#so many lighting and transparency experiments in this one

[echo-bleu]

Voleuse d'étoile - Star Thief

Inprnt | Commissions

[alfheimr]

My Favorite Cheap Art Trick: Gradient Maps and Blending Modes

i get questions on occasion regarding my coloring process, so i thought i would do a bit of a write up on my "secret technique." i don't think it really is that much of a secret, but i hope it can be helpful to someone. to that end:

this is one of my favorite tags ive ever gotten on my art. i think of it often. the pieces in question are all monochrome - sort of.

the left version is the final version, the right version is technically the original. in the final version, to me, the blues are pretty stark, while the greens and magentas are less so. there is some color theory thing going on here that i dont have a good cerebral understanding of and i wont pretend otherwise. i think i watched a youtube video on it once but it went in one ear and out the other. i just pick whatever colors look nicest based on whatever vibe im going for.

this one is more subtle, i think. can you tell the difference? there's nothing wrong with 100% greyscale art, but i like the depth that adding just a hint of color can bring.

i'll note that the examples i'll be using in this post all began as purely greyscale, but this is a process i use for just about every piece of art i make, including the full color ones. i'll use the recent mithrun art i made to demonstrate. additionally, i use clip studio paint, but the general concept should be transferable to other art programs.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

just dont look at my layers too hard. ok?

[deesseshesca]

PAC: How do y’all feel about each other sexual energy ? (18+)

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~3 )

Haven't slept since last night...

Hello Chérie d'Amour !

How y'all doing ? Hope those last few days have been treating u better than me. When it comes to me is time for me to take a real break. I'm going to be inactive for a month. I am so sorry for my single babe since birth, it was finally your turn to thrive but don't worry, I try to create some good juicy content before I leave for a moment. All readings will be on sale up until this weekend because of recession. I feel like you guys need to catch a break but keep in mind you will only receive the product in May 2025. In April everything will to back to regular prices. That being said, I hope April brings you nothing but success.

MUCH LOVE,

SHESCA.

PILE 1 

YOU : You feel that he has experiences and you are one on his list of potential lovers. I am not going to lie before I even get further, this does not feel like romantic love. It could be platonic love with sex (FWB or sexual arrangement) at least from your side. I don't know if that's how y’all relationships begin or how it was always supposed to be. Ahhh… now lets go. You can sense the deep desire he has for you. Maybe he has prey eyes when he lays them on you. May have possessive  mannerism  with you. Also may tell you to go around and tell others you are his because he hates the thought that anyone can even think they have a chance with you. I just heard: “ You are too pretty for your own good”. You do applaud the fact that he never cares and always show you off no matter the circumstance. Not the type to be disrespectful. May actually be quite the feminist not the performative kind. You may never think he cares so much for women rights because he dont look like it. May have a darker or alternative aesthetic. If not then has the aesthetic of somebody that dont care for women rights : pick up car, bible verse tatted, country accent and love hunting. Actually very emotionally available yet avoidant. Which mean he can express himself and can be transparent with his feelings. Probably dealt with his childhood trauma, not the type to ghost after fucking you. Actually take care of you and give some aftercare. Asking you if you are "ok", before the act and after. Clean you up and tell you he leaves before doing it so you dont wake up feeling funny. Would hate for you to feel use. Avoidant because he can't see himself being in a relationship because he dont think he deserves it. You can feel all this by the way he treats you right but can't seem to give you the title you desire. Want you to be his, act like you are his and don't mess with other people, yet don't want to ask you out properly. You can feel like his manifesting you. What I mean by that, is that you are going to see him grow. From running from you, to trying, to loving you and appreciating you. He wants you, you can see it in his eyes, his actions and his words. You feel like one of most prize objects in his life, he treats you as such and you know that you are all he wants.  Also he has a big dick. To my virgin babe don't worry, he is no monster. Will probably do a lot of foreplay and y'all may also have many nights that all you do is oral sex prepping for the big gun. If you are a virgin, he is very scared of hurting you. 

HIM : 

Before anything : I hear and see you caressing his cheek while saying: “My baby, my baby…” with a sad tone. 

They fucking love is crazy. At first I was unsure and I would be the first to tell you to run the fuck away from something, y’all know me. I don't play those games. 

HE FUCKING LOVES EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ! The way you look, the color of your hair, your hairstyle, if is curly or not, the color of your eyes, the way it light up, the shape of your face, the face you make when he fuck you, he loves you body, every inch. Clothes or nah, he is fucking turn on all the time when it comes to you. The style you have, nails or nah, lashes or nah, makeup or nah, shave or nah. He loves the sound of your voice, the moan you make when he's thrusting deep into you, the way you talk dirty and the way you tease him with nudes, the way  you end up play hard to get it just for the fuck of it. The reality is you guys meet when he just came out of the dark night of the soul. He just fought suicidal thought maybe even survive an attempt. He may be clean from self harm tendency or his sober from substances. He’s still in woods but his not dancing with the devil no more. You are going to force your way into his life. He is a loner and he dont like to mingle but you are coming in with your zest for life … LOL ! What you don't know is that you are the sun of his life. Just by existing you bring him all the joy, life never thought worth giving him. Don't get me wrong it aint co-dependent. He doesn't live because of you. Nah he lived so he could found you. Going back to him, he is too fucking tired to start fighting his avoidant issue but without realizing it he will be growing with you. You are going to enter his life when he is in the 8 cup era( me : surprise the card did not come up) , like he let go of something but he is not yet sure of the next path but knows he must leave so he did. Your warmth  ( dang all I wanted was the sex … here I am in love reading) is something he yearns for. He will often hit you  up, so he can spend your work break with you in his car so you guys can cuddle. He will hit up after work so he can see you. He will beg to see you. Not for sex just to sleep. If he has night terror, you make them stop. Don't worry you ain't got no super power, it's just because he feels safe in your embrace. In my visions regarding your couple, he is always sleeping. Damn y’all fav spot is your bedroom. Lol … babe don't take it personally but he see you as a liability. No job asking for princess treatment just eating and using all his money. He would love how wet you get. You are going to make him feel like his dick has super power in the bedroom because he can make you squirt. To my virgin no worries is actually bound to happen since he's big and you go that WAP. You guys may develop a size kink together. 

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time (Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

PILE 2

YOU : You feel as tho he has a breeding kink. He loves nutting in you or loves seeing his cum on your tits, your butt, stomach or your face. A fan of facial. You may have a very pretty face, a bit childish, don't worry he aint a pedophile. You have a round face, very chubby cheek, and round deer eyes, may have a rather coquette or very feminine aesthetic. I am seeing light makeup, you may like to get doll up before y’all fuck. Don't act all innocent; you enjoy seeing the aftermath of y’all encounter. You get all doll up, so you can see the wig lifting (if you wear one), your makeup mush, you lips red, the hickeys on your body  or even like seeing your clothes tear down on the floor after the act is over (me: you guys are literally the representation of the quote : I love pink, violence and sex). You know he has a good sex reputation. He may have been a player until he decided to settle with you. You knew it and he never tried to hide it. If you guys do end up break up, he is forever going to be the best sex you ever had. The man knows what the fuck he is doing. You are not here for the sex tho. He knows it. You are here because he get you. Maybe people around expected you to act a certain way, you may attend private school, may be the oldest sibling in your family, may hold a job with power, whatever the situation is, you are held to a higher standard than the rest. Some of you may be the daughter of a pastor or religious important figure. With him, you get open up and even do stuff that would not be allowed by people around you. Having sex may be forbidden in your family before marriage. You may also smoke with him and drink 2. You guys talk to each other about hardship and he just gets it. The thing is pile 2, is like you guys are living in a golden cage. You have gone through so much trauma but you can't talk about it because there's almost a policy of : “ you hear nothing, see nothing and speak of nothing” in y’all family. I’m hearing the song of Pretty Little Liars. They have a darker aesthetic and they are more of a loner so you would think they are the one with the destructive habits but is all you. Now that I’m thinking about it, you may be the only one smoking and drinking when y'all are together and he just makes sure you don't go overboard. You may actually be the one asking him to go this hard in the bedroom. What's funny (not really), you don't feel like he loves you for you. You think, I am writing black on white, you think he only loves you for your tight pussy. You know I dont stand for BS so imma be very honest babes. He aint the problem. Y’all seriously hate yourself very deeply. It's really sad. I did not say I pity you but it breaks my heart, sensing the depth in which you hate your own gut. You see him as an enemie. Almost as a war weapon … I aint playing Chérie d’Amour. You make me think of the way Katniss thought of Peeta in the book of Hunger Games (the first ones). In reality, you don't think no one could ever love you. 

PS : You also feel like he is very emotional. Is easy for him to cry and he doesn't hide himself when he does so. He would cry a front of a kid show or while listening to the news. He may actually stay from the news because he easily absorbs emotions around that. A truth empath … LOL ! He is very loving in the way he dirty speak, I am hearing: “ Look at me …”, “ Is ok I’m here …”, “ You are doing amazing love …” 

HIM: 

I ain't going to lie, this is toxic. Not the yelling, verbally or physically abusive type of toxic. No breaking each other's spirit . Is more the type he wants to save you from you  and you are incapable to stop destroying yourself. Don't get him wrong, he ain't got no savior complex but he sees so much potential in you… yet all you see is his flaws and nothing is really changing your mind. If he is the one reading … RUN ! But since is you, there's nothing I can do but watch. Congrats you have manifested your first relationship  ( I swear I mean it with no sarcasm). There's a lot of lessons here. This may be your wake up call because you are the one closest on in this PAC getting in a relationship. May even happening this Aries season. Is not a matter of “if” but a matter of “when”. 

He feel like you have a facade because he can sense all you truly crave is softeness. You don't actually want this hardcore sex, you want something softer. Otherwise you will want to be degrated, the fact that you prefer him talking in a softer tone, caressing you and holding you when the act is done shows your true intention. You hide behind that tough cover. In front of people you play the perfect innocent daughter while in front of him you play this though women that nothing sacred anymore. He can also feel that you are disgusted by the fact that you do desire love and affection. He doesn't want you just for your tight pussy. He love the depth you have and the beauty you hold. You are a very pretty babe in his eyes, the prettiest woman he ever laid his gaze  upon. Also he’s in love with the poetic tone you give to your pain. You could quite literally love writing  poems or being a writer in your free time. You may play an instrument or love singing. He enjoys listening to you talking about philosophy for hours even tho he doesn't always agree with you. For him, you guys together are the embodiment of the song : Dark Paradise - Lana Del Rey. He feels like you are wasting your time with him. You deserve so much more than him. He ain't going nowhere. He feels like you only want him close to you just so you can hurt him. You wish you could destroy people around you but instead you keep hurting his love with fake promises and treating him like he is replaceable. He won't leave because he actually enjoys this arrangement.  If it is the only way for him to have you then that is how it must be. He may have a Mars in Scorpio or in Pisces. 

PS : Now I understand, he aint innocent either. While you destroy yourself with hate, substance and sex. He destroys himself by finding people he knows are going to hurt him. Is more than the victim complex, is the martyr. If he aint in pain then he ain't living. Right now in the spiritual world you are like falling stars colliding into each other and nobody is stopping you because there's life changing lessons that must happen. 

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time(Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

PILE 3 

YOU: You are extremely grateful for all his exes. You thank them for the way they tame his masculinity and raise him to be an amazing bf. You are grateful for his sisters for showing what is it to actually deal a real women. Most importantly his mom for making him a gentleman. You feel like he loves trying new stuff in the bedroom and dont mind doing it in places that are not traditional. Everytime he grabs you, you don't know in which position you are going to be. He may love going round after rounds with no break ( me : Shit that a whole workout). May be the type to start making out in the car in broad day light with the windows down because he never gave a fuck. Will probably introduce you to sex toys, nothing crazy ladies. He ain't your BDSM type at all but his masculinity never was scared of a pink dildo or a rose toy ( amen to that !). You feel like he has multiple options. You see people flirting with him in front of you like you don't exist. You may keep your relationship private because when you post him, people add him with no shame. Also you applaud the effort he put in the bedroom. He put in the work. Coming in with new techniques  like the pillow or the bear hug. There's something about the way his hip moves, like he is going to hit your g-spot like nobody damn business. Over and over again at that. 

PS : Your first relationship may be an interracial one. For him, you're the first woman of that race he actually dated, not that he found you kind ugly, he just never had a chance to date one of y’all. Also don't worry, no fetishes, purely in love with learning your culture with respect. 

HIM :He feels like you have no idea of your sexual needs. Don't get him wrong,  he knows you are a virgin so you don't know how to move but the problem is that you don't seem to even know what you want. It's almost like you have literally no idea what sex is. Like a new concept falling from the sky. You are acting like you are a pre-teen who just now learned about sex. On the other hand he enjoys the way you are spontaneous many claim to be but they are not. There's a difference between being spontaneous and adventurous and people don't seem to know it. He loves the way you are down for anything at any moment. Which he always craved and missed in his last relationship. Going back to what I wrote, he feels like you are like a doll with no opinion. You just go with whatever he says with no real back bone. You don't tell him if you like what he just did. You don't show different emotions depending on different position or touch. You are just here looking at him nodding. He enjoys your moans but would prefer if you could appreciate him more in the bedroom. Don't get me wrong, he doesn't expect you to have the vocabulary of a porn star but tell him he's doing a good job. Telling him is hitting the right spot, telling him he's handsome and telling him you have been craving him. At the end of the day he aint stress because he is sure y’all are going to figure it out. It's just the beginning of your sexual journey and he knows with time and patience you are going to open up to him. 

PS: He knows you are nervous. The first time y’all are going to do it, you may actually be anxious. I see you looking around nervous and having jabbing movements. You will open up about the fact that you are not sure you can satisfy him. What you don't realize is just the thought of you, turning him on sooooo bad. He can't sleep without taking a cold shower because he is always sexually frustrated when it comes to you. You are literally his dream girl. Trust me babe, no need to worry, you are his female fantasy. 

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time(Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

PILE 4 

YOU : You love the fact that he makes you feel wanted. You feel like you are the object of his desire. He makes you feel like he can't make a move without you in his life. Without you his life ain't complete. He makes you feel super sexy, always begging you for a pic of you. Not caring if it is a selfie, a nude or even just an OOTD. I see you taking a bunch of pictures that you keep in a folder for when he is needy of your presence but can't be near. Also you can sense how he gets no pleasure being in the dominant role of the relationship. For some of y’all, he will take the lead in public. For the other in this pile, he will be walking around unafraid to show how much of a simp he is.For the first type, he may be very tall and loves going to the gym. He cares for the finer things in life, I see luxurious cars and watches. He may work a white collar job and hold a title of power ranging from manager to CEO. Not the time to talk a lot, have a rather deep voice and have a mug face normally. While for the other he’s a student, shorter, may be older than you but have a baby  face. The first one would be the type to text you that he is waiting at your door, giving you unexpected surprise and making sure everyone knows you are taken because he is possessive. While the other may be the type to follow you around, be down with all your sidequest, take your picture like one of your fans and always have this fool expression on his face when it comes to you. You may tell him what to do but he will always pay for everything and give you the princess treatment. They both have something in common, they love to be dominated. Love it when you play with them. Edge theme, tell them “no” just to hear them whine, don't worry it won't be on your first time but will love it when you use toys on them 2. Will love it even more if you bound them in beautiful pink ribbons. Loves when you challenge them not to make a single noise or they wont get to fuck you tonight. They make you feel love. There's not a single doubt in your mind and others that he loves you. By the way he acts, speaks about you when you ain't there or even takes care of you like  you are the most delicate being on this planet. Whether it be with letters, text you poem, buy flowers or when he travels and always comes back with something that reminds them of you. The way they refuse to end FaceTime because they want to sleep and wake up to you. Scream to any women approaching  them that their fucking taken may wear a fake marriage ring to seal the deal because the mere fact that other women may flirt with them piss them off. 

PS : The biggest munch alive. Will literally cry if you don't let them taste your delicious pussy. 

HIM:He knows you are very strict, you don't play mind games. Your standard are high and you don't mind cutting a man off mid date, mid convo or even relationship if you don't feel respected. At the same time he knows your love can never go bad. You are not really the type to talk about the feelings, you are more the type to show it in your actions. The fact that you bake  for him, your eyes light up when you look at him, your voice softens when you speak to him or even the way your body relaxes when you touch him. On the other hand, he still can sense a blockage in you. It's like you are always waiting for him to fail. You never allow yourself to enjoy the bliss of this relationship. Waiting for him to become abusive, waiting for him to start yelling, waiting for him to start breaking shit around or even start cheating. Just so you can say : “ I knew it ! You can't trust this man, frl, frl.” The issue with this way of thinking is undervaluing the efforts put in by your partner and he also makes him feel like he is constantly passing a test. That may be a big red flag for him that he will consider the worthiness in longevity in your relationship. I see him entering the relationship knowing he found the one. I also sense he can let go, if he ever feels like he can't give you what you truly desire.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time(Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

[blackcat-star]

Lost Spirit.

Sung Jinwoo x Ghost!reader.

✭ Chapter 1: First meet.

___________________

Jinwoo sat leaning against the old tree in the deserted park. It was pitch black. People had already gone to bed after working all day since most homes had their lights turned off.

The only light came from the street lamps' yellow glow and the faint moonlight.

Why did Jinwoo show up here during this late time?

He had just finished a dungeon raid that the system had assigned him. He didn't want to go out at such a late hour, but he needed to get stronger, he needed to earn money to live, he needed to seize every opportunity he could find. It was all for money. He had a mother and a younger sister to take care of.

Ever since his father disappeared, everything had been disrupted. He had suddenly become the pillar of the family.

Jinwoo sighed. He hid his face by placing his hands over his head. He had many wounds on his hands with bandages covering them and bleeding from several areas. But he didn't seem to care about it anymore. In a while, he would receive the system's reward, and then his body would be healed as before.

