this behaviour wasn't right. He needed to stop. In the short time he was at therapy, he had been taught a few ways t stop himself when he got all worked up like this, but, it was a shame he couldn't remember a single one of them.

It had been some time since he showed proper interest in anyone, and, you were just some random girl, he wouldn't let it get any worse again, he didn't even know your name or anything, plus he didn't even know anything about you.

Despite the kind look on your face and your general demeanour, you could still be a serpent lying beneath.

Why was he even questioning any of that? He didn't even know you, why was he trying to figure out what kind of person you were? He shook his head, minimising his gallery before closing his computer completely, maybe he was just feeling vulnerable and this is why his strange feelings started to act up again..

Yul had no other explanation outside of it being that, so, he decided to try and sleep it off. He got up from his desk and draped himself over his bed, staring up at his empty walls. With no pictures spread over them, it didn't look right, he could just imagine her face staring back at him...but she wasn't there. She had abandoned him she was horrible she was

Something he no longer needed to worry about, he reminded himself. He had no right to be angry.

He just needed to search and find something to overwhelm the still lingering feelings he has, or he needs to actually get better, one of the two, he'd settle for.

#chae yul #chae yul x reader #yandere x reader #secret alliance #yandere #yandere male

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