#tw; mentions of magic decay

[brokenpinballmachine]

✶ moon rising at 12 o'clock

yan batfam x gn neglected reader

masterlist ch0 ch2 (coming....)

a/n: heehee

TW: GN reader, mention of death/death itself, blood, implications of criminals planning on doing something, monsters, insanity (Alternate versions of you are insane), probably ooc, slight crack, english not my first lang.

word count: 1,952 words (short chapter rip)

summary: Magical/name focused chapter + very chaotic. Beginning is set before the alternate versions came into y/ns dimension.

chapter 1: How I Became A Magical Hero After Finding a Magical Ring and Befriending a Magical Pet After I Was Neglected By My Superhero Family

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

The moon looked pretty.

Or, well, to M/n, the moon always looked pretty.

How many stories, how many lives, has it watched from up there? Each star seemed to twinkle differently every night. Some would shine brighter than others, but that was just how life worked, right? Just as some people shine brighter than others.

And to M/n, they seemed to shine the brightest.

"UWAA!! M/n, you can't just run off like that!!" Kiyoko, the magical talking fox, had large comical tears streaming from his beady eyes.

The magical person wasn't hard to spot. With their pure white costume luminescent under the glowing moonlight, they stood out like a sore thumb wherever they went, especially under the dim, decaying alleyways of Gotham at midnight.

"Kiyoko, I can take care of myself!"

"B-but, b-but! Gotham is so scary and so, so dangerous! What if you got hurt, or worse?"

M/n tilted their head to the side, placing a finger on their chin and thinking for a moment.

What would they do if they got hurt? They didn't exactly have a team. Not to mention, the Bats always seemed to be hot on their tail wherever they appeared, especially since they were now labeled a 'metahuman' due to the abilities gained from the ring.

How ironic was it that the world's greatest detectives couldn't even find someone right under their noses?

Alfred, of course, was the only one who showed any semblance of care for them, so he was the only one who knew of M/n's escapades.

He agreed to keep it a secret, but if it ever resulted in M/n's near-death or a fatal injury, he would be compelled to inform the Bats about their little cosplay heroism. Lets hope that never happens.

Suddenly, a loud scream was heard nearby, making both M/n and Kiyoko swivel their heads in the direction of the noise that echoed off the walls of the area they were in and ricocheted into their ears. "It seems we're not finished with our jobs yet, Kiyo!"

With a charge, the two of them ran towards the sound, running on top of the roofs before jumping off one and landing gracefully near two criminals and a woman. Oh dear.

"Hands off her, monsters!" M/n yelled, pointing the staff in their hands at them. It wasn't the most intimidating look, no, but still put their point across.

The woman next to them cried out louder as the two criminals looked at each other before pushing her to the ground, ripping off the expensive purse from her arm, and towering over her. "Fuck, dude, who the hell is this kid?"

"Just kill them, then we go for the girl." The other offender rolled his eyes before jumping in front of M/n.

These scum... How could they possibly think of doing such things to other humans? It didn't make sense! These actions could only be explained by the fact that they were actually monsters! Thats right, monsters! The two figures began to shapeshift into grotesque, fleshy creatures that would win an audition to be nightmare fuel for little children.

A small gasp escapes from the magical person before they turn to Kiyoko. "I knew it! Both of them are monsters!" they exclaim, pointing their staff at the two. One of the monster's eyes darts toward M/n as he rushes in from the side with a knife.

"Are you ready, M/n?" Kiyoko yells from above.

"Of course! Kiyo, lend me your strength; help me defeat these villains!"

A symbol glows beneath M/n, making the monsters halt, watching in confusion at the light. Incoherent gurgles and blabbering come from the creatures as they turn toward each other, uncertainty etched on their faces. They should probably take a few steps back if they don't want to turn blind.

With a swift flick of the wrist, M/n stabs the staff into one of the monster's chests. It enters easily through the layers of flesh that seem to melt around the area of the magical wand. The monster appears to open its mouth to scream, but no sound comes as it explodes the moment M/n pulls the staff out of its chest, glittery effulgent rainbow liquid spilling everywhere. One monster down; this was like a piece of cake!

A piece of magical cake!

The other flesh-like beast can only watch in wide-eyed horror as it steps back. Then it takes a few more. And before M/n knew it, it was running away. What a coward. Wanting to commit crime yet can't face the consequences. Before it could run far off, M/n leaps into the air and stabs its chest, the monster exploding shortly afterwards.

Both creatures convulse on the ground and two little chibi angels start floating out of them, rising into the air.

"Goodnight, little angels!" M/n cheers, turning their attention toward the trembling woman who seems to be holding her breath. It is a pity, really. So many monsters roam the world; M/n has to stop all of these transformations himself! Not even the bat and his family could grasp the duty laid upon M/n's shoulders.