He should probably go home. But for some reason, he didn't want to go home today. It was strange.

He had been walking unconsciously on the dark road, and then stopped at a park near the edge of the city.

There was a feeling of something stuck in his chest that made him uncomfortable. He punched the tree to release it and then lay down on the park bench., one hand raised to cover his eyes.

A gentle wind blew by, the leaves rustled. Everything was so quiet.

"So rude, didn't your mom tell you that waking a person up is rude!?" A voice suddenly rang out above his head.

Jinwoo immediately sat up, warily looking towards the direction the voice came from.

On the branch of an ancient tree, a person was sitting on the tree, both hands holding onto the branch, legs swinging.

That person was transparent, his figure was as faint as smoke, his eyes were curious, but for some reason he felt sadness in their eyes.

"Who are you!?" He asked cautiously.

Your eyes widened, looking around and then back at him, pointing at yourselves.

"Are you asking me?"

"Other than you and me, who else is here?"

You were even more surprised. "You saw me!?"

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes in suspicion "Of course...? Why can't I see you? I'm not blind."

Your eyes sparkled "Finally someone can see me!" You clapped your hands "Wonderful, I've been so lonely! Finally someone can see me!"

"Wait! What do you mean?"

You flew down and stood next to where he was sitting. "Don't you recognize me? I'm not human anymore."

"Does that mean you're dead?"

"Something like that. I prefer not to express myself in this manner. The way I describe my experience is that I changed from being seen to being unseen."

Jinwoo's face was blank. 

His instincts told him that this was not a dangerous creature, but his mind was still tense.

He summoned his dagger and pointed it at you.

"Tell me, who are you!? What is your purpose? Or what do you want from me!"

"Hey, rude. I haven't done anything to you yet." You pouted. "You came to disturb my sleep first!"

"What?"

"You suddenly punched the tree, it woke me up!"

He slowly lowered the dagger. "I apologize for my mistake."

"Since you were the first to discover me, I'll forgive you." You took a seat next to Jinwoo but he shifted away from you.

You ask "Why you stay away from me. I didn't do anything to you."

"I don't believe you."

"What!? I'm 100% harmless."

You became irritated when Jinwoo showed his disbelief.

"If we become friends you will put more trust in me."

Jinwoo stared at the ground while moving to a greater distance from you.

"I do not want to make friends with spirits."

You whined, "Please, I'm lonely. I have been alone for many days now."

You ask him to please become friends since you feel lonely.

"Why don't you go find someone else!"

"I want to too. But I don't understand why I can't get more than 1 meter away from this tree."

A trapped soul? Jinwoo rarely believed in ghosts, but after the dungeons appeared, the world began to act abnormally. Especially situations like this that couldn't be explained by common sense.

"I can't leave this place," You continued, your voice as light as the wind, your eyes suddenly darkening. "No matter how hard I try, I just end up back at this tree."

Jinwoo frowned. Why? He was curious about this.

He suddenly thought, if he was the only one who could see you, maybe fate had arranged this and wanted him to do something.

"...What can I help you?"

You were silent for a long time, then whispered softly. "I want to know why I died... I don't remember why I'm here. I just know that I'm dead."

You suddenly looked straight into his eyes, your gaze sincere "Can you help me find clues about them?"

Jinwoo hesitated for a moment then nodded. "Okay.."

You smiled happily. The wind blew your hair, the moonlight reflected on your cheeks, making your face seem to glow, your smile also became brighter and purer. For a moment, that smile made Jinwoo let go of all his guard, relaxing his shoulders.

"I'm Y/n. Just Y/n. I don't remember my last name, or who I was before. I only remember this name, I think it's my name. Nice to meet you!"

"...Sung Jinwoo."

________________________

To be continue....

_________________________

Chapter 2 »

[reasonsforhope]

"Chicago’s 82-story Aqua Tower appears to flutter with the wind. Its unusual, undulating facade has made it one of the most unique features of Chicago’s skyline, distinct from the many right-angled glass towers that surround it.

In designing it, the architect Jeanne Gang thought not only about how humans would see it, dancing against the sky, but also how it would look to the birds who fly past. The irregularity of the building’s face allows birds to see it more clearly and avoid fatal collisions. “It’s kind of designed to work for both humans and birds,” she said.

As many as 1 billion birds in the US die in building collisions each year. And Chicago, which sits along the Mississippi Flyway, one of the four major north-south migration routes, is among the riskiest places for birds. This year, at least 1,000 birds died in one day from colliding with a single glass-covered building. In New York, which lies along the Atlantic Flyway, hundreds of species traverse the skyline and tens of thousands die each year.

As awareness grows of the dangers posed by glistening towers and bright lights, architects are starting to reimagine city skylines to design buildings that are both aesthetically daring and bird-safe.

Pictured: Chicago's Aqua Tower was designed with birds in mind.

Some are experimenting with new types of patterned or coated glass that birds can see. Others are rethinking glass towers entirely, experimenting with exteriors that use wood, concrete or steel rods. Blurring lines between the indoors and outdoors, some architects are creating green roofs and facades, inviting birds to nest within the building.

“Many people think about bird-friendly design as yet another limitation on buildings, yet another requirement,” said Dan Piselli, director of sustainability at the New York-based architecture firm FXCollaborative. “But there are so many design-forward buildings that perfectly exemplify that this doesn’t have to limit your design, your freedom.”

How modern buildings put birds in danger

For Deborah Laurel, principal in the firm Prendergast Laurel Architects, the realization came a couple of decades ago. She was up for an award for her firm’s renovation of the Staten Island Children’s Museum when the museum’s director mentioned to her that a number of birds had been crashing into the new addition. “I was horrified,” she said.

She embarked on a frenzy of research to learn more about bird collisions. After several years of investigation, she found there was little in the way of practical tips for architects, and she teamed up with the conservation group NYC Audubon, to develop a bird-safe building guide.

The issue, she discovered, was that technological and architectural advancements over the last half-century had in some ways transformed New York City – and most other US skylines and suburbs – into death traps for birds...

At certain times of day, tall glass towers almost blend into the sky. At other times, windows appear so pristinely clear that they are imperceptible to birds, who might try to fly though them. During the day, trees and greenery reflected on shiny building facades can trick birds, whereas at night, brightly lit buildings can confuse and bewilder them...

Pictured: A green roof on the Javits Convention Center serves as a sanctuary for birds.

The changes that could save avian lives

About a decade ago, Piselli’s firm worked on a half-billion-dollar renovation of New York’s Jacob K Javits Convention Center, a gleaming glass-clad space frame structure that was killing 4,000-5,000 birds a year. “The building was this black Death Star in the urban landscape,” Piselli said.

To make it more bird friendly, FXCollaborative (which was then called FXFowle) reduced the amount of glass and replaced the rest of it with fritted glass, which has a ceramic pattern baked into it. Tiny, textured dots on the glass are barely perceptible to people – but birds can see them. The fritted glass can also help reduce heat from the sun, keeping the building cooler and lowering air conditioning costs. “This became kind of the poster child for bird-friendly design in the last decade,” Piselli said.

The renovation also included a green roof, monitored by the NYC Audubon. The roof now serves as a sanctuary for several species of birds, including a colony of herring gulls. Living roofs have since become popular in New York and other major cities, in an inversion of the decades-long practice of fortifying buildings with anti-bird spikes. In the Netherlands, the facade of the World Wildlife Fund headquarters, a futuristic structure that looks like an undulating blob of mercury, contains nest boxes and spaces for birds and bats to live.

The use of fritted glass has also become more common as a way to save the birds and energy.

Earlier this year, Azadeh Omidfar Sawyer, an assistant professor in building technology in the Carnegie Mellon School of Architecture, working with student researchers, used open-source software to help designers create bespoke, bird-friendly glass patterns. A book of 50 patterns that Sawyer published recently includes intricate geometric lattices and abstract arrays of lines and blobs. “Any architect can pick up this book and choose a pattern they like, or they can customize it,” she said.

Pictured: The fritted glass used in Studio Gang’s expansion of Kresge College at the University of California, Santa Cruz, depicts the animals in the local ecosystem.

Builders have also been experimenting with UV-printed patterns, which are invisible to humans but perceptible to most birds. At night, conservationists and architects are encouraging buildings turn off lights, especially during migration season, when the bright glow of a city skyline can disorient birds.

And architects are increasingly integrating screens or grates that provide shade as well as visibility for birds. The 52-floor New York Times building, for example, uses fritted glass clad with ceramic rods. The spacing between the rods increases toward the top of the building, to give the impression that the building is dissolving into the sky.

Gang’s work has incorporated structures that can also serve as blinds for birders, or perches from which to observe nature. A theater she designed in Glencoe, Illinois, for example, is surrounded by a walking path made of a wood lattice, where visitors can feel like they’re up in the canopy of trees.

Pictured: The Writers Theatre, designed by Studio Gang, includes a walking path encased in wood lattice.

Rejecting the idea of the iridescent, entirely mirrored-glass building, “where you can’t tell the difference between the habitat and the sky”, Gang aims for the opposite. “I always tried to make the buildings more visible with light and shadow and geometry, to have more of a solid presence,” she said.

Gang has been experimenting with adding bird feeders around her own home in an effort to reduce collisions with windows, and she encourages other homeowners to do the same.

“I’ve found that birds slow down and stop at feeders instead of trying to fly through the glass,” she said.

While high-rise buildings and massive urban projects receive the most attention, homes and low-rise buildings account for most bird collision deaths. “The huge challenge is that glass is everywhere.” said Christine Sheppard, who directs the glass collisions program at the American Bird Conservancy (ABC). “It’s hard to know what I know and not cringe when I look at it.”

Tips for improving your own home include using stained glass or patterned decals that can help birds see a window, she said. ABC has compiled a list of window treatments and materials, ranked by how bird-safe they are.

Whether they’re large or small, the challenge of designing buildings that are safe for birds can be “liberating”, said Gang, who has become an avid birdwatcher and now carries a pair of binoculars on her morning jogs. “It gives you another dimension to try to imagine.”"

-via The Guardian, December 27, 2023

[lou-struck]

For Little You

Keigo Takami x reader

W.C: 1.9k

~ For the first time in his life, Keigo gets to feel like a kid in a candy store. 

"Are you sureeee you don't wanna split this soft pretzel with me?" Keigo asks with a teasing smile as he holds out the last little piece of the snack he got when you first got to the mall. Outings like this, where the two of you can walk hand in hand, going about your day as if you were normal civilians, are rare. Usually, you would've been stopped by Keigo's numerous fans due to his eye-catchingly glorious red wings, but thanks to a nasty run-in with a villain, he has only a few feathers hidden under his jacket. 

"Nope, that's all you," you say. All he had been talking about leading up to your mall expedition was getting his hands on a soft pretzel. 

"Suit yourself." he humms tossing the last piece of the pastry into his mouth. Now, with his hands free, they sneak through the open space to latch onto yours as you continue walking. A soft smile on his face as you continue having a peaceful day off. 

"Hey, what's that place over there? "you point at the giant teal and gold striped columns of a shop you certainly haven't seen before.

"Isn't that where the exotic rock shop was?"  He comments, taking a sip from the thick straw of his bubble tea. "What was it called? Something like Rocks and Roads?"

"Your guess is better than mine, I never went in there," you say. "Did you ever go in there?" 

"I have a few times, "he admits with a chuckle. "One of the sidekicks who worked at my agency a few years back was able to eat rocks and crystals and things like that and make armor out of it. So I got them for a Secret Santa year and got them a really cool one."

"Oh, are you talking about Rock Muncher?" you say, enthusiastically recalling the Geo Hero. "Whatever happened to her?"

"Got a new cushy job overseas and transferred, but I heard she is doing really well over there." 

"Wow, that's great." you smile as you get a closer look at the new store. "It looks like they replaced the Rock store with a candy store."

"A candy store?" Keigo parrots, his eyes lighting up at the prospect. As much as he tries to hide it, Keigo has a wicked sweet tooth, one that he rarely has the chance to indulge in due to his strict upbringing at the hands of the hero's commission.

"Wanna check it out?" you ask hopefully; you could definitely have a sweet treat right about now, and judging by the way Keigo's eyes scan the decorative gummy bear statue in the shop's window, he is too.

"Am I that transparent?" he chuckles as you tug on his hand, guiding him into what many people call heaven.

The smell of chocolate wraps around you in a loving embrace as you step into the warmly lit store.  Large plastic containers of different types of sweets line the shop's walls like wallpaper. "Wow, I have never seen so many different types of candy before." You exclaim, fascinated by the variety.

"I-it's unreal," Keigo says, a slight waiver of a motion in his tone; you turn to look at him but are unable to catch his eye. His gaze fixated on a mother and her child picking out sweets from the largest display case by the cash register.

"What ones do you think we should bring home?" the mother asks her starry-eyed child.

"All of them…" they murmur dazedly, unable to stare at any one treat for too long. Although their interaction is cute, there is a distant look of sorrow in your boyfriend's eyes, and you realize that this may be a new experience for him.

Keigo never had the kind of childhood that most children had, even before he started training under the hero commission. You have a feeling that he never got the opportunity to pick out treats at the candy store. 

"Maybe we should get a few things," you say giving his hand a squeeze to let you know that you are still with him and those bad memories are things of the past.

"We should?"

"Yes. for uhhh quality control," you say jokingly. "It's our responsibility to test out some of the products and make sure nothing is poisonous."

"Can't argue with that logic," he laughs, grabbing two large baskets and handing one to you. "Let's go crazy then."

"You don't have to tell me twice," you laugh, your hands tingle in anticipation as you wonder which mouthwatering corner of the shop you should start filling your basket in. 

~

You aren't sure when you lost Keigo among the sugary aisles, but you first noticed his absence when you found a large gummy snake; you held it up like a goofball and turned to show him, only to realize that he was no longer following behind you. 

Knowing he would never just abandon you, you continue your browsing, becoming fascinated by just how many types of candy exist in the world. 

Some treats you remember vaguely from your childhood, but the wrapping has changed a bit over the years, and some seem to be from completely different countries.  But where they come from doesn't matter; they all find their way into your basket.

The weight of your basket grows heavier by the second, but that doesn't deter you from wandering through the store aimlessly. The smell of freshly made fudge hits the back of your throat, and you make a mental note to consider flossing your teeth when you get home. 

At an endcap across from the drink fridge, you stumble across a brightly colored display of chocolate bars; each one is wrapped in a different colored wrapping; upon closer inspection, you realize that all the different colors are used to represent the wide variety of flavors. 

Minty green for Chocolate Chip Mint.

Purple for Ube. 

Gold for Fried Chicken

Black for Dark Chocolate Raspberry…

You pause and slowly backtrack. To get a closer look at the golden wrapping of the Fried Chicken flavored milk chocolate bar. 

'How does that even work?' you murmur to yourself. 'Was the chocolate mixed with chicken broth or something?"

You curiously pick up the packaging just to see what exactly is in the chocolate to make it chicken flavored and can't find anything. 

An unnerving shiver shoots down your spine as you set the bar down in favor of some candy that does not represent a dinner entree. 

The next thing you know, your basket has miraculously filled with not only your favorite sweets but tons of things you want to try out, as well as some things that you know Keigo likes. 

Holding the full basket is painful and you have to put all your focus on not dropping it to the floor. A bead of sweat drips down your brow as you trudge over to the cash register, only to accidentally bump into someone. Apologies are already flying off your tongue as you lock eyes with Keigo. 

His is even more full than yours is. A big smile is on his face as he takes in both you and your basket. He must've really needed this sugary retail therapy, and although you know that no amount of money can undo the pitfalls of his childhood, getting to share these sweet, special moments with you is more than worth it.

"It looks like we did some damage," he says, taking your too-heavy basket from you with ease. You smile at him gratefully and look down at your stinging,  slightly indented palms. 

"We sure did. But do you think we have enough?" you tease as Keigo sets both containers on the countertop with a thud. 

"Barely, but I think we will manage." he grins, taking out his credit card and handing it to the cashier, who is looking at Keigo suspiciously. You have to hold in a laugh; it's the same look of muddled recognition he gets while in public without his big red wings. Apparently, most people can't seem to put their finger on what about him is so familiar without them. 

After paying way too much for basically a year's supply of candy, the two of you drag your enormous, triple-lined shopping bags out the doors and into the bustling mall.

You do well for a while but once you reach a less busy area of the mall, you become aware of just how heavy your load is.  Your muscles ache as you try to keep up with Keigo's chipper steps. And you have to stop to readjust your hold.

When he notices that you are no longer walking alongside him, he pauses and turns back to look at you confusedly. "What's the matter Angel? Is your bag too heavy for you?"

You look at the four bags he is carrying and then back at the one he gave you. "No." You lie casually, setting the bag on a wooden bench for support. "I was just thinking that we should each try something before we get home."

"To lighten the load?" he teases, joining you over on the bench. 

"Fine, maybe the bags are a little heavy." you relent, "but I still want to try something."

"Works for me. There is something I really want to test out." he laughs, reaching across your lap and digging into the bag you have been hauling. He pulls out a familiar-looking paper-wrapped chocolate bar, and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. 

"Really Kei? Out of everything we just bought from freaking candy palooza, you choose the Fried Chicken chocolate bar?"

"I sure did," he grins, unwrapping the chocolate right in front of you. "C'm on. Aren't you at least a little curious about what it would taste like?

"Curious, yes. But I'd rather eat something that tastes like fruit, not poultry," you comment, selecting some sour cherry gummies from your bag instead. 

"More for me then," he laughs, holding out his bar towards you; now unwrapped, your nose picks up the slight aroma of chicken and honey flavorings. "Cheers."

You bump his chocolate bar with your little candy packet and take a bite. The sweet, sour taste of the gummy explodes over your tongue and crackles pleasantly against your taste buds. The addicting taste has you immediately reaching for another coin-sized gummy. 

You notice Keigo has fallen silent and you look over to him. His expression is unreadable as he stares down at his chocolate bar with a furrowed brow.

"What's the matter, Kei?" you ask. "Does it taste bad?"

"No, it's just interesting," he says back finally. "I think I like it."

You are dumbfounded, shook, stunned.  "You do?"

"Yeah, want to try a little bit?" he waves the bar in front of you again, and you catch a glimpse of little golden specks in the chocolate. 

"Fine, just a little piece," you say, reaching for the bar. 

"Ah ah ah," he pulls the bar away and presses his lips to yours. The taste of honey, and savory chocolate still dancing on his lips as he kisses you. 

After indulging in your oxygen like its candy, he pulls away and gives you a coy little grin. "Now that wasn't so bad, now was it y/n."

"Hmmm, I don't know," you respond, your lips curving up into a syrupy sweet little smirk. I think I'll need to have another taste just to be sure."

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom @isaacdaknight @qardasngan @dog55teeth @atigerandabear @anjodedesgostoeerros

[just-null]

PET AU?????!!!! Oh mighty cult leader please give us, your greatful pitful annons, your divine words and opinions (I would cuddle the heck out of all of themm!!!)

As you wish, my beloved cult member!!

this is more of an explanation of the universe than headcanons. Those will be next, but I hope it's still interesting!! This will be tagged under "null kny pet au" to not be confused with anyone else's version

Long story short— reincarnation is a thing here! Bad people turn into animals and go through an endless cycle over and over until they've truly repented for their misdeeds.

To make things interesting, I bent the rules of how things usually work! This is my version of a pet au, and of course, is still yandere because your cult leader is an addict. I'M SORRY IF YOU WERE EXPECTING FLUFF.... THATS LATER. TRUST!!!!!!!!!

[CW! dark themes, alluding to past trauma and "self exit," self destructive behaviors(?), sedation and drugs, dehumanization(?), yandere obsessive goodness]

The pet aspect of this au!

Demons are hybrids who're likely to restart their cycle, giving them their nickname of lost souls. Human characters are hybrids at the pinnacle of rehabilitation, referred to as guiding souls. And you, who's nearby their hybrid shelter. Either working in it or being in its vicinity.

Guiding souls are allowed to be housed by responsible candidates, but it's unlikely for lost souls. Either way the problem is they turn everyone away except you.

Both guiding souls and lost souls have a deep rooted affection towards you. You definitely don't remember it, but they've been with you for many, many, MANY life times, always restarting and eagerly awaiting for stage three and four of the cycle to find you again.

Lower and Upper moons + Muzan have reincarnated more times than you can fathom, yet they can remember most of them. Their psyche is fragile and incredibly hostile towards almost anybody. Not recommended for new staff or housing candidates.

Slayers + Ubuyashiki reincarnated more than average. They committed sins they're ashamed of and show great promise for change. They're practically regular model citizens, except for the occasional outburst. Very well liked by staff and potential housing candidates!!

Guiding souls and lost souls are separated in the shelter but are occasionally allowed to roam and interact with each other. They bicker at best and get into full fist fights at worst. It's highly recommended to be gentle but firm with both. Only guiding and lost souls have both seen and experienced the worst of what life can offer, and staff don't want to cause a frenzy by startling them.

———

They're not always transparent with their thoughts. It's more than likely that they don't tell you about their experiences as most would rather focus on their life now rather than how it used to be or what's coming next. Some will tell you if asked, others will dance around it, and others initially refuse.

Still, they'll go through the agony and pain of life after miserable life again and again if it meant being blessed by your light in one of them.

If they're able to have feelings this intense for one being, lost souls refuse to see themselves in the wrong. Feelings like this should be praised. They should be considered good in the eyes of the divine, shouldn't it? What if the universe is wrong for once, huh?! They've lied, cheated, stole, hurt, even killed all to be able to get to you sooner. To feel you again! Their feelings for you are so pure, there's no way it could possibly be another reason to restart!! Even if it was, does it really matter?! What the universe dictates is irrelevant anyway, you're their choice and always will be. So long as you have a soul that continues to shine brightly, they'll find their way towards you when the cycle restarts. Guiding souls are.. anxious. They want to do good by you, want to be seen with love like they've achieved before, want to get to know every version of you and fall in love with every iteration. The finish line is RIGHT there, they know this, it's always been so close, and they'll be able to live by your side as equals.. But they know if they complete the cycle, complete stage four, become fully reborn, they won't remember you. After so many horrible lives lived, they finally understood what it meant to be remorseful about what led them into this mess. Saying that, they can't bring themselves to let go of you. What's the point in living a peaceful existence when there will always be a part of them missing? That's why they "personally restart" their cycle, uncaring that they're so close to forgiveness.

Not every life was kind on them. Silver lining, at least they know they have a new body without the physical scars of their experiences anymore, and of course, you! Though.. even you were harsh sometimes, but they'd rather pull all their teeth out than leave your side. Preferably, they hope you'll throw them a bone and be cordial at least, but if you want to beat, scream, or drive them away, they'll always come back. No matter what you do, they'll forever be loyal to you and you only.

If this is what it takes, they'll love you over and over in this never ending torturous loop until time ends, so until then, spare them a glance, yeah? You don't know how much they've missed you..

—————

Unnecessarily detailed lore:

SHORT STORY LONG, reincarnation is real here, and it's commonly known that when bad people die, their soul is reborn into an animal. Bad meaning murder, assault, ruining someone's life, intense crimes like that. It can be avoided if the soul had no other choice or feels deep remorse prior to their human life ending.

Failure to meet those requirements begins "the cycle." Each lifetime is a show of dedication to turn back into a full human. A step towards forgiveness from the world they wronged. Souls will retain the excruciating memory of their lives before, only given the mercy of forgetting and keeping the wisdom they earned once they're reborn into a full blooded human.

Animals who're just animals exist, but it's extremely difficult to tell who's a soul under trial and who's not.

It starts off simple, an insect. Depending on how bad the soul was, they'll be something that has a difficult life, like those moths that starve to death upon entering adulthood. Souls will always progress to the next stage after this one, temporarily forgetting about their previous lives.

The next life is exactly the same, but souls regain the ability to remember all their past lives again.

Next is a land mammal or aquatic creature, something easier than before, but still not strong enough to cause havoc. They have a little more intelligence than before.

Then souls become half human, half animal, or more commonly known, hybrids. They might as well be human with animal characteristics, but due to societal interference and their history, they're regarded as subhuman. Like pets.

Lastly, they are fully human, where they get to keep their appreciation for life and forget the past.

The real test is during stage four. If the soul proves to have learned nothing from their previous lives, they'll restart the cycle from the beginning and try again. Ending their life will not count and only restart the cycle. They must die of natural causes.

Extra notes:

There are souls who've restarted numerous times that when they reach stage four again, they're very fragile or aggressive. Due to this, humans adapted to shelter them and help give them another chance at life. It's not uncommon for these souls to try and use their memories to give themselves an upper hand in their next life, forcing humans to give them less autonomy. The more aggressive a soul the more humans will have to use force to keep them down such as sedation, muzzling, restraints. It's often used for lost and guiding souls out of any other type of hybrid but used as a last resort. Risks like these are one of the main reason why hybrids aren't allowed on the streets without supervision or an owner. Souls under trial can get attached to one another, familial wise, platonically, or romantically. As a twisted sense of both mercy and punishment, the world allows them to be reborn together. The cruel part comes when the older of the pair is the first to be reborn, leaving the younger to follow when it's their time. At least they know that the world will allow them to find each other once again in the next life. Sometimes, souls under trial try finding the human soul they've grown attached to in stages three and four, in this case, you. Because of the never ending cycle of punishment, they crave your hold, your care, your love. You. They want to get back to you as soon as possible, and if that means coming to you as a small animal first, then so be it. Some have probably done that numerous times before.

Truly, reincarnated souls who've grown attached to someone are dangerous both to others and themselves. They'll do anything for their human and let their human do anything them.

The current life cycle where this au takes place is one of the best life times they've all had. So yes, cuddling them is like winning the jackpot!

[zelcii]

love me anyway | peter hayes

peter leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched you from across the pit. you were laughing with the others, your smile wide and effortless, but something about the glint in your eyes always seemed bittersweet. it was as if the laughter was a mask, hiding the truth of your candor-born honesty that seeped through every gesture and expression. you could never quite hide the truth seeping behind the way you smiled, another layer of your candor-born honesty peeking out from under every facade you put on. not that it could be helped. the truth bled from the very way looked, very words you breathed. 

he loved it. how you were basically an intricate scrapbook, pieced together by every person who had ever touched your life, every place you had ever belonged to, and every passion that had ever stirred your heart. you were a patchwork of experiences, raw and honest, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to the way you carried all of it so transparently, even when you tried to hide.

he had always been a problem. for many people, but especially for you. you were no stranger to peter hayes, growing eerily familiar to his sharp edges and cruel humor as it had been a constant presence in your life. after all, you were born in the same faction, hung around the same groups of people, followed the same set of rules. even more, your mother had never liked him. since the two of you were young he'd seem to constantly be one second away from breaking whatever—or whoever—it was in front of him. you used to think you hated him for his arrogance. for how cruel he could be, his tendency to belittle the people that cared for him.

but then you chose dauntless. with one swift cut of the ordaining knife, it wasn’t just your tender, naive skin that was cut—it was every tie to the life you once knew. suddenly, peter hayes, the only person you’ve ever despised, became the only constant factor in your life. he was the one unchanging thread that connected you to both your past and present. you tried to forget your life from before, how things were. but it was hard to admit that the only person you could blame was yourself for wanting to leave.

"staring again," christina’s voice sliced through your thoughts, jolting you back to the present. you blinked, reluctantly tearing your gaze away from peter, who was leaning casually against a wall. he was like an island of calm amidst the chaos that spread across the dauntless pit, his posture relaxed and his expression unreadable.

"i wasn’t," you insisted, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. your candor was a relentless betrayer, with every twitch of your mouth or flicker in your eyes revealing the truth you tried so hard to conceal. christina’s gaze sharpened with amusement, catching the subtle giveaway in your demeanor.

"right. c’mon, candor," she quipped, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm as she nudged you gently with her elbow. "may the truth set you free," she mocked with a smirk, her tone light but knowing. “you’ve got it bad.”

you shook your head, trying to mount a defense. "i don’t," you said, but your protest lacked the firmness you’d hoped for. peter had been the object of your intrigue since you’d met him in summer camp, the boy that used to look at you with such passion. the boy you promised your mother that you’d never even think of talking to. that undeniable truth seeped through the cracks of your words, finding its way into the spaces you desperately tried to guard. still, from across the room, he stared with that familiar passion.

christina’s grin widened, clearly finding amusement in your discomfort. she followed your gaze back to peter, who remained fixed on you with a knowing smirk. it was as if he thrived on every flicker of attention you gave him, the curve of his lips revealing his awareness. he seemed to relish in the fact that you couldn’t tear your eyes away, savoring the way his presence bothered you.

"besides, he’s a total jerk," you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to mask your uncertainty. the effort to convince yourself sounded more like a feeble excuse than a genuine assertion. you fixed your gaze away from peter, forcing yourself to focus on his flaws—his arrogance, the cruel edge in his humor, the narcissism he wielded with such practiced ease. yet, despite your best intentions, all you could think about was his lingering touch and your stolen glances. you failed at every attempt to distance yourself. it was as if he was fully aware of the internal battle you were waging and took a twisted pleasure in it.

you remembered an instance from a few nights ago.

you’d been crying in the communal bathrooms, the cold tiles beneath you doing nothing to ease the burning sensation behind your eyes. it had been a bad day—training had pushed you to your limit, the weight of your decision to leave candor pressed down hard, and the overwhelming newness of dauntless was closing in from all sides.

the tears had come suddenly, without warning, and once they started, you couldn’t stop them. you didn’t want to cry—not here, not in a place where showing weakness was as good as painting a target on your back. but you were alone, or so you thought, and it had been too much to keep inside.

then you heard the door creak open. you immediately wiped your face, hurriedly trying to compose yourself, when you heard his voice.

"didn’t expect to find you here," peter’s voice was low, casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. you assumed it was taunting.

your first instinct was defensiveness. after years of being taught to hate him, after years of believing he was nothing but cruel and self-serving, you bristled at his presence. you had no idea why he was here, and the last thing you needed was to deal with peter hayes right now.

“go away, peter,” you muttered, not even bothering to look up at him. your voice came out more bitter than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. it was habit. you’d spent years convincing yourself that he was the last person you could rely on. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

for a moment, he didn’t say anything. you expected him to leave—maybe with a sharp remark, something that would sting, something that would remind you exactly who he was and why you should stay far away from him. but he didn’t. instead, you felt him sit down beside you, close enough for his presence to be known but not close enough to make you uncomfortable.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t tease or push. he just sat there, quiet, waiting.

you didn’t want to give in. you didn’t want to let your guard down around him, of all people. but the longer he stayed, the harder it became to keep your defenses up. the weight of the day, the exhaustion, and the relentless pressure of everything finally caught up with you. you couldn’t hold back anymore.

before you even realized what was happening, you leaned against him. your body moved on instinct, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, the sobs breaking free as the tears fell hot and heavy.

to your surprise, peter didn’t pull away. he didn’t make a comment or a joke at your expense. instead, his arm came up, hesitating for just a second before wrapping around you. his grip was firm, and he pulled you in close—just enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours. he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to pry or ask questions. he just stayed there, silent and steady, letting you cry.

it wasn’t what you expected. peter was supposed to be cruel, detached, distant. but in that moment, none of that mattered. he was just there, holding you together when you felt like everything else was falling apart.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your body trembling from the release of everything you’d been holding inside. but eventually, the sobs began to subside, and you found yourself breathing a little easier, the storm inside you starting to calm.

you pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes still red and swollen from crying. “why do you do this?” you asked, your voice small and hoarse from the tears. you genuinely didn’t understand. “why do you… why are you here?”

peter’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something raw, something unguarded in his gaze. then, with a small, almost playful smirk, he shrugged. “don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. “you know i love you.”

the words were so simple, so casually said, that they took you by surprise. but there was no sarcasm in his tone, no bite to his words. he was sincere, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear as if the words were meant to be a secret shared only between the two of you. then, with a sudden rush of either reckless confidence or desperate longing, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss just behind your ear. the tenderness of it sent a shiver down your spine. “let me be here,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, though it carried a note of quiet vulnerability. he was trying to convey reassurance, but the raw emotion in his voice felt closer to a quiet, earnest plea. 

christina said that that was when you started staring. 

you’d seen a side of him you never thought to imagine and you craved for more. but he was peter hayes. he wasn’t supposed to feel anything. not for you, not for anyone. he tried to convince himself that as well as he savoured the feeling of your soft skin on his lips. yet, there he was, aching for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for. something that made his heart race every time you was near, something that made him want to push you away and pull you closer all at once. your love.

he turned to you then, his hand brushing yours just barely, but it was enough to make his pulse quicken. you locked eyes, and for a second, and suddenly everything else that happened outside of the bathrooms faded away. he could feel your heartbeat in the air between you, the way your breath hitched, the way you wanted him to say something, anything. but he couldn’t. not yet. so he just sat there, his lips twitching into a smirk, masking everything he wasn’t ready to say.

christina’s expression shifted to one of knowing amusement, her eyebrow arching in a way that made it clear she wasn’t buying your story. "yeah, and yet here you are, still thinking about him. denial is just another form of obsession, you know."

"i am not obsessed," you snapped, a little too loudly. you tried to sound more forceful than you felt. but even to your own ears, the argument wore thin. the truth was, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, peter had managed to engrave himself into your thoughts, lingering at the edge of your consciousness like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch.

christina’s hand landed on your shoulder, the gesture both comforting and teasing. her eyes held a mix of sympathy and amusement, as if she could see right through your carefully constructed facade. "sure, keep telling yourself that," she said, her tone light but tinged with a gentle sincerity. "but pretending isn’t the same as believing."

you didn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on your hands, which were twisting nervously in your lap. christina wasn’t wrong. the tension between you and peter was undeniable, a magnetic force that seemed to vibrate with an intensity everyone could feel when the two of you were near. 

glancing back at peter, you found him still observing you from across the pit. his gaze cut through the chaotic swirl of faces and noise, landing squarely on you with an intensity that felt almost tangible. it wasn’t just a casual glance; it was as if he was deeply engrossed, his eyes soft and thoughtful, carrying an unmistakable trace of what you dared call admiration. the smirk was gone now, replaced by an expression that seemed to reveal more than he usually let on—a look that made your heart flutter against your will. 

you shifted uncomfortably, unable to shake the feeling that his gaze was dissecting every fragment of your carefully guarded emotions. in that moment, the air between you felt charged, filled with something unspoken that neither of you were ready to confront. and even as you tried to look away, his eyes seemed to follow, holding a soft, thoughtful reverence that you found both disconcerting and oddly comforting.

you reminded yourself that, no matter how warm you felt under his gaze or how infatuated you were with him, peter was still peter—the same boy who had mocked your family’s dedication to order and laughed at others’ missteps under the guise of “honesty.” his usual sarcasm and cruelty were just parts of his carefully constructed facade, a shield designed to guard against any real vulnerability.

but the way he treated you was different now in dauntless. there was always a softness in his gaze, a subtle consideration that contrasted with his usual demeanor. it made you question if beneath his cold exterior, there was a part of him that genuinely cared, revealing a side of him that was far less indifferent than he let on. it made you wonder if he wasn’t as cold as he wanted everyone to believe.

regardless, you knew you would never, in every sense of the word, let yourself fall for peter hayes. he was supposed to be a horrible person.