A small chirp from your fox mascot pops your thought bubble. "M/n! M/n! It's Batman! And, uh, night thing, red thing, other red thing, and smaller thing…" Oh dear. How did they even find where they were? M/n had sworn they had kept their tracks hidden—maybe except for the glittery rainbow liquid covering the alleyways.

Tim looks around. It seems as if someone pulled a scene from an extremely gory video game, the kind Bruce would probably scold him for playing. If only it truly were a video game.

Bruce holds his calculated, analytical gaze, turning cold as it locks eyes with M/n. What the hell happened here? The bodies of the two criminals are not precisely a welcoming sight either. Damian can only scoff at the image.

"Kiyo!!" M/n blurts out, putting a hand over their mouth as their eyes widen. "You should've warned me earlier!!"

Kiyoko glides down toward the white-clothed figure, perching atop their head before jumping down and hiding behind the magical person. "I tried to warn you, but you were too distracted by the criminals!"

"Is that a fucking fox??" Jason asks in disbelief before turning to the rest of his family. "This is what we're worried about?"

Suddenly, the scenery shifts, the walls turning a lighter shade, and the rainbow liquid vanishes. One blink, and it seems M/n finds themselves in a new location.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

"Stop!!" You managed to weasel your way into the middle of them and separate them both before things got too out of hand.

"Y.. Y..n.. /n"

"It's Y/N." You cringed at how Bruce forgot your name but pushed the thought to the back of your mind.

"Y/n, do you know these people?" Bruce finished his sentence, while the rest of the family waited for you to respond.

You turned toward the alternate versions of yourself, Vg/n eyeing you as if urging you to make the situation better. "Well, uh. They're... they're..." Shit, think of an excuse, quick! "They're... um... superhero friends visiting me! Yeah!"

Vg/n facepalmed, and V/n giggled. Well, okay, sorry, that was the best excuse you could muster right now. You don't work well under pressure! They should know that better than anyone else since they were technically still you!

Jason raised a brow at your statements.

"If they are your friends, why don't we know them?" Bruce asked.

Damian interrupted Bruce, opening his mouth to voice his own opinions. "You honestly don't believe Y/n, do you, Father? That was such an obvious lie; I could have figured that out in my sleep."

Bruce rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of everything.

"Well, what do you know about Y/n?" M/n asked, placing the staff in their hand behind them and a finger on their chin.

Then silence fell.

The family pondered. What did they know about Y/n? Their likes? Dislikes? What they did yesterday?—What have they done at all? It was a question that seemed to stop the whole family in their tracks.

"Well, I mean, I know their name is Y/n." Dick says, being the first to respond, which only earned him a small "Shut up" from Tim before awkward silence pursued once more.

Another person speaks up, this time it was you. "And if you're worried about them knowing, they already know. And, uh—it's not because I told them or anything; they're just super smart, and, um, they figured it out on their own! Yeah."

Vg/n sighed, facepalming once more for what felt like the umpteenth time. "You saying that just makes it sound like you did tell us."

"Oh, what's this? It's hangout time-o'clock!" you suddenly yelled, pushing the three versions of you outside of the manor and waving goodbye to the Bat-family. "I'll be back in an hour, uh, bye!!"

The rest only watched before chaos ensued.

"Really, Grayson, was that the best you could come up with?"

"Jeez, I don't see you saying anything better!"

"How the hell did they enter the manor?? The cameras didn't pick up any movement at the front door?"

"Well then, they obviously snuck in,"

Bruce silences his children before turning to Alfred. "Did you know about any of this?"

"I can say, Master Bruce, that I did not, in fact, know of this sort. But I can say with full confidence that I don't think you would have known either, sir."

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

"So how the hell are we going to get you guys out of here?" You place a hand on your hip.

"Jeez, we just arrived, and you want to get rid of us now? I'm hurt," V/n teases, earning a glare from you.

You were going to go insane; they needed to get out NOW. Who knows what else could happen? If they died here, then a whole universe would fall apart or something, right? Regardless, what would the rest of the family say after they found out about them? God, you were getting a headache.

M/n fiddles with the ring in their hand, pressing it a few times. "Waah!! Maybe I could call Kiyo; they could summon us a magical portal…"

V/n deadpans at the magic user before opening their mouth to speak.

"Okay, first of all, who the hell is 'Kiyo,' and second of all, do you really think that you could contact whoever the hell this is in an alternate universe?"

A disappointed sigh escapes M/n as they put a hand on the back of their neck, their eyes scanning everywhere as if trying to find some escape. Of course, there wasn't any, so their gaze eventually landed on yours.