… but on one particularly exhausting night, after another grueling day of training, you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find any solace in sleep. the unfamiliarity of dauntless gnawed at you, and the weight of leaving candor behind seemed to grow heavier with each passing hour. not that you’d ever blatantly admit it, but the new environment was overwhelming. despite your best efforts to adapt, the relentless pressure was starting to crack your composure.

in the dead of night, you awoke with a start, your heart pounding and a deep sense of unease settling over you. you stumbled out of bed, the darkness amplifying your anxiety as you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of dauntless. just as the silence seemed to stretch endlessly, a soft knock broke the stillness, echoing against the cold concrete walls. there, at the end of the hall, stood peter. he stood as tall as ever, but his touch was unexpectedly gentle. his hand brushed lightly against the small of your back, pulling you a bit closer, and the warmth of his skin contrasted sharply with the chill of the night air. 

though your eyes were still heavy with sleep, you could see the rare softness in his gaze, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. “hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and raspy, but surprisingly soothing. “you okay?”

“just can’t sleep,” you mumbled, rubbing your tired eyes. you could’ve been meaner, you could’ve tried harder to push him away but you convinced yourself you were too tired to. 

even you knew you were lying. 

without a word, he guided you back to the rooms, his hand resting steady and reassuring on your waist. the warmth of his calloused skin against your arm was comforting, sending a shiver through you. your heart ached to lean more of your weight against him, to feel the full press of his body against yours. each touch felt intensely intimate, grounding you in a way that made your heart race. his calm presence was a soothing contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of dauntless.

as he guided you back to the room, his touch so comforting and warm, memories from your younger years resurfaced.

you recalled how, even then, there was a strange tenderness in the way he interacted with you, though he never showed the same kindness towards others. peter was always rough with the other kids, his teasing and taunting often crossing the line into childish cruelty. 

your mother had noticed, warning you to stay away from him, claiming he was a bad influence. she saw the way he bullied others and feared that his harshness would rub off on you. so, you had learned to hate him, to see only his rough edges and disregard his rare moments of gentleness. now, feeling his warmth and seeing the softness in his eyes, those old judgments felt shaky and uncertain. It must’ve been a trick—a game he was playing. but in that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care, revelling in the way his skin brushed against yours.

as he helped you settle back under the covers, his touch was deliberate and achingly tender, causing a warm flush to spread through you. you wondered how you managed to muster enough hate to stay far enough away from him. the brush of his fingers against your skin, as he tucked the blankets around you, felt both intimate and possessive, sending a shiver of through your body. each contact, from his fingertips grazing your arm to his palm pressing gently on your shoulder, was charged with a longing intensity.

“you need to rest,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, nearly a whisper. his gaze lingered on you with a softness that was rare for him. before he turned to leave, he gently swept a few stray strands of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “it’s okay to be overwhelmed, sweetheart. we all are.”

you looked up at him, the tenderness of his touch and the care in his eyes sending a rush of warmth through you that made you slightly breathless. his eyes, usually so sharp, were softened by a rare, gentle affection that made your heart flutter. “thanks, peter. you didn’t have to.”

“yeah? well, i did,” he said, a crooked smile playing at his lips, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. he held your hand in his and refused to let go, like he wasn’t ready to leave. you didn't want him to leave. “deal with it.” his voice was smooth, his tone almost too casual, as if the closeness was natural. as if he wasn’t acting completely out of character. his hand remained lingering by your jaw a moment longer than necessary, his touch longing like a secret between you.

you remembered early in high school, when peter had asked you out to the dance and confessed his feelings, saying he loved you. without hesitation, you’d turned him down, following your mother’s wishes. even then, he didn’t seem upset. instead, he simply promised that you’d end up loving him one day.

at the time, you didn't believe him, dismissing his words as just another piece of the game he constantly played. now, as you felt the warmth of his touch and the gentle care he’d shown, you couldn’t ignore the echoes of that past moment. you were falling for him. despite everything, you were falling for him. 

and after all that time, he was right.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tired, and raspy, but caring. it summoned butterflies to your stomach. he said it like you were the only girl in the world. suddenly, you felt like you were in middle school again, getting flustered over a boy. your mother would be so disappointed.

“I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it,” you said, though your eyes betrayed you as they stayed locked with him. out of a force of habit you continued, “don’t wanna talk to you.” you didn’t mean it, of course.

he let out a tired, amused laugh before bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss in the palm of your hand. you melted. “i love you anyway.”

threw 3.5k words on a tumblr post and called it a fanfic </3

[purplekissinger]

I am the pretty thing that lives in the castle

And I pray one prayer - I repeat it till my tongue stiffens - Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you - haunt me, then!  Emily Bronte, ‘Wuthering Heights’.

Y/N became a ghost instead of Myrtle. She couldn't care less about Tom. He wishes he could say the same. Wordcount: 3k.

At their first meeting, Tom even shrieked a little (as he later justified, solely because Y/N took him by surprise). He crept towards the sinks that bathed in the bluish light of the moon, and did not at all expect that someone would jump at him from the ceiling with a  “Boo!”

“Boo,” Y/N said reluctantly and passed through him like a light bluish cloud. Tom closed his eyes, but didn’t feel anything.

“Good evening to you too,” he said, looking at her cautiously. Y/N floated up to the ceiling and was now studying the stucco, running her ghostly finger absentmindedly over the frozen gargoyle masks. “What's new?”

“As you may guess, absolutely nothing,” Y/N responded, “but I like that you’re trying to be polite. It's nice.”

“Do you feel ‘nice’?”

“Not really. I'm using words that I learned in life, but they don't quite describe my experience because I've never experienced anything like this before. I'd rather you be polite than rude, and that's my new “nice.”

Tom looked at her, a luminous spot against the black wall, which trembled slightly, like the wings of a strange butterfly. Y/N died wearing a thin shirt, but there was no longer any way she could be cold or get sick.

“If I didn’t know you were a Ravenclaw, I would have guessed by now,” he said.

“I was different when I was alive,” Y/N said judiciously. “More lively”

“You sure were”.

“No, I mean it. I can't explain it enough for you to understand, but this experience is...changing. Everything becomes so transparent, unreal. If I were the same, I would have already cried barrels of tears and flooded the toilet”.

“There is someone who is eager to do that for you,” Tom said gloomily. “Myrtle has been whining all day long, telling everyone what a wonderful friend you were.”

“Me?”  Y/N sounded surprised. “I can’t remember that we were friends. However, I did stand up for her a couple of times…”

Tom kept silent a little longer, angrily tapping his fingers on the broken edge of the sink. When falling, already dead, Y/N hit her head here. They didn't fix the sink, instead, they put a lock on the toilet door, but Tom sneaked in almost every evening.

“Is that why you’re not angry at me for killing you?” he finally asked.

“Well, technically you didn’t kill me. You just released a basilisk, which also didn't do anything against its nature, so it's kind of like an accident. Although I can understand why you didn’t tell anyone about it all,” Y/N said. “No, that’s not the reason why”.

“You are very understanding,” said Tom. “Is it okay if I stay here a little longer? I need to prepare an essay on the history of magic, and tomorrow is the final match between the badgers and Slytherin. All of Hogwarts is shaking”.

“Make yourself at home,” Y/N said indifferently.

She went down to the Chamber of Secrets with him when the time came to seal it. Hovering silently two steps behind him, she looked at the tunnels and rusty gratings that were many, many centuries old, and for the first time something like curiosity was reflected on her transparent face. For some reason this made Tom feel almost happy. Y/N’s curiosity became almost human when, rustling its scales, a huge snake slowly crawled out of the black hole in the wall and surrounded them with a ring, and put its terrible head so as to get a better look at the guests, and hissed in greeting.

“I've read that those who speak Parseltongue can look a basilisk in the eyes and survive,” said Tom, looking down, “but I don’t want to test that.”

Y/N  looked fearlessly with her dead eyes straight into the face of the creature.

“Yes, the cost of a mistake would be very high,” she said. “What is your pet's name?”

“Susie,” Tom said quietly. “It's a girl”.

Y/N smiled weakly.

“Hello, Susie,” she said. Susie let out a squeal that sounded more like a laugh. “Nice to meet you. Unfortunately, this is not for long, because we have come to seal the Chamber of Secrets forever.”

“For a while,” Tom corrected her. “Susie, I'll be back, I promise. I don't know when, but I'll be back”.

He closed his eyes and stretched his hands forward. The basilisk poked its terrible mouth into his chest, and Tom hugged her. 

***

When Tom returned to school the next year, no one noticed anything, and he even began to think that the ritual did not work, but as soon as he crossed the threshold of the toilet on the third floor, a quiet exclamation was heard from under the ceiling:

“Oh! Tom, what happened to you?”

Like a feather or a petal, Y/N slowly descended towards him. Tom looked at her and thought that flying suited her well.

“Is it that noticeable?” he asked suspiciously.

“You have become very small,” Y/N said, flying around him. “Like this,” and made a small circle with her hands. “Where did half of you go?”.

This is how he learned that ghosts see the effects of Horcruxes.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised. “Who was it?”

And Tom told her. About everything, about how he found out who the Gaunts were, about how he found his uncle, about the Riddles, about how scary it was to look at his father’s corpse, because he was so very alike him, about how he made a Horcrux right there while the bodies were still warm. It was easy for him, he wanted to talk, to free himself from every detail, take it out of his head, let Y/N look, discuss, judge.

She was in no hurry to judge. She just said:

“This could backfire on you.”

“How?” Tom suddenly felt offended. He just now realized that he would like her to admire what a cool magician he is, and maybe even clap her hands.

“I know more than you,” she said vaguely. “Not everything, perhaps, but more. Yes, I’m still on the threshold, but from where I’m standing, it’s clear that you acted very rashly.”

“What do you mean by ‘still’?"

She didn't answer.

All autumn, winter and summer he went to visit Y/N, even leaving textbooks in a niche by the window. It was quiet and somehow very cozy there, the light from the window was so gentle, and on sunny days the stained glass windows seemed to light up with colored lights. Y/N was silent for the most part, but seeing her figure out of the corner of his eye and hearing her thoughtful humming under her breath was... nice. This was his new “nice”, because something inside of him began to change inexplicably, irreversibly and horribly.

In winter, he asked her to come to the Yule Ball, and she agreed, and she blew out all the candles and ruined the chandelier. Oh, the chaos!.. And in the spring they celebrated Y/N’s first Deathday Party. For this occasion Tom stole a lemon pie from the kitchen, but Y/N politely thanked him and said that she couldn’t eat that. She fluttered back and forth, he chewed on the pie, they argued about the technique of using Fiendfyre, and it was a nice evening.

“I won’t come back here in the fall,” Tom said suddenly, because in fact that’s all he’s been thinking about for the last few days.

“I know,” Y/N said. “You are in seventh year. I can count to seven”.

“But I’ll come back someday,” he said stubbornly. “I just don’t know when”.

“I think I’ve already heard this once”.

“I’ll come back for Susie too, don’t you worry.”

“And what will we do then, riddle me this?”

“Seize the Ministry of Magic,” he blurted out. “Y/N, I'll miss you. Will you miss me?”

“I would like to tell you something nice in response, but I’ll tell the truth. Maybe I won't be here soon.”

He suddenly felt very hot. Then terribly cold.

“What do you mean you won’t be here? Where are you going to go?” Tom asked in an unnaturally high voice. “Aren’t you here forever?”

“Not really,” Y/N answered evasively. “You see, when I died, I was not at all ready for this”.

“Can anyone possibly be ready for this?”

“You must be ready, Tom. Now I know that. I was confused and made... the wrong choice. Stuck on the threshold. Didn't go any further. But I can step forward at any moment, I just need to think it over carefully and make a decision”.

“Can’t you step back?” Tom asked. He did not put hope into these words, but it sounded nevertheless.

“No,” Y/N answered simply. “I died, Tom”.

He rested his hand on his cheek and watched her spin, arms outstretched, right up to the ceiling, the invisible wind blowing her hair. He said:

“I regret that I didn’t know you when you were alive. I think we could become friends.”

“We could,” Y/N agreed. “But for this to happen you shouldn’t have killed me”.

Tom jumped up sharply and, his burning face hid in his hands, quickly walked out of the room. The door slammed so loudly that the noise echoed throughout the entire corridor.

***

Tom did not soon cross this threshold again.

He walked from Dumbledore's office after the first unsuccessful job interview in his life, he wanted to get out of the castle as quickly as possible so as not to endure this humiliation anymore, but his feet themselves led him to the third floor.

“You have become even smaller,” said a familiar voice, which he had only dreamed about in the morning. Loud, distant, but somehow comforting. “You're barely visible”.

Tom was silent. He looked and still did not believe that he was seeing her again. Finally he grinned and stepped forward.

“But you’re still the same,” he said.

“The same, but not quite,” Y/N objected, going down to meet him. “I thought a lot and almost decided to take a step further”.

“But not yet?”

“Not yet. This is a complex process, and it doesn't get any easier now that I have all the time in the world”.

“What exactly are you doing?” Tom asked, leaning against the wall. A forgotten feeling of comfort covered him in a cool wave. He felt like he wanted to stay.

“I’m thinking,” Y/N said. “A lot”.

“Don’t you need to, I don’t know, take revenge on your murderer?” he asked and realized that it sounded like a request. Lord Voldemort had a lot of requests that day.

“No, thanks,” said Y/N. She looked him up and down with a curious look and added: “It seems to me that there’s not much left of him anyway.”

Tom tiredly sank to the floor and tucked his legs under him. He wanted to talk to her again and again, so that she would answer sharply, but always to the point. He wanted her to scream at him, to rush to claw his eyes out, he wanted her to thirst for revenge.

“I sometimes saw you in my dreams,” he said. “Like we’re friends or something.”

“I have nothing to do with this,” Y/N said. “Have you made any living friends over the years?”

“Wait for me,” Lord Voldemort said without listening to her. He wanted it to sound like an order, but it turned out to be the third request.  “Y/N, I figured out how to defeat death.”

“Sure you did”.

“I am not lying. I really fought it all this time and almost won”.

“I wish you would know how stupid you look now.”

“Are you going to listen or not?! I tell you, wait, I will bring you back, I will fix everything, you will be alive again, I will get you out…”

“Promise?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Lord Voldemort's promise?”

She smiled. Unable to look at her, Tom stormed out.

***

The third time he returned to the castle was on May 2, 1998. He walked along the empty corridors of the third floor, and his steps echoed loudly. He was going to congratulate Y/N on her yet another Deathday. In his hands was not a lemon pie, but an Elder Wand.

The door to the girls' toilet was blown off its hinges by the explosion. He crossed the threshold and saw that the stained glass windows were broken, and golden dawn rays were pouring into the room. For a second it seemed to him that the place was empty, that he was late.

“Oh, Merlin!” a familiar laugh rang out. “What's happened to you, Tom? You have become so very small, smaller than a mouse!”

She came down from the ceiling as before, but for the first time he saw her in the pink rays of the sun, and she seemed almost alive. For the first time he saw her almost alive.

“Come with me, Y/N”, he said softly. His hand trembled a little, grasping his wand. “I will bring you back to life. I will give you back everything and  even more. Soon I will have the Resurrection Stone, and you will live again”.

She laughed even louder, twirled as if in a dance, and he felt uneasy.

“Stupid, stupid Tom,” Y/N said. “Still don’t get this, do you? Everyone gets smarter over the years, but you seem to only get dumber”.

And no Avada Kedavra could shut her up.

“But I'm glad you came. Really, I am. I wanted to say goodbye to you, Tom. I'm finally making that step”.

“No,” Lord Voldemort said in a changed voice. “Don’t. Don’t you dare”.

“Or else what?”

“Don't do this”, when was the last time he begged for something, pleaded? Was it with her?! “Stay. Stay, Y/N. I told you, I'll bring you back!”

“You forgot the magic word”. Y/N giggled. She sank to the floor and looked at him cheerfully and seriously at the same time. “I feel sorry for you, Tom”.

He had heard it once before, but coming from her it sounded and felt like “Crucio.”

“I have to go, really. There's no time to chat. I’ll tell you one more thing. Soon you will be offered a choice one last time, so please, please, don’t be stubborn. Can you do this for me?”

Tom looked at her desperately, afraid to blink, and still missed the moment when Y/N melted into the air.

***

The empty platform shines white, as if it were covered with snow. There are no trains here. No people, too. The bench blackens on the platform like a wound. A faint whimper came from under the bench.

A girl is walking along the platform.

She is wearing a thin shirt, but there is no way that she could be cold. The blue tie is fluttering in the invisible wind. She hurries to the bench, bends down, carefully takes out the bundle of robes from there, and opens it, and smiles a little and carefully presses it to her chest.

[thesunshinebunny]

Hey, can you do TWST form leaders crushing on/having a s/o with fairy wings please? (Fem or Gender Neutral)

Yes, yes, yes, I know, I'm super late. A lot of things happened and a lot more is still happening, but finally…FINALLY, I'm writing for you again. I hope that, after so much time, this hc is to your liking. Have a nice night.

Riddle

Throughout his childhood, Riddle didn't have the chance to meet many people, much less people with animal features Meeting Chanyan and being in Night Raven for two years, his perspective on human features changed completely.

And at no time did anything racist cross his mind.

Even so, seeing you in your ceremonial robe, with large holes in the back, instead of the hood and pants that he was so used to seeing, was a complete surprise.

If by chance you were to be chosen for Heartslabyul, Riddle would personally take care of arranging your room to your needs, including your uniform. Unfortunately it wast'n the case, for you being sent to Ramshackle, but that virtue of yours wouldn't be monopolized by dust and dirt.

Your visits to his dorm never go unnoticed. The sunlight coming into contact with your wings always creates a beautiful rainbow, even light effects, on the walls or around you.

It's like you have a multi-colored halo following you around wherever you go.

The animals also, for some reason, love to be on your lap. Your sensitive hands, your wings moving in the air, coiled in warm sunlight…

Riddle was fascinated.

You really did look like a fairy… a beautiful garden fairy, straight out of a fairy tale.

And then we can see Riddle's heart start to beat even faster, making his cheeks blush in the process.

Leona

A person with animal features…what a suprise. Although it was unusual to find someone with wings instead of ears and a tail; he also assumed that you were one of that species of bird.

It wasn't until he saw you in the botanical garden, next to a small fountain, surrounded by multiple flowers and plants, that he could see your wings more closely.

They had no feathers, they were transparent.

Anyway… an anomaly or something like that. Nothing that would prevent him from taking his daily nap.

But that was the problem, he couldn't, since the light that filtered through the glass of the botanical garden made your wings radiate and reflected those same rays, causing some to hit his eyes.

It wasn't until he opened his eyes furiously that Leona saw a multicolored aura on your back, accompanied by small flashes of light, as if it were stardust.

“An angel"... was what escaped from his lips, agape, seeing you turn towards him, letting your hair delicately run along the profile of your neck, and a smile formed on your face to greet him.

Leona from now on likes to take his naps with you, allowing himself to be lulled by your non-stop chatter about your land, while he watches your wings flutter delicately, even fragilely.

He is extremely protective of you, not allowing you to visit his dorm since he doesn't trust the strength, or in this case, kindness of his dorm mates… It isn't a dorm that is characterized by being precisely gentle and soft in its touch.

But Leona is. And he loves to feel and run through the multiple bifurcations that your wings have on the tips of his fingers. He loves to feel the small breeze the small movement of your wings generates when you are resting.

And above all, he loves to see your wings relaxed on your bare back first thing in the morning.

Azul

What a beautiful and peculiar sight, something new to investigate. Even manipulate. It's not every day you see a fairy at school.

Let's agree that Azul was one of the few people who remembered that Malleus was half fairy, and that… after countless failed attempts to ask and experience his race, your figure appearing through the doors of the Monstro Lounge was like a sign directly from heaven.

Obviously you weren't there for Azul, no. You had entered simply and plainly to see the multiple aquatic creatures that had been mentioned to you on the surface, but you were unable to see them from so close. So, what better place to have an excursion to the sea than the very dorm that housed those very creatures.

Azul, seeing he was being ignored over a common fish, was about to kick you out of the lounge, with the excuse of “no drink, no show”

And he was close, ohhh, he was so close…but when his eyes saw your transparent wings and the way the water distorted even more over them, how your wings generated small rays of sunlight that created paths for the fish and other creatures…he was simply enchanted.

VIP access for the rest of the year.

Azul is always inventing some excuses to go see you. “I brought you a potions book, maybe they will help you for the next exam.” “Jade baked a couple of cookies and asked me to bring them to you.” “I saw you liked a creature from our fish tank, so I brought it to you in a medium-sized one so you can admire it as long as you want.”

“I want to draw your wings” It wasn't the excuse he had planned for this day. His mouth betrayed him when he saw you in a dress characteristic of your lands. You looked so… beautiful.

“Sure, let me open the window to let in some light and sit on the couch.”

He nearly had a heart attack when you sat so delicately on the tangled couch, your ensemble lighting up the whole room.

Gods, Azul was in love with that light you emanated.

Kalim

“When you fly, do you loose fairy dust?” was the first thing Kalim said when he saw you in the ceremonial robe in front of the mirror.

He was ready to take you to Scarabia immediately and leave you under the sun to admire those huge, shiny wings. His disappointment was no less when he heard you're going to Ramshackle.

But that didn't stop him from visiting you, he even spent hours in your dorm next to you, admiring and tracing lines on your wings, tickling you and laughing under your breath.

One day Jamil had to come and take him out by the ears since he was neglecting his duty as dorm leader.

Kalim walked out the door with a face of a wet dog, he even almost started crying. Being away from your wings, from you, broke his heart.

He always found a way to sit next to you in class, he even went into classes that didn't apply to him, just to see you. And obviously he got a hard time from the teachers.

One night, Kalim invited you to a party at his dorm, preparing a grand banquet, a grand decoration, asking his dorm mates to wear their best robes.

And speaking of clothes, Kalim even prepared a change of clothes for you, if you were comfortable with that, obviously. He wasn't going to force you to wear something you felt uncomfortable or unpleasant in.

His face lit up when you told him it was no problem, that you loved to wear multiple and colorful clothes. The bigger your closet, the better.

And his face lit up even more when he saw you descending the stairs in his traditional red and white hindu outfit, adorned with the finest rubies and gold medallions. A bit ostentatious for your taste, but of an exquisite and soft finesse.

But the greatest ornament you wore was not the jewelry, nor the small and half headband that circled from the middle of your forehead back; but your smile. That ear-to-ear smile that he loved to admire so much.

The intention of the evening was to get you dancing, to make you spin to the tune of cheerful music, even to chat for hours. But Kalim was only interested in one thing. And that was the way the starting of your wings was delicately embraced by the soft fabric of the sari.

Vil

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the most beautiful creature in the school?”

It was no surprise for Vil to see his reflection on his huge magic mirror, he was still the most beautiful person in the school…but he was disappointed to know that the same mirror had ignored his question. He didn’t ask about person, but about creature.

Now, don’t get me wrong, your own being was that of a person of flesh and blood, but your structure had a beastly part…like the Savannahclaw motto.

Vil was disappointed not to see your image in the mirror’s reflection.

Yes, Vil was enchanted by the beauty and brightness that characterized fairies, features he had never seen, and that you, who possessed the brightest and most beautiful wings that he had seen in his short life, were in this school specifically for villains…well, it was an opportunity he wasn't going to waste.

Whenever he could, he left his duties as dorm leader to see your profile in the corridors or sitting in the gardens. He admired the silhouette of your back, perfectly upright to support the weight of the wings, although to the naked eye, they gave the sensation of being made of paper, breakable and fragile paper.

Vil fantasized day and night being able to touch them, feel them with the tips of his fingers. He wished with a fierce intensity to be the owner of the laughter and small sounds that would surely be caused by the caresses he oh so deliciously wanted to give you. So much desire happened, without warning.

And from that day on, Vil only had eyes for you, for your figure, for your eyes, for your smile, for your light.

Yes, Vil was initially obsessed with the beauty of your fairy side, but now, deeper in their relationship, Vil was in love with your own beauty.

The way your back curved to change your top garment, the way your hair seemed like a continuation of those transparent wings. The way your figure fit so well with his when taking pictures, as your smile was the most striking thing in the shot.

The way the violet color reflected on the bifurcations of your wings and when the morning light hit them, it generated a beautiful and delicate violet ray.

Vil had never loved the uniform's violet color so much until you tried it on and wished with all his inner fire that you had been assigned to Pomefiore.

Idia

He saw you in flying class, without a broom, and yet you were flying with a grace that even the best flying wizard had.

And not to mention the little sparkles that floated around you as your wings fluttered. He was so mesmerized that he almost knocked over a tree.

Despite his reserved nature, Idia was irresistibly drawn to you. There was something about the way your wings unfolded, as if they were an extension of your own essence, that aroused in him a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

One day, after a long period of observation from a distance, which lasted for months, Idia decided to make an effort to get closer. He decided to approach the botanical garden, your little space of rest and relaxation to start a first conversation. Finding you lying on the grass, with your back to him, Idia couldn't help but blush.

There was something about the combination of natural elements and magic that felt like an extension of your personal charm. He blushed so much that he had to close his eyes to calm his poor, mortal heart, which was pounding like it was about to burst out of his chest.

Then he opened them again, you were floating above him, head down, letting your hair float in a strange way and your eyes were at the same height as his.

Idia realized that there was something more than fascination in his heart. Every time you laughed or moved your wings, he felt a spark in his chest, a warmth that couldn't be explained only by his fascination to that same sparkle your own wings gave off. It was something deeper, something that had slowly begun to blossom inside him.

From that day on, Idia began to look for excuses to spend time by your side, not only in the gardens, but also in the most common corners of the school.

He looked for you at your dorm, he took you to his. You showed him how wonderful nature could be on your lap, he showed you how peaceful time could be in a glimpse of the underworld.

Even at your side, he could feel like an eternal spring was lodged in his heart, waiting to receive the rays of your smile every day.

Malleus

Malleus, seeing you for the first time, a new student with fairy wings, someone of his own race, was captivated not only by your ethereal beauty, but also by the sense of ancient magic that emanated from you. To him, those wings represented a connection to the ancient myths, legends, and cultures he had studied so much for centuries.

Every time he saw you running through the grey halls of the school, his heart beat with a mix of intrigue and admiration, an unusual curiosity he had never felt before.

Malleus began leaving small gifts in the garden. Enchanted flowers and jewels that seemed to resonate with a soft glow, as if they were meant to be worn by you.

He felt an enormous sense of protection towards you. He saw you as tiny, fragile. He always made sure, from a distance, that you were safe. Even if it earned a reprimand from Lilia “you seem like a pretty shady stalker”

In your presence he often found himself in a state of silent admiration, caught up in the contemplation of your elegance and natural magic.

Malleus took any opportunity to be near you, even in everyday situations like walks around campus or visits to the library. Just being by your side was more than enough to melt his heart of stone.

Sometimes, at night and with the brightness of the stars as the only things present, Malleus surprised you with little surprises: an enchanted melody that only you could hear or a series of handwritten notes, full of sincere and tender confessions. A real Don Juan.

It wasn’t until the evening of a school festival that Malleus gathered the courage to ask for your hand…for a dance together under the moonlight. And dance, you danced, until the music stopped, until all you could hear were their moderately agitated breathing, until the light of dawn began to shine and welcome a new day.

Both of you danced until a bright, multi-colored aura surrounded you.

[o0cosmic-whorror0o]

Old, perverted eldritch horror creepily leers at, gropes, and then tentacles petite, unconscious angel. {18+} They/He eldritch nightmare, He/Him angelic ingenu. The term 'boy' is used to refer to the angel, but he is an adult. The story is from the Olde One's perspective, and they are many thousands of years old, so they think of him with words denoting youth, as he himself is only one or two centuries old. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Doll Maker ebbed out from under the bed like pooling ink, swirling, shadowy tendrils slithering up over the sheets as their form solidified to loom over the bed, peering down at their sleeping groom.

The boy’s pale pink hair fell all around him, framing his petite figure, which was wrapped in sumptuous silks so fine they were transparent, and his smooth chest rose and fell in a rhythmic, but almost laboriously intense pattern which quickly captured the Doll Maker’s leering gaze. Through the silk of Prince Edward’s nightgown, the Doll Maker could see the light fluttering of the long lashes on the closed eyelids of all six eyes on Edward’s chest as they tickled the paper-white skin, which was currently graced around the delicate collarbones by a tinge of rosy pink. The Doll Maker carefully hooked a claw under one of the sleeves of the nightgown and dragged it down a bit so that he could trace his fingers over his slumbering prize’s collarbones, and the boy shuddered in his sleep at the Doll Maker’s touch. They moved their eyes up along his modestly covered throat, fantasizing briefly of the wedding night, when they would finally be able to peel that covering away and smother his neck with kisses and bite him until it would surely be unbearable to put the covering back on for a day or three, then further to his pink little mouth.

It occurred to them that the thoughts they so relished of defiling his virginal throat both externally with their teeth and internally with other things were rather disgraceful, and they exhaled in repulsion for the bubbling shame that was tainting their enjoyment of this otherwise deeply satisfying moment.

For thousands of years, they had continued to drag themself through miserable existence across an increasingly less and less vast seeming cosmos on the distant, glimmering promise of this one, perfect toy, and now that he was theirs, they couldn’t help but feel sick at their own urges and the decisions that had led them to this moment and created a being like Prince Edward Roosevelt Jekyll III, Coveted third Sun of the Lost City of Carcosa. What loathsome degenerate could possibly exploit a singular opportunity to bend the cosmos to their whims to have a PERSON tailored to their desires? And for the result to be -

But that was unthinkable. They were beyond even Everything and Nothing. Gods were like fat spiders to them, and regular people barely even flies in magnitude, but it was unthinkable. Edward was perfect, sacred, and incapable of disappointing in their eyes. Any temptation to infer what it might say about them that the exact incarnation of their yearning, capable of satisfying all of their emotional, physical, and visual wants better than anything they could even imagine on their own looked and behaved the way Edward did, and that he had such alarming life experiences to shape him to be so exact was to be indulged later, and there were no harsh words justifiable to describe him with. Ever.

He was so exquisite in his unconscious state that it made their chest ache. They hadn’t felt so connected to this person-shaped flesh-vessel they maneuvered around the world of actual people that they could experience sensations so viscerally in so long that most continents in their world of origin were arranged differently, or had been entirely subsumed by the sea, since last it had occurred.

They melted half-literally over Edward and let their hands wander indulgently over his slim waist, marvelously wide hips, and thighs, squeezing handfuls of tender flesh lightly and nuzzling his cheek without removing their mask. As he had taken medicine to induce this sleep, it was heavy, and he did not wake, though he did moan and whine softly in a way between fear and pleasure, and his breathing became still harder. “Perfect~ Perfect~ Oh, my sweet, so perfect~ I am anew each time I see you. I had gotten so very old waiting, so very tired, hopeless, but you fill me with energy, joy, and warmth each time you are in my presence, you blessed little thing!” they uttered against the silky feathers of Edward’s headwings.

They couldn’t resist, and they knew he wouldn’t mind when he found out. He was their special toy, made just for them, after all. Thin tendrils of shadow wriggled up over the sheets in the same fashion the rest of their form had, and the Doll Maker pulled the obstructing fabric off of their cherished plaything, granting the slimy appendages a freedom which they swiftly abused, worming their way into the prince’s nightgown through all available openings to coat him in their glistening ink as they caressed him. They started as slowly as they could bear to, letting their disembodied tentacles rub against his chest and thighs and wrapping more of them around all six of the white feathered wings on his back, staining the feathers as they did. They twitched, and so did most of their disembodied appendages. He was so warm all over, and he looked so innocent. They wanted to squeeze him until he was all bruises, and force some of their tentacles into him so deeply they would pierce all the way through to the other end, even to snap those luxurious wings of his one by one and to hear what lurid noises he would surely make, but they knew they could not damage him like that right now, not until he was awake and able to prepare for it. They had to leave no marks that would linger past early morning, and that made them hiss in frustration.

The tendrils wrapped around Edward’s thighs, squeezing a bit aggressively, and moving up to slip beneath his panties. The boy whimpered again, and this melted the Doll Maker’s heart, so they loosened their grip on his poor legs a tad. He was already covered in dark ooze, the sight one the Doll Maker saw often, but would never tire of. As they admired the way his skin turned faintly pinker and noticeably heated up in reaction to the ooze, they pulled the drawstrings on his panties undone, and passed a small knife to one of the tentacles, which ran the edge over the smooth skin between their groom’s legs until it found the most tender, yielding spot. It paused for another moment so that one of the other tendrils could rub itself against the coveted space between the supple thighs and enjoy the feeling of his pulse through it, before sinking the blade inside, a rush of hot ichor following as it was withdrawn. They pressed the tips of two tentacles against this fresh, slick entrance with a reverent greed, forcing both inside, one after the other, slowly enough to drive them up a wall for their groom’s sake. No matter how much restraint it took, they could not have him awaken tearfully to find his innards properly ripped asunder.

Bit by agonizing bit, the tentacles sank deeper inside of the sleeping angel prince’s body, until at last, they pressed as far up into his core as they could. The things wiggled and writhed against his plush walls as they attempted to coil there so that they might draw more of themselves inside. He was tight to the point that it made it difficult, squeezing around the Doll Maker’s slippery appendages deliciously in a way that briefly made their eyes roll up as they ravished him. “Oh, my sweet boy~ So good, so pure and small, perhaps I should only ever touch you while you cannot know what is happening? Your innocence is indelible, but what a pretty notion, for you never to learn of or understand any of the things this old lecher you shall wed forces on that body,” they thought aloud, several more tentacles ensnaring Edward’s figure to pin his arms above him and massage at his divine hips. One started rubbing at the sticky mess of glossy, pink blood and squirming shadow between his legs, and managed to drive its way inside to join the other two, stretching him out so much that the bulge of the three brutal instruments could be seen in his midsection. This stirred him enough to try to turn over, panting, and making one last helpless whimper before giving up when he was unable to do so. He instinctually tried to spread his legs a tad wider, an impulse the Doll Maker obliged, guiding his legs farther apart and rewarding these subconscious efforts to alleviate the fullness the boy was struggling with by beginning to make the tentacles move in and out roughly, cramming them just a bit deeper inside than before and sliding two more between his rosy lips to defile his throat as well.

They knew they could not leave marks, but as the night progressed, their abuse became vigorous, forcefully and thoroughly fucking their prize’s dripping, inviting form into utter disarray for hours and hours, dragging him into every position practically imaginable and enjoying the debaucherous view from every angle. By the time they were finished, and they finally withdrew their last tentacle from him, he was bloated with their aphrodisiac fluids, and they healed his entrance closed before much of it had time to spill out so he would remain that way until he was next opened. They admired the view of their handiwork for a while, before taking his limp shape into their arms and carrying him off to bathe him.

They tended to him lovingly until he was all clean and dry, dressing him in something pretty and leaving him in a chair so that they could change his bedsheets, before tucking him back in.

They stroked his hair a bit, then sank back down beneath the bed to await the rising of the twin suns and, likewise, their good angel.

[infinityroom]

Seconding the thank you!! I hope everything goes well with your projects!

What was the plan for the second Grian?

Were there any characters you had planned to introduce that didn't appear yet?

Were the endermites ultimately good or bad or neither?

Is there an explanation of how the room worked or what it was or how it got there or was there anyone behind it intentionally etc?

Was there an ending planned and what was it?

I love this story, and the format is so cool, secrets hidden in transparent images and galactic to be translated, and I love your art style!! Even though it won't continue, I'm so glad I found this!!