It was a look that searched for some kind of answer in your eyes, an answer you couldn't give them. You weren't nearly as awesome as them, nor could you barely pack a punch. What were you supposed to do?

You were just a lost 18-year-old.

"Hey, don't be so harsh on M/n. We could at least try before we cross it off our list of options," Vg/n says as the three of you stop at a local Batburger.

With a wave of their thumb, a sparkle emits from the ring in M/n's hand as they spin around, their magical clothes disappearing with a flick of their hand, and a uniform replacing them instead. Once finished, they strike a pose, a blast of glitter escaping from behind them, which makes the you and your other two alternate selves eye each other before a fit of giggles escape your lips.

Yet despite the lightheartedness of the moment, the three variants could always feel eyes watching the back of their heads like a hawk.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

GUYS LOWK I KNOW THIS WAS LIKE FILLER and im so SORRY gaaaaah!!!!! next chapter. next chapter guys. dont worry. NEXT CHAPTER. taglist: @cosmosluckycharms @the-dumber-scaramouche @lilithskywalker @senhoritaapple @aetheriis @euphoria-looney @depressed--therapist @chericia @mybones537 !!

[hxney-lemcn]

Ancient Love — deity! Malleus Draconia x gn! reader

summery: you find yourself blessed by the God of magic, don't worry dear reader, he'll take care of you.

tw: mentions of death (he speculates about you growing old). Power dynamics once again (he is a literal god so...yeah).

a/n: another deity au fic. Idk why it's got me in its grasp at the moment. Once again, props to @ceruleancattail for the au. also ik in Greek myths gods 'loving' humans was a reoccurring thing but still, for the sake of this fic its taboo.

wc: 0.8k

Master List

This was wrong. Taboo. So why did it feel so right? Why did you long for him to run his fingers through your hair, or to caress your skin? Why did he give in to your wishes? Malleus, the long forgotten deity of magic and creatures of the night has graced your being time and time again. You had stumbled upon his shrine, the old temple crumbling from centuries of decay and erosion. The gargoyles had stared down on you as you entered, depictions of dragons, reptiles and bats laid upon a mural with the paint cracking. Unlike most ancient temples that are uprooted, this one held no statue, only an altar with melted candles, bones, and decaying papers that you could barely make out. 

Malleus showed himself after your third visit. You hadn’t come to worship him, but instead to document the crumbling temple and what his old followers had come to him for. So what better than to speak to the God himself? At first he didn’t tell you who he was, not wanting you to look at him differently or to scare you off. You always had an inkling of doubt about the mysterious man. He had come from seemingly nowhere and his attire was outdated, not to mention he talked more regal than what you were used to, but you didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Malleus on the other hand found you quite amusing. You were unknowingly speaking to one of the most powerful ancient gods yet you spoke to him like any other mortal. He had always been a lonely God, even when he was in his prime he wasn’t as popular as the others. He didn’t offer prosperity, love, or good harvest. People feared him and his ability, humans weren’t too fond of magic and came to him for protection from curses or evil spirits. So you, a mortal who didn’t cower in front of him had his heart melting. Your curiosity about him, his temple, his powers, and his past had him rambling for as long as you’d let him. 

Don’t question why you feel safer at night, or how bats and reptiles are more fond of you. Don’t question why people who wrong you never treat you terribly again or how you always feel watched when the moonlight shines down upon you. Unlike how Malleus was portrayed, he was a deity who cared about his people, and you had wormed your way into his heart. Yet he found himself loving you on a level he’s never had before. Your smile warmed his chilled bones, your laughter was better than any prayer he’d received before, your love greater than any worship he’d ever had.  

A deity falling for a mortal was taboo. It was wrong. It goes against all boundaries. Gods were better than mortals, they were stronger, more powerful. A God's only purpose was to be worshiped, they were not the ones to worship. So why, why did Malleus find himself wanting to bow before you, wanting to pray for your love and care, for you to never leave his side. When you found out his true identity at first you were flabbergasted, you had been speaking to a deity this entire time…but that soon fizzled when you realized he was still the same person you had been talking to. 

You found yourself in the ancient shrine more and more with Malleus’ fingers tangled in your hair as he explained why gargoyles stood post throughout his temple. Or the nights that you both shared under the stars as he explained the meanings of old constellations that had shifted over time. Or when he wrapped you in his embrace when you found yourself with troubles, wishing he could fix everything for you so you never had to shed a tear again. Yet he found himself enjoying the moments you brought him gifts, not out of worship, but out of care. Or when you’d be the one to caress his face, or how your hands always seemed to wander towards his horns but stopped an inch short. Or the moments your eyes would take him in and you’d murmur his praises that he always managed to hear. 

Over time, Malleus started to think of your future. Even though you were nothing like his past followers, you would meet the same fate. Your hair will turn either gray or white, your skin will start to sag and droop, your mind will deteriorate, and one day you’ll return to the Earth. A fate that tore his heart apart. He knew he was thinking selfishly, but he wanted to keep you by his side. He wanted to be with you until time ended, and even then, he’d find a way to be with you. And as a deity, there was a way to turn you immortal, to raise your title of mere mortal to deity. You both could rule the empty temple together, taking care of the geckos and bats that resided there. 

What do you say, dear? Won’t you rule by his side for eternity?

[dropsnectar]

Pollen and Potions: Bee-men x Afab!reader

PART FIVE

NSFW

Well! Five parts later and here is your bee-smut! There will be other parts to this, and part six will probably be up by later tonight, since I'm on a roll rn. tw: breasts WILL be mentioned lol

When Rena finally stopped flying, you were outside of a large structure. You’d always imagined the hive itself as a sort of large cartoon beehive, but instead found something that looked more like a gymnasium. The outside coating looked almost like a gray paper mache, no sharp edges in sight. The “building” stood four stories tall and seemed to form itself around the impossibly tall trees of the ancient wood. It stretched impossibly wide, and you couldn’t tell quite how long the building stretched on.

There were several guard bees at the entrance. You recognized one of them as a bee-men you had met at the music festival. They saw you and Rena and immediately moved aside, Rena pushing you through the door. She eventually grabbed your hand and started to guide you through what seemed like tunnels.

The ceiling shone with a faint light, much like the inside of the shed you had visited once. You weren’t able to do much. You were out of breath from your running when you eventually made it to a large room with a high ceiling. You could see about thirty bee-men, scattered around this way and that. Many of them met your eyes, looks of pity, and despair settling in the ridges between their eyebrows and noses. You kept on, until Rena brought you through another tunnel, passing room after room. Finally, it seemed you had made it to where you were supposed to be and you saw a figure slumped down in a small alcove in the wall. You’d recognize these those wings anywhere.

“Lyith!” You yelled, running to his side. You turned him over, and you were taken with a strange forbidden feeling  pulsing its way into your head. It was like a current was pushing at the dam of your mind, waiting to break. Lyiths usual, lemon-grapefruit sent had turned sour, like he was rotting. He was pulling in breath after breath, like his lungs couldn’t hold onto any of it. His limbs shook and twitched. He didn’t seem to be aware of anything going on in the room.

“He smells like decaying magic. Whats going on Rena.” You knew what she would say, but refused to believe it.”

“Lyith can’t handle his own mana right now. It's not compatible with his body anymore.” Rena’s eyes were filled with tears.

“But that only happens when you guys are starved for magic right? Haven told me! You guys have been able to get more magic from my honey, why is he…” Your face was hot and your mouth was dry.

“He was very weak before he started getting nutrients. His body didn’t build strength quick enough to adjust to the influx of energy..”

“But you guys were descended from gods right? You're like demigods! Can’t you heal him?”

“The problem isn’t his physical body, it’s his magical one. The structure around his magic is too weak. Listen, Little One, there is still something we can do. You can do.”

Leith let out a gargling buzz. It sounded almost like he was choking.

“You can use your magic. I don’t know how it works, but your mana is very compatible with ours.” She took your hands and pulled them around Lyiths, pressing down firmly.

“There are two forms of magic when it comes to us. Our own magic, and our hives. His magic can’t handle the hives so its burning itself up trying to keep up. If you use your magic and join it to his for a while, you might be able to give him enough strength to endure for a time. But if you do this wrong, and add your magic to that of the hive…”

“It’ll overwhelm him. I’d kill him.”

“He’s already dying, (y/n).” This was the first time Rena had ever called you by name.

You stared out at Lyith’s face, wincing at how he was contorting in pain. It was just like Haven had described. His magic was burning him up.

You didn’t know if this would work, but you had to try. You carefully shook yourself from Rena’s grip, placing your hands onto Lyith’s cheeks. You concentrated on the feeling of magic. Immediately, your vision went starry. You were overwhelmed with white pulsing hot magic. It overtook all of your senses. It took everything you had to mentally claw and pull yourself up enough to be, let alone see. There was so much there. You immediately recognized the feeling of Rena’s mind, then Haven’s then that of so many others who had shared their feelings with you overtimes. You could feel their astonishment. The horror, the joy, the disturbed and the hopeful. You had to pull yourself out of it. This feeling must be the magic of the hive that Rena had been talking about.

You reached your awareness out further, concentrating on Lyith, but it was so hard to find him over the rushing current of magic. You eventually found his pain first, and followed it back to a racing, burning hot feeling. You grasped onto it with all of your might. You reached around and tried to feel out where Lyith began and the rest of the hive began, but it took time. Too much time.