I hope all goes well too! Thank you for following the story! I'm gonna try to make as much sense as possible, but i might end up rabling, I had many things planned. -Elytra Grian was the character you were influencing the most because he was alone with only you to interact with at the beginning. There was a pattern with the Grian's, since he always was the one to make the room there were always a few more of him running around (the reason why I compared him to fireflies in that post I once made comparing all the characters to mobs, there's many of him but you wouldn't see them in the bright light of the room). If he was alone his main goal would always be "find help and get out", if he was with someone his main goal would always be "I need to fix this, I need to get my friends out of here". You can see that way of thinking in our "main" Grian. But Elytra Grian, thanks to the interactions with the asks and then Tango, was gonna behave a lot more like a cornered animal at that point, he wouldn't trust help from anyone, he would only attempt to follow the endermite because it promised an exit.

In my endless attempt to make this a multimedia experience the next main interaction with Elytra Grian would have been a small game. (Let me take the chance to thank my beloved @redstone-sun for Grian's sprite, they are amazing and I love them dearly and I'm so sad you all weren't able to play with their beautiful sprite)

With the game format you would have been fully in Grian's pov instead of interacting with him, being able to fully understand the endermite. Grian would answer the asks questions and speak with the endermite, Cassiopea. (All the endermites are named btw, Tango named each one. The plot relevant ones are Missy, the ear one. Yellow, the one Mumbo has. and Cassiopea.) The game would have had a fixed ending because I was planning on recording gameplay of it for people who wouldn't be able to play it for any reason and I didn't want people to miss out on the main story, but there would have been extra hidden bits for people who could play. Stories Cassiopea could share about previous events in the room and interaction with another Grian, one that had been stuck in the room for so long he'd been left mostly invisible and not really remembering anything anymore (a firefly that you can't see in the light).

The game would have ended with Elytra Grian entering his "egg arc" I like to call it. But I got explain the endermites for that.

-The Endermites are not malicious, but they are creatures born inside the room and become parasites to it to survive. When someone got bit by the endermite they entered their "egg arc" They could either become a parasite to the room or the endermite's meal they would steal from the room. The main requirement I had for that was, whether or not they listened to what the endermite said. Mumbo didn't listen, he shoved his endermite into a chest and pretended it didn't exist. Cassiopea would refer to him as "an egg that refused to hatch" (The reason why one of the old drawings of him had a cracked circle around him, it's his busted egg) . Tango did more than listen, he clung to the endermites with such desperation he became endermite number one. The various sets of powers Tango has are a mix of effects from being an endermite and being in the room for so long, turning invisible is something the room does, and being an endermite lets him control it and not disappear completely. Otherwise, he would just disappear at some point.

-I was never planning on fully explaining the room, but there was no one behind it. It was just an empty, hungry, space somewhere. Creating it left an echo of you behind, It slowly made the echo disappear, starting from the items, that's why having more items was good, there was more before it got to you. There were various effects to being digested by the room, again the most noticeable one would have been Grian since there were many of him, his disappearance would always begin with him being less scared, one of the last things that remain to him is always positive feelings. (The invisible Grian that Elytra Grian could meet in the game would be announced by Grian's actual laughter, I had a clip of it for that reason) Impulse meanwhile, in this story he was part wither! So the room digesting him was slowly taking away the human parts of him, leaving more and more wither. The two heads you guys could see were his wither heads starting to show up. They were gonna be two characters on their own almost, one interested in impulses' own survival, the other interested in actually harming anyone in sight.

-You would have meet the Iskalls soon, aka the meeting fanatics.

There used to be more iskalls, 2 more actually, created by iskall filming his fake meeting in Sahara. I decided to explain that as him entering the room multiple times to record the various bits. Unfortunately they died by False's hands at some point. Along them a Grian and Mumbo also died, by Tango's hand instead, making the remaining Iskalls decide to hide away inside the "walls". The walls were just a separate room they created with all the resources they had, they were just about to build the main building of sahara so they entered the room with full inventories, lots shulkers of bone blocks and many other things among them a few maps of the room to disguise the exterior of it. The room ended up being a meeting room, because "as long as they don't leave the meeting they are safe". They obviously do not like neither False or Tango, but while False actively would hunt them down, Tango doesn't want to bother them. He's already hurt them enough.

There was supposed to be an event before meeting them when reaching the walls. Grian and Mumbo would find "the cemetery" they made left for the other iskalls, Grian and Mumbo. Said cemetery would simply be 2 pickaxes, a sword and a trident left in the ground. The trident being named "Fork of Friendship" would let Grian know that there was another Mumbo at some point. Mumbo wouldn't realize, because he ended up in the room before ever receiving the fork of friendship. The cemetery would then be part of the banner for the blog, just for the extra pain.

-You already kinda met False, but you were gonna see the full mess she is. Absolutely feral, traumatized creature she is.

She had the misfortune of meeting Tango at a really bad time. She ended up almost being completely eaten by the endermites on the spot. The effects of the room plus what happened convinced her that her only way out was to win the war, because that's what it is, is it not? just part of that war? everything will be fine just as long as she wins! Tango feels bad for what he did to her. They are complicated.

She was going to completely break down at the sight of impulse and cling to him for dear life. He would be the only one she recognized as an ally for the first time in years. - For the ending, I'm not sure. I needed to see where you guys would take them. But I would have done my best to get some peace for the characters. They all deserved somewhere soft to land.

[v-iroine]

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ SEEKING FREEDOM

Chap: The red siren pt.1/2 [4k words]

✿ kid!Caleb + kid!fem!MC (use of she/her pronouns but mc's appearance is not mentioned)

ꕀ I will collect the scattered fragments of my soul, and I will diligently focus on myself alone.

✿ This is all a figment of my imagination and may contradict canon[!] Caleb's POV in the past, child torture mentioned, loneliness, psychological and physical torture, isolation, both mc and caleb are guinea pigs, experiments, Caleb is losing his mind, he's bald (MC too), indirect mention of the granny [she is a grey character most of the time].

✿ Little author's note: Please consider to leave a comment and share your thoughts, it REALLY helps me for the producting of those OS. I decided to make a small mention of Petrarca since Caleb's memories are currently fragmented and in each fragment he can only see the figure of MC while trying to rearrange them himself. 《Mi dedicherò a me stesso quanto più potrò, e raccoglierò i frammenti sparsi della mia anima》. After this one I'll probably just take a break and write some random short nsfw (I can't take that much angst)

A high-pitched sound struck the room, red lights bouncing from one shiny metal wall to another until they reached and filtered through the transparency of the solid prison walls that had once defined my room. I tried to squeeze my eyes shut.

I squeezed them until my joints ached, but that painful sound, the one that still haunted my sleep, was impossible to relieve, not even for a second.

The very idea of blocking it was unreasonable. My hands tightened around the pillow over my head, and when that wasn't enough, I pressed it down with my arms, curling into a small ball between the hard mattress and the feeble embrace of the thin blanket, my only source of relief, the only thing that had ever saved me from this kind of loneliness. I pushed my head against it, trying to silence everything. This pain had haunted me for days. Every. Single. Night.

These days felt like months, or maybe they were.

Calendars were prohibited for subjects under "visit", the passing of the time was visible only thanks to the sunlight fading behind the opaque walls or stealing glances at the clock in the "attending doctor" room, a phase that everyone was forced to go through.

Every detail of our presence was closely monitored by superiors, as well as those designated for inspections, even though they often failed to carry out their checks properly. Many slacked off during working hours; pale, shaking fingers exchanging white paper bags, it was a sight so common to me but at the same time unrecognized by others.

A bit ironic, they couldn’t wait to get their hands on this stuff, while their victims were forced to have it inserted into their bodies against their will.

Usually, the incessant sound lasted only a few minutes. In my countless attempts to fall asleep, I found myself counting how long the light and noise persisted. The chaos typically faded quickly, just before the rhythmic march of armed men echoed through the halls, their guns resting on their shoulders like an embrace. The situation was always resolved swiftly, returning to absolute stoic quiet.

But this time, the rescue had arrived, yet the sound had not stopped. That flashing light was more present than ever and the noise was no less.

At some point, I resigned myself to it; that light and that damned siren could break anyone. And after all this time, I was no exception.

The growing clamor in the distance, from the few like me who had survived (more or less) in that place until now, was soon joined by the shouting. The more it increased, the more I felt myself sinking, my ears ringing and everything becoming more opaque.

My eyelids grew heavy, my ears got used to the endless wail, it took me a long time before I realized that this would become my personal lullaby, the song I would hear every time I went to sleep, no longer a condemnation but a part of me.

Sleep was the only solution to all my misfortunes... and my only salvation, a place that no one had the possibility of taking away or controlling, every day I demanded freedom and when that was denied I found refuge in this, a place where only I had control.

When everything had finally died down, the light, not red but white, hit my face again, a warm voice struck me, the coldness of its gloved recognizable hands. 

Countless times, I had tried to escape its grip, but every time, I failed miserably.

"The subject's vital parameters are stable. "

That soothing sound was always accompanied by machinery and other dull metallic voices. The warm voice, like sunlight, always repeated those words as it brushed my hair from my forehead while blood samples were taken as proof of my existence. Blood, like heartbeat, was one of the things recorded throughout the day: every moment had to be logged, from when I woke up to when I went to sleep.

The tingling sensation made me struggle, but at least it reminded me that I was still here, still on this earth, even if it was only through the prick of a needle.

I have no idea if all the victims in that facility had been treated the same way I was, but one thing was for sure: this was not living. The only thing that calmed my state of mind was that voice. The only human who had bothered to treat me like a living being, yet never as an equal.

"Ma'am, what time is it?"

"It's time for you to wake up."

"Another math test?"

"Yes, exactly."

This is how the day began. I lied to myself by calling it just math, it was anything but mathematics.

Around my neck, the collar they forced on me during the removals. I couldn’t stand it, the cold metal against my skin, the weight of it, the false hope that I might escape. Too tight to slip off, yet loose enough for the needles to dig in, unmoving. A precaution, they called it, in case I did anything unpleasant to them.

The spikes had left red marks on my skin just from touching them. I tried several times to loosen the grip on my neck, but all my efforts were in vain. In fact, I risked it more than once, even though I knew it might make them lose their patience. But you can understand what the result was... I was still there, alive, but with more guards keeping an eye on me.

This how my day began: physical and mental tests... they wanted to see how I adapted to stress, discomfort, and anger. How I responded to environmental stimuli. It began with typical school tests: an empty room, just a tablet screen in front of me. Suction cups clung to my chest and my nearly bald head, the cold gel seeping into the white fabric I wore every day. The questions grew harder, the timer ticking down, pressing against my mind like a second restraint.

The more I solved within the time limit, the fewer tests I would have to endure, or at least, that’s what they told me. The questions were varied, they did not focus on a single topic.

They were unpredictable, shifting from started physics problems and ended with the horrors of war. Psychological assessments, how would I react... how would I behave when the timer suddenly sped up and grew faster and louder in my ears. My survival or the others, that was the core of the test. They tried to convince me to 《prioritize the survival of the majority over yourself》, and for a time, I've started to believe those words. But, at the end of the day, if you are trained to go down with the aircraft, they'll still call it service. Not suicide.

In reality, they valued what I lacked. And how cooperative I would be with them, especially they wanted to understand how I would behave in an empty room, with no one who could observe me, even if those eyes of theirs did not move from me. When the cameras were malfunctioning or the power started to stutter due to inconveniences with other subjects, I would enjoy humming songs, not out of nostalgia, but just to see if  anyone was still listening.

If the silence would shift...

But it never did.

That was the worst part.

Tortured and monitored daily, yet still discarded when a little inconvenience occurred. As if my suffering wasn't worth their time.

And with that the day flew by like this, inside those white walls, one day slower and more melancholic, more pointless, more useless than the other. That wasn't living, just something to get through to understand what living means, but what would a kid know about that?

The end of testing always meant meals-if you could call them that. A kind of mush. Nutritional sludge, mixed from God knows what, designed to keep me alive.

Not fed. Not satisfied. Just functioning.

They weren't going to let me starve, obviously. That'd be a waste of time and space.

Meals were taken alone, always. In my room.

Cutlery? Not allowed. No plastic, no wood, no metal... nothing I could use to hurt myself. Or them. So the almost-liquid food came in a flimsy paper cup. The kind that started to dissolve if you didn't choke everything down fast enough.

Sometimes I asked them to bring me something different, and edible, but as expected, my protests were just wasted oxygen for them. I asked, I tried, but I already knew the answer. That was something that could be silenced if not listened to, something that I didn't have the luxury of think it could change.

But, like everything else, there were exceptions.

Sometimes, my voice actually reached the guards, the ones who couldn't stand my complaints, the ones who, in their frustration, would try to get a superior involved. And not so coincidentally, in the end it always appeared before me, the same voice that woke me up in the morning.

But it didn't matter. It did nothing but listen. Whether the voice actually cared... well, I have serious doubts. But at least I had someone to talk to. Empty words came out of its mouth, but at least they gave me hope that the next day things would change, but at the end of the day the disappointment of the brutal truth: nothing can change even if you want it to.

And the day went on like this: more test after test.

When I couldn't concentrate anymore the room was my only refuge.

I slept for hours to escape the boredom, and woken up only to swallow more mush while they analyzed my parameters again.

The night swallowed the white palace, deleting all the colors around me. The sleeplessness had taken over my tired mind.

The deathly silence was accompanying me in my failed attempt to fall asleep when I heard the slap of bare feet trampling on the floor.

A new sound for me, I didn't believe it, I was worried that it was just my brain playing tricks on me.

An ugly cry, fleeting, pierced the thick air trapped within those walls, time seemed to stand still. My muscles stiffened, my hair stood on end, as a high-pitched voice, too high to belong to any of the prisoners nearby... it filled my ears.

I wasn’t afraid of the voice itself. I didn’t believe in ghosts. It felt pointless to fear monsters that couldn’t touch me, when I lived among them every day.

What unsettled me were the implications: Had they started practicing physical experiments at night? Too?

The crying grew closer, more penetrating with every second, and the nearer it came, the more I noticed the little details.

The panting that came in bursts, the sloppy shuffle of feet trading places, one after the other, over and over. The whimpering, swallowed only to fuel that futile race… because even if that voice somehow escaped the structure, freedom was never guaranteed, and I was the confirmation.

A curious voice tried to speak, indeed female, but her words got stuck into her throat, only letting out ununderstandable sounds. In the end she seemed more frightened than I was. I was sure that was a female voice, the sound was too high-pitched to be older than me and the speed of her walking didn't suggest otherwise.

I never thought I’d meet a girl my age there. I was sure I was the youngest in that damn place. At first, I assumed she was a relative visiting from the upper floors. But considering how they treat me… I doubt they’ve ever had children, at least I hope not, just for their sake.

My back shielding me from the source of the noise, I curled up even though the terror had begun to fade from my limbs and I had lowered my guard. The voice made me feel tender, it reminded me of my first day, when I believed that everything was just a bad dream and I would wake up soon, but the days passed and so did my hope.

One of the few still intact traits that scientists had failed to eliminate from my youth was curiosity; and when the voice reached up the proximity of my cell I couldn't help but leave my warm and safe position. I turned around clinging to the sheets and stealing a glance in the cold corridor outside said "room".

My eyesight had been adjusted to the darkness for a few hours, but as soon as my gaze, full of curiosity and confusion, was blinded by a sudden red light, the usual red light. The person was nowhere to be found, not even the faintest shadow, no sounds, just me, the red and the siren, all over again.

The following morning came like any other. She was gone and the red siren with her. And another day brings another morning check up, and so another test.

"Ma'am, what time is it?"

"It's time for you to wake up."

"Another math test?"

"No, today is Thursday."

I immediately understood the meaning behind those words. Since I started my stay here, I learned to hate Thursday with all my heart.

My face immediately lost its color, I could feel my blood freezing in my veins, my muscles tensed and the blood was struggling to be extracted. I tried to hold on to the hand that was analyzing me. With wide eyes I tried to find compassion in the mask that was placed before me, but I couldn't find anything else but my own reflection on the plastic covering her face.

Resignation settled over my face like dust.

This time, it was the room with the gravity machine.

Last time, I got away with a few scrapes and a torn nerve, nothing impressive. It wasn’t even my first broken bone.

The good side of a broken bone? A fracture meant a temporary stop. A couple of months, maybe. But even then, they never let you rest. There were always other tests. Slightly different, still painful.

My grip loosened up. I let myself sink into the bed, drowning in my despair, but she interrupted me. Her wrists clenched she seemed to struggle to speak, she opened her mouth once rearranging her words, and only then formulated a sentence with hesitation.

"Would you like to take a walk... instead of taking the test?"

It seemed that night had suddenly returned, its ghostly silence enveloping everything. Not even the continuous beeping of the machinery next to me reached my ears. My confusion was evident.

What did all this mean? Was it all just a joke, or another test? Were they trying to see how I would react? Were they giving me false hope, only to follow it with an exercise far worse than the previous ones? Was it all just going to be another torture?

But it was, indeed, a very bizarre question for an equally bizarre situation. Who wouldn’t want to skip those tests, after all?

Then the memory of the previous night struck me: the little girl. I didn’t know why, but I was sure it had something to do with her, I couldn't even imagine the reason, but no other differences came to mind compared to the previous days, at least from what I had the opportunity to witness myself, and that I was aware of.

I knew that was a question with only one answer, even if I refused the result would be positive regardless so I had no choice but to agree. A slight nod of the head, my throat suddenly became dry and from which it was difficult to come out words longer than a monosyllable.