You eventually grasped him, using your magic to form a barrier around his consciousness and the magic that surrounded him. There was no physical realm in your eyes, just magic, and you slowly started to piece your own mana out to his, watching it trickle around him. You could see it then, the structures, the geometry that made him up, like he was a log cabin and his wooden beams were burning. 

Yes! That was it! You saw it now. 

Slowly, you pushed your magic into his structure, fortifying it, adding layers of concrete to his wood. That little pool of energy inside you became a well, and you added it to the weakest parts of the house. A wall had already collapsed so you concentrated on building that up again, using the ash that had already been burnt. The fire, the fire burning the house was trying to consume you too, it hurt, almost forcing your mind back into your body. 

“Little witch please be careful.” Lyith whispered in your ear. But you didn’t have a body, you were a well. The voice had been weak. Too weak. You needed to heal him, build him up again. You continued to work, fueled by your desperate need not to see him die. You gave your magic over to him, and suddenly he wasn’t a house anymore but a garden. LIke your garden! You could feel him completely around you. His breath was your wind, his body the soil.

But his garden was decayed. His flowers were wilted, the stalks browning. You couldn’t leave him like that. Not your Lyith.

“Slow down.” You heard him hiss, from somewhere you couldn’t quite see. A part of you was happy, he was finally awake somewhat. But you were not done yet, you needed to heal him. You took that pool of energy that was inside of yourself and got to work. It was easy, you had done this so often, building up the flowers and letting them grow. Letting them heal.

It felt good. A warm excitement filled your consciousness, urging you on. There was no pain here. Usually when you expel your magic it weakened you. But this. This felt good. Like that ease in your muscles after a good walk.

You continued to build up the garden. You could feel Lyith everywhere. He could feel his strength returning as you worked. The burning fire had turned to a warm summer heat, perfect for growing. 

“You know not what you do little one, I am well, you have to--” He let out a moan. Something within you stirred. He had told you to stop but you could feel him. Feel his mind and his truth. He didn’t want you to. He didn’t want you to stop. You pushed your mind further against him, like a cat rubbing their head against their owner. There was a building of the summer heat coursing through him, through you, and you wanted more. 

You pushed at him, mushed your magic into his garden, totally invading his senses. All you wanted him to think about was you, feel you. And he did. The more magic you channeled into him, the more the excitement built, searing hot pleasure flooding all of your senses. You weren’t sure if it was his or yours. You wanted more. You pushed against him again. You didn’t stop, all you felt was pleasure mounting. Hot needy pleasure. The garden you had made was healed now. His magic was sturdy, strong, healthy. You had done it! You had healed him, and you were together and--

The pulsating, beating heat crescendoed and you cried out, he cried out, and then all you felt and all you two were was ecstasy. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you rode out your high. It was amazing, delicious and your body ached. Your body.. Slowly, your senses came back to you. You had a body. You could feel it now. Toes and fingers and eyes. You could see. And what you saw was Lyith under you, his beautiful eyes glazed over, drool trailing out of his mouth. His skin was hot under your fingertips. During your work you had straddled him. Your underwear was warm, wet, and you could feel a bulge pushing up against your clothed entrance. Your awareness finally pulled away from his and your mind was your own again.

Except it wasn’t wasn’t exactly yours anymore. You felt the ghost of a bond in the back of your head. A bond that trailed back to Lyith. You had done something that couldn’t be undone.

You felt Lyiths large sturdy hands squeeze your thighs. Affection and and loud, resilient devotion. You could taste it on the air, as you focused on it, it overwhelmed all your senses.

“My Queen. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” He breathed out, his voice still ragged.

Queen?

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

You pulled back, pushing your body off of Lyith and against the wall of the cot. Your tired, sore body was weakening, as the realization of what you had just done crashed upon you.

“I… I only meant to heal you.”

Lyith looked at you with soft eyes, before pulling himself up to face you.

“And you did. You did it perfectly. But it worked a little too well. You shouldn’t have been able to do that. Not like this.” He reached forward and cradled your hands.

“But it happened.” He pulled your hands to cup his cheeks. He stared at you, his expression complicated. You knew if you pulled on the bond it would all be open to you, every little complicated emotion. There was a tickle in your mind. He wanted you to feel how he felt.

There was sadness, for causing you pain. Ache and relief, to finally have you, pride, to be able to call you his, and for you to call him yours. Bewilderment, that your power was such that you could ensnare him in such a way, and curiosity of how the two of you would maneuver through this. And there was an instinctual part, buzzing and excited to finally have a queen to serve, to breed-”

Okay that was probably a little too far! You pulled back enough for a bit of embarrassment to pass across his face. But he held your gaze. He had shown you all of his truth and you loved him for it. 

“Well, this has been a really wild afternoon.” Rena said, loud enough to break up your scene.

The horror of realizing Rena had just witnessed everything and probably felt it too, made you choke on the air in your throat. Your already hot face charged up to a solar flare.

She was sitting down, leaning against the wall. A feral smirk on her face, both pairs of arms crossed around her chest. One finger was slowly, meaningfully tapping against her arm.

“Well, um-- you see-- it was an accident!” You sputtered, pulling away from Lyiths grasp to the end of the bed. You didn’t look at Lyith, only tried to explain the words of what happened but not finding them.

Rena suddenly stood up, her stance strong as she purposefully stalked towards your end of the bed. Her gaze was burning, a hungry smile on her face as she leaned down, and tilted your chin up with a black finger.

“Little One, only Queens can bond to a Bee-men like that. For a Human, we would have to spend weeks prepping you before you could even manage to attempt what you have done.”

She moved forward, putting both of her knees outside of yours, leaning over you with a fire in her eyes.

“I knew there was something different about you. I want to know what, and I want you to do that again.” Her bottom set of arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush to her. Her other hand gripped your shoulder.

Your heart was roaring now, and you looked to Lyith for help. He was watching with amusement, leaning back against the headboard wall of the cot. There wasn’t an ounce of jealousy in his features or his mind.  Whatever was going on, he was definitely down for it. 

You swallowed thickly.

“C-can’t we t-take a moment to think this over?” 

She ignored you, her gaze straying to your lips. The hands at your waist started to roam, gently moving up and down, one wandered to the hem of your shirt, the other cupping the curve of your ass and rubbing through the fabric.

You tried not to let your arousal show, starting to tremble under her ministrations, as she watched you with her triumphant, molten gaze.

“Lyith may have been yours first, but I won’t let him have you to himself.” She leaned forward and gently bit down on the curve of your ear. Your breath hitched and you had to keep yourself from mewling.

 “I’m yours too, you know?” She said this part gently, an earnestness made its way into your mind. It felt like how she smelled and you leaned into it. 

If you were truly a Queen now, there was no going back. Things had changed since you had bonded with Lyith. Rena was someone you treasured too. She was arrogant and sweet, and she had always been kind in the ways that mattered.

Well. What was one more anyway? You thought, closing your eyes and leaning your body into Rena’s. She let out a triumphant trill, Then slowly started dragging her impossibly long textured tongue up your neck. 

“I’m going to show you how we normally prepare a human queen.” She purred. Her arms moved to pull up your shirt as you felt the cot move under you. Lyith had moved from his spot from the end of the bed, and had situated himself behind you, his own arms curling around your hips, playing with the edges of your pants.

“While this looks very fun, I’m not the type to just sit and watch.” He sang out in a low voice. Rena huffed and rolled her eyes. But she continued to undress you, long fingers hitching around your bra and freeing your breasts. She leaned back and looked at them, purring the whole time.

Well. It looked like you were in for a long night.

Part Six (Beware NSFW)

[helluvabossrewrite45]

You Reap What You Sow - The Final Helluva Boss Rewrite

Tw: Mention of SA/R4pe

His neck itched at the golden chain wrapped around his neck. He can smell the ingested air suffocating his closed breath, wincing quietly for Satan not to hear his highly pitched voice that emulates a scared little boy. His body shivered in intense heat around him.

He can tell he was frozen by the glares from the royals deadpanned faces, as though he was a bug that trespassed their homes; waiting to be stepped on without an ounce of care or sorrow. Satan exhaled a deep fiery breath to Stolas’ tiny shrivelled face, causing him to cough the smelt of crisp flames from out of his beak. Satan’s hands snatched Stolas’ face to meet his. “You know what your punishment is, don’t you?” Satan inquired in a firm tone. 

“U-uh…execution?” Stolas squeaked. 

Satan shook his head. “Do you really think I’d let you off that easily?” He continued. “You committed an illegal act, one that violates the order of this state. One that has disobeyed and has not only tainted the legacy as The Goetia but as your own; The great prince of Hell.” His voice lowered as the aggression became stronger. “You really think death would be a suitable answer to your crime? To no longer think of the harm you displayed upon your family? Your ancestors, your wife, your daughter?”

Stolas nodded weakly. “No” He mouthed. “N-not at all…”

Satan sneered. “I thought so.” He inhaled, his tone turned reserved. “Such waste shall not decay its legacy any further, can they?” Before Stolas’ attempted to respond, Satan slammed his face down the rocky floor. He let out a muffled screamed as his face banged to the rock’s gritty texture. His body jittered out of his initial standing position as he felt something inside of him jumping vigorously to be out of his body. Satan grabbed his neck in a tight grasp, causing Stolas to choke as his eyes darkened; only seeing Satan’s icy glare with his mouth disclosing; “You reap what you sow,” before it all turned to black.