I let out a sigh, waiting for my tests to be completed, but at the same time the fear of what was about to happen to me was piercing my mind like a nail driven into wood. Much faster than expected I found myself with my feet on the soft floor, my knees not allowing me to walk in a straight line because of my fear. I was barely holding on to the woman's white coat, hoping that if anything happened to me I could extract some compassion from her. When I was about to step out of the room, I was waiting for that damned thorny collar that strangely never reached my neck, at least not today. The day was getting more and more bizarre with every second. I looked around with my head, searching for the soldiers, but nothing from them either, they seemed to have vanished into thin air.

I noticed, strangely, that the number of scientists in the room had decreased drastically, there were only three of us left, and the third after the blood sampling, had left almost immediately, muttering something to themself. I searched for answers in the expression of the woman next to me, but all that came out was a sigh.

"Luckily for you, someone had made a mess in the laboratory and so we will have to postpone your exercise until next week, aren't you happy?"

I was astonished looking at the woman's blank expression, she simply stared straight ahead at the reflective wall. It wasn't long before the slow-paced old lady began to walk away, my grip loosening her fabric, I was almost left behind by her, as I was flooded by the confusion of the situation.

Everything happenned so quickly, my thoughts spun as everything started blurring around me. I was on the verge of collapsing to the ground. I didn't know how to feel, whether relieved or scared.

Was I no longer needed? Had I become useless? Had someone taken my place? It didn't matter if it meant giving up my old routine. I felt my eyes watering, I was on the verge of crying from happiness, after countless days where everything was getting worse finally there was some good news.

A thin cough woke me from my trance

"If you want you can always return back to your room."

Her gentle voice suddenly became dry of emotion, but this made me quickly walk towards her without saying a word while my sick hand reached for my eye and wiped a falling tear.

I approached the older figure, positioning myself next to her. I didn't know how to feel, but for once I felt good, even if temporarily. I hoped this moment of freedom would last forever.

"If you behave now, you may be able to play on the playground outside in the future."

Of what happened next there were only vague fragments, memories started and never concluded, only a walk through deserted corridors, the white light running through all the surfaces creating an optical effect that made it infinite, a walless labyrinth.

Not even a sigh from the other prisoners or from those who worked there. Only the walking of the woman next to me who preceded mine.

And so the days went by, the physical tests from almost twice a week now decreased to once a month. And consequently I was given more freedom, if I avoided rebelling they gave me more time to walk within those walls. I still had to take the tests but I felt more motivated to complete them. If the intent was to make me behave, well, they had succeeded.

Every week the woman gave me the freedom to stretch my legs a bit, even if her absent expression suggested to me that she wanted to find herself elsewhere, she never failed to remind me that she was doing me a favor, while I watched her in silence.

I also began to hear numerous, most likely unfounded, rumors about about recent events. Some claimed that one of the workers was killed during a training exercise involving one of the study subjects and then tried to escape. I didn't believe it nor I wanted to. To believe it would mean accepting that all the unfortunates could be potential murderers, and it wasn't the case, was it? They were the bad guys, weren't they?

The more time passed, the more my ideals changed, the more I grew and the more freedom I was granted, everything was perfect. At least I thought so? I wasn't sure anymore.

Another morning contrasted with night, a tube once again attached to my arm, blood being pumped along the clear plastic tube. Apparently the blood results had improved along with my mood, and the physical tests that had become once every two months had also yielded better results, I hadn't dislocated any bones, nor had any long-term damage, and I felt more alive than I have ever had. That Thursday morning the woman woke me up once again. By that time, not even the only scientist who took my blood was present, I was left alone with her. I started calling her grandma, but she looked at me askance, as if she wanted to tell me to stop, but didn't have the strength to do so. The memory of that little girl running outside my cell had faded with my problems.

"Grandma, can we go out into the playground today?"

Silence filled the room again as I stretched my arms while still sitting on the bed. On her mask the reflection of the sunlight that filtered into the room darkening her expression and everything it hid.

"Yes, why not? You behaved well."

Her voice neutral, faint, trying to hide from the ears of others and from herself, but loud enough for me to hear. For the first time her hand reached my head, caressing the few remaining hair that covered my skull. Her gloved hand was cold, a dry cold that penetrates my skin, that left me with chills down my spine, but even in the frost there was something pleasant, a friendly intention, or at least I thought.

Deep down, she felt pity for me too, at least I hope so.

And so it was, with my hand gripping her plastic fabric, I held it tightly, no longer having fear or dread in my head, but to seek affection in her almost always unchanging expression: pity and probably remorse.

I walked down the corridor, silence still reigning supreme, as I tried to remember when was my last time in a playground, and what I had played that day.

The answers were burning to come, and in truth they didn't come at all, I didn't remember... I didn't remember anything outside of that place. I didn't.. remember? For all I knew I could have been born in that place, and for all I cared, it had always been that way.

I no longer had any kind of nostalgia for a past that I struggled to grasp; and yet I kept searching for the solution to my question. I kept feeling like a deja vu... and yet it was the first time that... never mind. I'm just confusing myself.

In a second I heard a creak, a red handle above my head, within my reach. That door represented my freedom, a future outside of that place. Gloved hands pushed the door open. I immediately felt the cool air clouding my nostrils, the warm breeze and pollen brushing my face.

A light brighter than the red siren appeared before me, hiding behind the whiteness of the door. It screamed my name, it pulled me closer.

The aforementioned freedom was just a step away from me, yet my legs were paralyzed... I held the woman tighter. I still didn't know what I would find ahead.

"You can go out, just stay close to me and don't hide."

A hand on my shoulder and a push to continue my journey, I didn't know what to do, I couldn't believe her words, yet I wanted to trust everything this woman said. I looked up and stared at his sunlit mask, searching for her eyes, ending up again finding nothingness, only the reflection of what awaited me.

I simply nodded. I had no objections, but there was always something strange, I felt it. A sound was heard in the light, it penetrated my ears. Something that did not try to hide as I did, a sound that reminded me of being alive.

Something I known in the past and that I had almost forgotten: the laughter of a child.

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Maybe it is time to say something after yesterday evening, @consultjohnwatson. As you all know I am not a man of many words when it concerns sentiment. I despise having to voice anything of such nature, I rather show my appreciation for someone through my actions. I thought my previous actions had clearly represented what I feel, already years ago. But maybe it wasn't clear enough. So expressing any of the following goes against my usual modus operandi, but maybe it is necessary, so I am going to attempt something I never did before. I assumed I had taught you enough about the science of deduction to see and observe. To see what the true meanings behind people’s actions are, what their motivations and intentions are. You are the one of us who is better at such things, better at recognising other people’s emotions, better at interpreting sentiment and determining whether people partake in flirting. So I had believed you would understand my endeavours, sooner or later. But maybe you are not as observant about sentiment when it concerns myself, after all I am not the most emotive and transparent person. Perhaps I will have to be more verbal and clear instead of relying on subtext or your deductions to convey the message. 

I struggle to comprehend and categorise emotional experiences, especially when I don’t have any other data to compare it to. I have never experienced anything akin to ‘love’ before, thus I can not determine whether any new experience would be regarded as such an emotion. I am uncomprehending in the face of the loving, I don’t know how to assess any of such feelings. So I can not say that I am in love, simply because I do not know love. And I think you know that it’s already something special that I am willing to admit that I do not know something.  All I know is that you are the most important person in my life, John. That I appreciate you more than anyone else, I never cared about a fellow human as much as I care about you. That you made me experience a range of emotions that I have never felt before, and you probably made me a better human. You helped me understand things that I would have otherwise never understood, I do value your input, John. I don’t want to contemplate where I would be without you if I had never met you, I probably wouldn’t be here at all anymore. 

What I am trying to say is, be patient with me. Even if I am unable to properly comprehend sentiment, would you be willing to help me understand and find out? Would you be willing to figure it out together? To be my conductor of light?

[tma-reader-inserts]

Jonathan Sims x Spiral Avatar! Reader

Knowing Jonathan Sims was… an experience. When you first met him, you were just giving a statement.

You knew he didn’t believe you at all. To be fair, you were blazingly high when the experience happened, and high when you gave your statement.

While smoking with some of your friends, you stumbled upon an old book your father, who you hated, had collected before he died. You hated that book, you hated the ominous air it gave off, how your father obsessed over it, how he mumbled passages from the book, sketch fractals on every surface in the house, and hit you with the leather cover whenever you invited his rage. You tried burying it, but somehow it always came back to your coffee table. You never even bothered to read the words on the almost transparent-it-was-so-thin pages. You hated that stupid book as much as you hated your shitty father.

So you found the stupid book, and told your friends that you couldn’t even get rid of it it; and as one of them flip through the pages, they mention how similar they were to rolling papers.

… and well, didn’t that give you a novel idea.

Page after page, after your friends left, you slowly tore and filled and rolled the thin sheets of the book, lighting up until you couldn’t even lift your head. For months, you slowly decreased the thickness of the book until only half the pages and the leather cover with that stupid stamp of “Leitner” was left.

Well and all; but each time you lit up, you saw things. Normally, when you were high, you were just relaxed, slow moving and thinking and caring; a giggling, hungry mess that rolled around on the floor and dozed in and out of consciousness. But whenever you smoke with the pages from the book, thing were different.

Shadows from the corner of your eye moved and pulsed, you heard low whispers from every direction of the room. The worst of it was all the doors you saw. So many doors that didn’t belong in your house. The curiosity to open them, to trapeze through those rooms and halls, was staggering. You were always of such low motivation, to feel the so much desire to do something (beside getting high and sleeping) was unusual. However, you were too stoned to move, so you never actually entered a door. Even when a tall thin woman in a wacky business suit threw the door opened and tried to coax you in; even when a creature resembling a man with endlessly curling blonde hair sits with you and speaks nonsense at you as you tried to comprehend your surroundings.

Whenever you did come down, things wouldn’t just return to normal; there was always a stray door that would taunt you; the sound of the man laughing ringing in your ears.

When you gave your statement, you couldn’t really give a damn about the circumstances. You were seeing weird shit, and the Magnus Institute was for telling people about weird shit that was seen. Did you care that you were going insane? Not a bit. You father went crazy when he got that book, god knows what got into your mother to copulate with the man, and you reckon that your entire lineage was severely fucked in the head. You self medicated to cope, what choice had you? Seek professional help? Open yourself up bloody and raw to a stranger who was paid to give you fake platitudes and a low grad prescription for mania? Absolutely not. And frankly you were more taken to the effects of marijuana rather than alcohol or any other kind of drug.

So yes, you were high when you went to the Institute to give your statement. And Mr. Sims was less than impressed by your antics. In fact he more or less chewed you out entirely in the privacy of the archive room. It amused you greatly; as he yelled at you about ‘decorum’ and ‘self-pride’, you could only muse about how badly you wanted to see this man specifically as high as a kite and zoned out, drooling on your couch as you combed your fingers through his pretty, curly brown hair. You smirked at the mental image, which only seemed to enraged him further.

After you left the place, however, things had gotten… much worse.

As soon as you got home, you got blitzed off your ass. Despite whenever you used the paper from the book things got super weird, that didn’t exactly stop you from continuing from doing it. Sure, you saw unexplainable things, but you weren’t one to waste paper.

You supposed the reason why you liked being high was the surrender. The passing of responsibility of your thoughts and actions unto something else. To completely give yourself up for a few hours and not be for that time; to be consumed by the buzz of nothingness and allow yourself the high of not thinking straight. There’s a sort of control in losing control to something else.

Maybe that’s why you changed.

It was subtle at first. You noticed your highs lasted much longer than they normally did; soon you weren’t even consuming any of your stash, you were just perpetually buzzed. Then you noticed you could control how high you were exactly, after one instance where you were annoyed with being numb everywhere; suddenly you were almost entirely sober. Still a little high though.

Your biggest discovery was that you could intoxicate others. While you were at a club, you kissed another party-goer in the alley by the club, and you watched in fascination as his pupils dilated immediately and he fell to the ground, silently screaming and clawing at his face. Between his terror you could understand him saying something about feeling bugs in his skin. The knowledge that you caused this sunk into your hazy brain with a rush of excitement and pride. You did this. You reduced some boring, straight laced business man on holiday into a pathetic writhing mess, so high out of his mind that he was truly panicking, probably for the first time in his life; he was truly afraid.

And the fun of doing that, scaring people, far outweighed the joy of being high.

Being high was still super fun, though.

By the time you polished off smoking the pages of the book, you were certain you weren’t totally human anymore. Maybe human adjacent. You were at some point, for certain, but now you were something else. Similar but distinctly different from before.

You took great joy in terrorizing others. You tried being careful at first; most people just assumed they were drugged, or whatever substance they took was laced. Then you got reckless, you supposed. One of your victims, a college boy who was a friend of a friend, who was lured back to your car to scare him through a drug haze, went to the Magnus Institute.

Apparently, even though the idiot young man was already high when you met him, he remembered your face quite clearly, and was insistent that his encounter with you was ‘supernatural’ purely because there was no physical way he could have gotten that out of touch with his senses.

Now, you have minor control over what your victims hallucinate. Usually, whatever was in the recesses of their mind was enough to scare them, but the stubborn ones required some… direction. With that college boy, you managed to convince him he ate rotten meat from an alley way, that there were maggots and bugs and all sorts of diseases crawling around in his guts, in his skin, when in reality you never even left your car until he became so terrified he was rendered unconscious.

You thought your original visit to the Institute was written off; you were certain there was no way Jonathan Sims bothered to remember your face, let alone your name. But there you were, once again in the same recording room as last time, after one of Sims’s meekish assistants contacted you for a “follow up”.

You should’ve known it was a trap to confront you. But in your defense, you didn’t think the archivist was smart or ballsy enough to pull a stunt like that. Yet, here you were, once again being glared down at, with a written statement from the boy you’re tormented in front of you.

“Well?” Jon asks, one bushy eye brow raised in annoyance.

“Well indeed.” You reply, scanning the page once more. “Sounds like this lad had a hell of a trip, some people can’t handle their substances.”

This only seemed to anger the man. “The person he describes sounds an awful lot like you. Even some of your mannerisms and ticks were mentioned. Are you denying this is you?”

You laugh. You couldn’t help the sound from breaking through your teeth.

“It is you, isn’t it.” He accuses.

“Who it is, and who it isn’t, aren’t the problem Sims…” you drawl, throughly amused. “The real problem is you’re believing the accounts of some pot head. What happened to the ineffable skeptic I met months ago?”

He flinches, and you note the movement with great interest. “… I should have believed you about the doors.” He mumbles. “When you came in, I shouldn’t have written you off so quickly, least of all belittle you like that.”

It was your turn to quirk your eyebrow. “I’m getting the feeling you met Micheal, then?”

With shame, he looks away, and you sigh.

“Tell you what…” you say slowly, tongue heavy from the feeling of intoxication. “… I’ll give you another statement, but just for us. Just for you.”

Intrigue paints his features.

“No one else, not even your assistants, not your boss, gets to hear about this. Just you, only for you.”

Now he looks at you in scrutiny. “What do you get out of the exchange?”

A wild smile pulls across your face. “I wanna get you blitzed out.”

“Good lord.” He groans.

“Come on!” You laugh. “I’ll take you to my place-“

“No.”

“We do a little hash-“

“Absolutely not.”

“And I’ll give you an explanation to the weird shit I can do!” You exclaim. “I’ll give you full details, I’m not dodgey about questions like Micheal is, I can give it to you straight!”

“You are aware that the consumption, distribution, and possession marijuana is illegal in the United Kingdom?” He hissed, scandalized.

“Duh; that’s what makes doing it even more fun.” You explain, amused. “You asked what I wanted out of my statement, I told you.”

He huffs. “How is me getting high going to benefit you?”

You never found a point in being dishonest to pretty men. “I think you’d look cute dazed out of you mind.”

“Wha-what?”

You shrug. “You’re pretty, and I think you’d be prettier high, and I wanna see it.”

Jon flushed, tan skin becoming tinged with red. His upper teeth dug into his bottom lip, and his eyes darted away from you so quickly you almost heard them snap. “That is- you can’t just say-“

“You found a way to contact me before; use that method to contact me again when ever you decide on what you want to do.” Standing from your chair, you see the archivist take a small step towards you, almost as if to stop you but he thought the better of it.

You open the door, and before you ascend the steps, you look at the pretty book worm one last time.

“And for the record, whatever that little shit smoke up with was stolen from me. He deserved it. I probably scared him straight anyway, you should be thanking me.”

“That doesn’t make what you did right.” Jon snipes back.

You shrug, unconcerned. “I don’t care about what is right or not, Sims.” You level him with a blank look, allowing a haze to permeate through your conscious. “I hardly care about anything at all.”

And with that, you left.

—

It took a grand total of two weeks before Jon Sims contacted you directly. You were pleased as peach to answer your phone, hoping it was the pretty and emotionally surly archivist.

He had agreed to meet you under your circumstances, and you could help the giggle that leaked into the receiver when he spoke. He talked like an old man, it entertained you ceaselessly. You wondered if he even would be able to keep his bookish facade while high. You hoped not; to see Jonathan Sims at a loss for words would be delightful.

Later that evening, upon your doorstep, in a comfortable brown and grey cardigan, was Jonathan Sims. He seemed nervous, tightly gripping his tape recorder and note book as he stepped into your home.

Honestly your house was a wreck. It’s been in your family for generations, and no one in your bloodline has ever really cared about cleaning up after themselves, yourself included. Did it look like a trap house? Probably; but you could get to the kitchen, your couch, and your bed; so unless something was in your path it was ignored. Jon eyes the trash in the corners of your home, but said nothing unkind.

Sitting him on the couch, you leave only to return less than a minute later, holding a small pastry.

“Is that… a marijuana brownie?” He asks, eyes the confection with anxiousness.

You laugh boisterously, shocking him. “It’s called a pot brownie and you damn well know it, Sims.” Sitting next to him, you unwrap the napkin. “Ten milligrams would be too much for your first time, and five I don’t think would really do anything but take your edge off, so I split the difference to seven. It’s what I started out on and it’ll do just fine.”