***

His eyelids slowly opened half-way as he turned around to the grand door. He sprung up and knocked firmly on it, only to be given with no response. He aggressively kept knocking with the same non-response. His teeth bared along with his feathers bursting from his skin as he attempted to transform into his demon form. Yet all that came out was tiny feathers on the floor. The pupils of his eyes widened to shaky dots as he stared at his hands. ‘What is wrong with me?’ He wondered, aghast. He raised his hands to appear his magic, flickering the same movements he was taught, and yet the magic never re-appeared as before. He gasped as he slowly shifted towards the door, his teeth gritted as his hands turned to a fist. “HEY!” He shouted. “SATAN! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME-” He got cutted off by burning coffee splashing from the back of his head to his eye, drenching his feathers with a disgusting pale brown liquid. An imp wearing a janitor uniform with one of their horns being slightly chopped off yelled back; “You suck, Stolas!” While raising a middle finger towards his direction. Stolas turned back to the janitor and scoffed. “Excuse you, I am a Goetia and Great Prince of Hell. You shall not speak to me like that-”

“Then where’s your crown then, huh?!” They cutted Stolas off as they turned their head back, cackling. Before opening his mouth, Stolas began to touch his crown, only to feel the soft feathers of his head. He froze as he stared at his clothes; No golden crown that accompanied his sophisticated hat, no fluffy posh cape, not even maintaining the clothes with of popping velvet-red. It’s now dingy with a pale red alongside a drabby texture, fading it’s life away just like his now-gone powers. His pants scruffed with cuts in some areas, making him look like those imps he saw on the streets. He coiled. Gasping in between breaths as he fixated on his hands, trembling rapidly.

A light bulb has gone off in his head. Blitz! He turned around yet didn’t see him. “Blitz?” Stolas echoed in the hallway. He takes a few steps forward. “Blitzy?” His hands quivered together as the minutes passed without a word from Blitzo. Stolas speeded out in the hallways, screaming with all of his might; “BLITZZZZZZY! WHERE ARE YOU?!” 

***

His knees were like worms, crawling itself as he kept running while on the verge of collapse. As he rummaged across the unfinished limp buildings, people from it dumped their garbage onto Stolas, chanting their insults -

“Fuck you!”

“Racist piece of shit!”

“Ha! How’d ya like being poor now?!”

He wiped off their trash as he hurried to get to Blitzo, the only one he can rely on at this point. The only imp he truly needed. He’s his imp, his doll. A doll too must take care of their owners, after all. 

He saw a demon silhouette dancing with another who looked wolf-like in a wall of an alleyway. His eyes began to lit up as he rushed towards it. “BLITZZZZ!” He tripped in front of Blitzo, panting up to him like a dog. “Oh Blitzy-I-I’m so glad to see you, I was so scared-” His bright smile faded as he saw Blitzo’s disgusted face. 

“Y-you, you're not dead?” Blitzo snarled. His eyes crossed as he backed himself further away from Stolas.

“No, I haven’t. I’ve lost…everything. My family, my powers, my status, everything.” Stolas directed his eyes to Blitzo, pleading as he began to form tears. “Look, I-I know we didn’t have the best start but please if you can just-”

“No.” Blitzo rejected with a dead-panned tone.

Stolas lips were wincing. “B-but-” 

“No.” He repeated.

“Blitzo please! I-I don’t have anyone else!” His tears streamed down his face, wettening his feathers from blubbering. “You're the only one I have!” He felt his throat closing up, burying his face in his hands as he wailed loudly in front of Blitzo and Loona. Both glanced at each other as they rolled their eyes at him. 

As Stolas continued his weeping, Loona glare tightened as she began to raise her hand and smack Stolas’ puffy face. “Shut up! God, can you ever accept a no for once in your fucking life?!” She fumed. She jumped at Stolas before he could chime in a response. “You used my dad’s own fucking body,” she took a grip of his feathered head and began punching him throughout her speech, “for your own selfish gain,” her fists became harder each punch, “always acted like were nothing but little pets to you,” stolas’ beak began to bleed, streaking down his nose as Loona continued punching him, “and NOW when you lost that power, you still treat us like your pets-fuck you!” She forced Stolas back up before kicking her leg upwards to slam between Stolas’ legs. “FUCK YOU!” Stolas whined in pain as he curled himself up to a fetal position. 