He stared down at the piece of brownie with dread, and as he tried to reach for it you pulled it away.

“Hey now.” You warn, frowning, “Do you actually want to do this?”

He scowls. “I’m here aren’t I? Besides, what choice have I?”

It was your turn to scowl now. “If you really don’t want to do this I’ll find another way to make us even. It’s no fun being high against your will.”

He eyes you with an annoyed expression. “Isn’t that what you do to people?”

“Yeah, ‘cus they’re assholes who don’t deserve a nice experience. I’m trying to give you a nice experience.”

“So you target people you deem unworthy to torment?” In the silence of the room, you hear the ever so faint sound of something turning. Has he been recording you this entire time?

You roll your eyes. “I’ll spill my guts soon, Jon, don’t jump the gun. Do you actually want to get high or not.”

He seems to battle with himself for a long moment before nodding. “… I really wanted to try it in college… but I didn’t have any… connections…”

You breathe a laugh. “You didn’t have enough good friends who knew where to get a stash, huh?”

He mumbles something like a, “shut up.”

“Aw, baby-“ you croon, a hand reaching up to pet at his hair. “It sucks to be left out, huh? Never lived up to the traditional college experience? Don’t worry, honey, I’ll fix that right up; you’re in good hands.”

Finally you bring the brownie piece back into reach. “Don’t eat more than this for now; anymore and you’ll be fucked rightly.” You warn.

Nodding, Jon gently takes the piece from your outstretched hand. Grimacing one last time, he places the entire bite size piece into his mouth, and slowly chews.

“It tastes strange.” He complains.

“There’s weed in it, precious.”

“Not that; you didn’t sift the flour when you made these, did you?”

You throw your head back laughing. Oh this was going to be delightful.

—

Forty minutes in and Jon’s head was in your lap as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Humming, you combed your fingers through what you could of his hair.

“You doing alright, pretty boy?”

A sound comes from his throat, and you know it was a half hearted attempt to respond.

The best course of action, you decided, was to remain as sober as you possibly could be, to be there for Jon during this new experience. After about twenty minutes, his speech began to slow, and by the thirty minute mark, he asked to lie down.

One of his hands held yours, leaving his other hand limply on his stomach.

“You’re doing such a good job, Jon.” You whisper. “You’re doing so well.”

He whimpers, turning his face into your stomach as his skin once again alights with a blush. Removing your hand from his mane, you rub your thumb against the small circular scars along his cheek bone.

“I can’t feel my face.” He complains, high and breathy.

You hum again. “You never are able to feel your face, you’re just actually feeling it for the first time right now, you’re hyper aware of it.”

He groans again, longer, annoyed. “Shh, I don’t want to think.”

“All right, sweet heart,” you say sweetly, “It’s normal to feel things like that. You’re doing just fine.”

“… I can feel all my skin at once, then. And my head feels like a pillow.”

Biting back a laugh, you resume stroking his hair.

“Can you feel through hair? I can feel my hair.”

“Boy, just wait until you start watching trippy movies like this. ‘The Cell’ is gonna be great.”

He groans again. “I don’t want to watch anything, I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Close them, then, sweetheart.” You coax. “No shame in it, do what feels nice right now.”

At your encouragement, he curls into almost entirely. He moans again, nestling his face into your stomach. You try not to laugh at the sensation of his vibrations tickling your skin through your clothes. “Please keep talking…” he mumbles, “Your voice is nice…”

This time, you did chuckle. Normally, you were amused by everything, but this especially entertained you. “I think your voice is nicer, I could listen to it for hours.”

Jon’s head swivels so he could peer up at you. “Please, no one wants to hear me prattle on about my statements or, or my theories on them.”

Working on a particularly difficult knot in his hair, you hum. “I know I would, who knows, those statements seem to be pretty interesting, a bunch of cool stories to listen to.”

“Right, the trauma of others are interesting.” Sarcasm drips from his lips.

“Well, everyone loves a good scary story.”

Jon sighs and returns to nestling your stomach. You ponder his earlier request and speak. “Your recorder going, yeah?”

The man’s hand slides away from his face and fumbles around beside you until his hands grip the device and presses a button, the sound of faint whirling enters the air.

You introduce yourself to the device, stating your name and occupation, and just began talking. You spoke of your father and his beatings, about the terrible book, when your drug habit started and progressed into what you are now. How you feel powerful picking out certain people to torment, finally taking back the dominance your father stole from you. You muse about Micheal and Helen, and about the doors, the connection between you and the disconnection from reality. You end your statement with a shrug, saying something along the lines about how your humanity is a choice you constantly make, but if you wanted you could abandon it easily.

When you finish and look down, you see Jon is asleep. He is warm and heavy in your lap, he is snorting softly, and he look truly and deeply at peace.

Reaching your hand into the tangle of Jon’s fingers, you turn off the recording device. As you stare at the man, you feel a dopey smile stretch across your features. Maybe, for right now, you’ll be on better behaviour. If for nothing more than to keep Jon near you.

[kabootarandishaan]

Hear Me

Title: Hear Me

Summary: You have been alone for most of your life. You had depended on skill and odd jobs to survive. One day a campaign hires you for an undisclosed amount of time. You make the acquaintance of a certain eleven vampire and you feel something in you change.

Pairing: Astarion x female reader

A/N: Sorry for not being active! But hopefully, you'll enjoy this

Warnings: Implied smut, light angst 

You were not transparent, at least you never thought you were. But when it came to the continuous sly and sensuous remarks from the likes of a very handsome elven vampire, you scolded yourself at how obvious the heat that spread all across your body showcased itself.

You had never thought of yourself as someone particularly attractive. It wasn’t that you thought yourself to be ugly, you just never had the time nor privilege to make the reckless mistake of having your heartbroken. Your youth was plagued by the need to survive.

You came from squalor, the lack of wealth and reputation amongst your family forced you to become resourceful from a young age. No one ever cast a second glance at the girl whose clothes were always worn and torn.

Your time was constantly being consumed with finding odd jobs to provide. It carried over into your adolescence. You were teased and isolated from others your age on account of your status and disheveled appearance. 

Eventually, you were able to garner some sense of stability. You never pawned off hygiene though. Even if your garments were worn, you took your time in cleaning them. You would wash the dirt or sweat vigorously from your body after any rigorous job. 

Soon enough, you grew to become a full-fledged adult. Your consistent uptake of laborious tasks through your youth had left you with quite some endurance. Eventually, you opted to take on a kind of pay-for-hire type of lifestyle. 

You would go from town to town boasting about your experience in many fields, and how you could complete most tasks for a simply meager fee. Whether it was more domestic like cooking or cleaning, or more discreet tasks such as spying or sleuthing, there was not much you denied.

That is exactly what allotted you to be hired onto this campaign. It seemed your reputation as a jack of all trades had preceded you, unbeknownst to you, to the point where now people were seeking you out. 

Which is why, when you were approached by Astarion and his companions to join them on their journey, you were surprised at the revelation he sought you out by name. Of course, you were skeptical at first.

Considering your harsh upbringing it was normal for you to be wary of everyone, especially someone as sly-mouthed as the pale elf. However, seeing the temperament and plight of the others convinced you to slightly lift your guard, plus they were paying you.

So, you joined the troop and quickly learned more about their terrifying conundrums involving mind flayers and demon contracts. You could not help but sympathize with their desperation, recalling all the times you groveled for morsels due to your poverty.

You mostly stayed to yourself, you had not had the privilege to rely on anyone for a majority of your life, and it translated to how you carried yourself socially. Attention was not something you particularly liked especially when it came from men or people who seemed to have ill-intentions.

You had undertaken quite some traumatizing tasks at times out of desperation. You would often recall how cruel and harsh some people had been when they felt entitled to perfection from you. You had the scars to remind you to be wary.

He was like you in that way, you quickly learned. The pale elf had undergone torment and suffering that constantly plagued his thoughts. You realized he hid his pain with cynicism and flirtations. But you noticed something quite early on.

Maybe it was because like sought like but you swore you would hear something else behind his words. Under the guise of shameless flirtations or mock insults, it seemed to be there. You weren’t sure exactly what it was if you were honest, a cry for help, deep longing, you weren’t sure.

Your tasks were quite varied from the moment you got hired by the group. It was a combination of navigator/sleuth/domestic helper if you were to give it some kind of name. When you were not in the midst of some near death confrontation you would prefer to simply help around the camp.

Everyone was kind, for the most part. You had quickly become acquainted with Shadowheart and Karlech on account of finding solace within other well-spoken and strong women. You would often find yourself passing time with them. But nowadays you could not ignore how his lingering became increasingly obvious.

At first, it was Karlech’s teasing that forced you to give it any attention. “It’s kind of nice that whenever I need to find you, I could just follow Astarion’s trails. He always leads me right to you.” Then it was Shadowheart’s irritated quips, “You know it would probably be much more productive if you actually added to these conversations instead of aimlessly staring at Y/N for their entirety.”

He would roll his eyes or respond with some sort of innuendo of how he couldn’t help himself on account of how delicious you looked. You would never admit it but you couldn’t help the effect his words had on you.

He was easily one of the most attractive men you had come across and despite his guarded demeanor, you knew he was simply someone who wanted to be heard. That was one thing you knew you were especially good at. 

Having to find any means to survive meant you had to be extremely aware and conscious of the things going on around you. Knowing who required what, where, and how you could provide meant your longevity.

So you decided that this would be no different, you would not only listen but try and hear him. You would initiate interactions with him if he were amongst your group. You would talk to him one-on-one, getting to know a bit more about the elusive vampire spawn.

You could tell how he was caught off guard initially but to say he did not enjoy your attention would be an obvious lie. Eventually, he revealed to you the cause of the constant pain you saw behind his eyes.

In turn, you showed him your own scars and lamented to him about how horrible and cruel the world had been to you. After that day something changed, no longer did he taunt or tease you with innuendos or crass insults. 

The others noticed how different he was when he was with you. The softness in his gaze, the small smiles he’d give when you spoke about something with interest. You evoked a side of his they would never get to see in their entire lives.

Had you known that what you began as an attempt to comfort would soon morph into something else entirely you probably would have stopped yourself. But now, it was getting harder and harder to hide the fact that you enjoyed it too.

The softness, the light, the interest that he showed you in response to nearly everything you said or did. It made your heart flutter, you scolded yourself for behaving like a schoolgirl with a young crush. 

You were terrified though, terrified that if you said those things out loud it would all shatter. You had experienced little moments of preciousness in your life already. You could not get yourself to risk this, you were not strong enough to deal with losing the feelings he gave you.

But the more you two did not address the obvious tension that had settled between you, the more it only served to urge frustration. You knew he was too much like you. He was scared to admit his true feelings.

His feelings of inadequacy stemmed from the torture he faced at the hands of Cazador. He had no idea how to be with you in the way you both so desperately desired. He was just as nervous about ruining it as you.

So soon enough he tried to turn back, back into the flirty, sensuous Astarion he once was. Going into town and humoring the women of the red-light districts. He was trying to distance himself from you, saving the both of you from whatever he had created in his mind.

Your heart broke at the sight, you played it off when the others asked saying that you had never even mentioned the prospect of being with him in any way. He was free to do whatever he wanted to with whomever he wished. What was the relationship between the two of you to even feel hurt?

But after months of inconsistencies, the nights where he would come to you and softly ask you about how you were and then the next day shack up in some tavern with anyone, you couldn’t take it. 

You watched him in the pub tonight speaking to some handsome half-elf. Your jaw clenched as he leaned in and spoke something into his ear making the other man laugh. You got up and made your way over slamming your hand on the bar.

“I am so sorry for interrupting this but I very desperately have to have a very important conversation with the man you are trying to fuck.” You say looking apologetically at the half-elf man.

He raises his brow before giving a curt nod and walking away. You turn to Astarion to find him looking at you with surprise. You kept to yourself and hated unnecessary confrontation so this was out of character for you.

You looked at him and gave a small sigh, “Can I speak to you outside?” He looks at you with both brows raised but seems to have an idea of what you want to say to him. He slowly follows you out of the pub.

“I…I am in love with you!” He looked at you wide-eyed completely taken aback by the abruptness of your confession. Before he has the chance to respond you hold a finger up to signal you weren’t finished. 

“I think it was when you were going on about how vain you were despite not being able to see yourself. Although you were trying to hide it with sarcasm, I knew that your upkeep was partially fueled by the desire to have some control over yourself.” You paused before continuing.

“Before I met you, I never entertained the idea that I could be with someone. I was terrified of getting hurt and being abandoned after giving so much of myself to someone. But when I was with you, I couldn’t help but crave the feelings you invoked from me. You made me feel safe, and warm, Astarion.”

“I know that you felt things for me too but you were scared that you wouldn’t be able to be with me because of the things Cazador had done to you. I tried to be okay with the morsels you gave me from time to time, I was used to living like that I thought I could adjust.” Your voice cracked as you continued

“But you messed that up too! You gave me more than enough and now I cannot go back to morsels! I want you! I want to be with you! I want to be the only one for you! Please, can we at least try! I can’t watch you be with anyone else anymore it is tearing me apart!” You admit as tears begin to fall down your face.

Astarion looks at you with a frown. His heart hurts and he feels guilty for being the reason for your pain. He slowly cups your face with his hands and runs his thumbs over your cheeks trying to wipe away the tears. 

He justified his behaviors through the thought that he was protecting you, when in reality he knew he was simply running. Running from the fear of failure, from the fear of ruining what little peace existed between you and him, But he knew he couldn’t run forever, maybe this was it.

His sign to move on. The true test to rid himself of the horrible trauma that had cemented itself in his mind from Cazador. He was scared but through your words, he realized that he wasn’t alone. You were just as nervous, as anxious as him.

He leaned in and spoke softly gently trying to calm you down. “I never wanted to hurt you, darling. I was running from my feelings, from yours because I didn’t know if I could love you the way I thought you needed. I thought I was saving you but I ultimately ended up doing the one thing I feared most. Forgive me for my foolishness, my love.”

You continue to sob as you hear his apology. “I know you are scared, but I am too. But I know that if we both want it as bad as I know we do, we could make this work. Will you at least try with me?” You plead to him through your sniffles.

He looks at you for a moment before answering. You see the same small smile that has adorned his features so many times before. The smile he gives is as if he is admiring something so beautiful, so precious, the one that made your resolve crumble and your heart flutters for the first time in your life.

He runs his thumb over your soaked cheek once more before planting a soft kiss against your forehead. “Okay. I Astarion Ancunín will try, try to show you the love you deserve. I will try to keep the smile that you seem to only save for me on your face for as long as you are. I will try to show you just how much your kindness and compassion mean to me by protecting this precious bond we have. I will try.” He says to you softly.

You give him a teary smile and wrap your arms around him. Your chin resting against his shoulder as you cling to him. He rubs his hand up and down your back and turns slightly so his lips graze the curve of your ear. “I am also hopelessly in love with you, darling.” 

You pull back and smile feeling elated at his confession, knowing it was not easy for him to admit such a thing. Your sobs had been reduced to the occasional sniffle and he slowly pulled you in. “I must apologize in advance for this but you look absolutely divine even after you’ve been a sobbing mess.” He chuckles lightly.

You give him a smack on his shoulder only eliciting another light chuckle. You slowly look up at him again and raise a hand to rest against his face. You slowly run your fingers through his hair, your thumb catching a few curls.

His eyes flit from your eyes to your lips and he looks at you as if silently asking. You let out a small giggle and respond by leaning in to close the gap. The kiss is soft and gentle allowing the tension and heartbreak of the many torturous months to dissipate.

You pull back and see a mischievous look across his red eyes. “You know you stopped me right when I was about to get some action after a while. I feel like it’s only fair for you to compensate me for my loss, my love.”

You frown as you recall his attempt to bed the half-elf from earlier. He notices and his expression softens. “I was only teasing, darling. That was careless of me to-” You cut him off by dragging him by the arm, through the streets to the nearest inn you see.

You barge in and place some coins on the counter. “One room for the night.” You say as you avoid Astarion’s gaze. You know your face is burning but you are too far in to turn back now. You only hear an amused laugh beside you.

The innkeeper raises a brow but proceeds to take the money and give you a key her movements are swift and precise likely as a result of her many years of seeing things like this. You continue to walk silently towards the room. You could feel Astarion’s gaze burning into the side of your face.

Right before you are about to turn the handle after unlocking the door, Astarion holds your wrist. “My love, we don’t have to do anything. Please, I want you to understand that all I need from you is your love. I don’t need you to feed some carnal lust.” He says eyeing you.

You sigh and place a hand over his. “I know that. I want to do this with you Astarion.” You say to him your gaze unwavering. He raises your hand to his and gives it a chaste kiss. He gives you a small nod.

You are beaming as you enter the room hand in hand. You are nervous but you are confident in your love. You were ready to take this step, for you although it was new, you wanted this with Astarion.

Clothing discarded slowly, piece by piece, he gently pushed you till the back of your legs hit the bed frame. “You are easily the most beautiful person I have ever had the pleasure to be with, my love.”

You feel your body flush at hearing his compliment you look away. He gently grabs your chin and turns it back to him. “Let me show you exactly how a woman like you deserves to have their mind, body, and soul worshipped.” He whispers before pulling you in for a kiss.

That night he walks you through so many unforgettable firsts. By the time dawn approaches, you are panting, trembling, and exhausted. He holds your spent body gently as he caresses your hair, praising you for how well you did.

As you inevitably drift off into sleep you can’t help but feel an overwhelming wave of contentment wash over you. You never thought this would ever be a possibility due to the lifestyle you were forced to take on.

Yet here you were, in the arms of a man who had promised to cherish and love you. You smiled as you pressed your body closer to his. To think that your skill of listening would pay off to this extent amused you.

You slowly felt yourself succumb to exhaustion with a smile on your face.