“Loona, sweetie!” Blitzo comes up to Loona as she’s seethed. “It’s okay-”

“No it’s not okay!” Loona snapped. “He’s a racist rapist and thinks he can just prey his way back-” She paused as she stared at Blitzo. “I-I’m sorry dad.” She stuttered in a regretful tone. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Blitzo gave Loona a warm smile. “It’s okay sweetie. I just don’t want you to waste time on..” He paused as he directed himself towards Stolas in a crossed glare. “Him.” Stolas can feel Blitzo’s eyes pierced through him in the same way those at the Demon Jury did. “He’s not even worth it.” Stolas watched Blitzo and Loona leave as his body remained frozen, unable to speak. Not even a whine or wail or peep out of him. Nothing. All he has now is his thoughts. The very thing he avoided for so long. And all it has been doing so far is repeated those final words; 'You reap what you sow.'

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Orchid Child, Dandelion Child

Pairings: Riddle & Sibling MC (NOT a romantic pairing)

Summary: This is going to take after Riddle’s overblot, and short and sweet. The term orchid child/dandelion child refer to children who may have very specific/different needs for their development, and those who need less accommodations or specific requirements for their development, respectively. They may grow up in the same environment but everyone’s needs are different, one child may have different coping mechanisms than the other. MC is heavily implied to have dyslexia, ADHD/Autism, and OCD (the latter two of which are often comorbid)

Notes: My brain is so dead. Enjoy this very short piece, sorry it's been a while.

TW: Graphic descriptions of embalming (weird tag I know but listen listen listen hear me out‒), also mentions of blood and human biology; past domestic/child abuse, and mental illness

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

--------------------------

Adjacent to your mother’s footsteps, you had always had a curiosity for the medical. Though it was never living bodies that enamored you. In death, biology levels all. Cremation, natural burial, or alkaline hydrolysis‒ no amount of money, or intelligence, magic, or talent would help anyone escape the inevitable. Whether able bodied, rich, poor, moral or not‒ all people returned to dust, bones, and decay. 

  Rituals like the embalming process always brought you a strange comfort‒ the draining and ejecting, bathing, refrigeration‒ the body incised, emptied of its filth, and sewn back up. Imagining the dissection of a body into each fleshy component relaxed your own‒ as if your cold body lay on a sleek, steel mortuary table, your jaws and eyes sewn shut and the biology of your body ready to be drained. Even if your insides were scraped out for people to see‒ you would not feel shame. No blood to rush to your cheeks, or your aching heart. Your mother had always dismissed this career choice, urging you to find something ‘more within your reach ’.

  Your body would be clean from its excrement, scrubbed of all the insides that capsized you from this world, and its people.

  Compartmentalization‒ your psychiatrist mentioned. It took you a few tries to correctly register the word in your head when you had gotten the report, you’re not sure if it’s correct. If you did not imagine this scene at least three times a day, you felt like your blood was going to burst forth from your membrane, hot and spastic, like a monstrous clot of nerves. Again. Again. Again. You cleansed this shaking contamination within you with whatever you could do. That’s wrong. You dig your nails into your palm, resisting the urge to lay the papers that were shuffled around by the headmaster on the floor, sorting and checking one by one if they were there. Again, again, again. You imagine an arterial tube weaving through the wounds of your hands, draining the warmth that itched against your skin, the function of your wandering eyes, and the defect of your mind.

  “I’ve signed off on everything. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mx.Rosehearts?” 

  “No, nothing else. Thank you, Headmaster Crowley.” 

  You gather the stack of papers in your file, you check through‒ quickly‒ your medical records, doctor’s notes, psych evaluations, annotated versions of section 504, interpreter documents‒ a variety of other loose papers that wedge inside the old file as best you can, just in case . Even for such a minute accommodation, lacking a legally recognized diagnosis prepared you for the worst. Rejection‒ a tumble and drag into a system not designed for you in mind. These accommodations were an afterthought after that system was built, something to make you “whole”. There were many experiences in your interactions with school boards that warranted preparations like this, which you scrubbed into your mind and routine. No one will help you‒ not the board, the teachers, your peers, your family‒ you must be prepared to advocate for yourself. There was never room for failure, and you made sure that these accommodations made up for your innate nature to do so in this system.

  You bow a perfect ninety degrees before you head out of the office, quietly shutting the door behind you with a soundless exhale. Adjusting the stack of papers in your file, you scurry off to the library to find a quiet corner to reorient yourself. You weave through the various open tables, the large seating area, and the comfortable nooks with beanbags‒ and instead, opt for your usual spot in the corner of the library, where you softly place the file on the desk. 

  That’s wrong. Again. Again. Again. Again. 

  You open and close the file four times, feeling a wriggling, hot feeling in your blood that completely halts your mind from moving forward with your process, despite the short amount of time you have until your next class. 

  No. Again. 

  With the sixth time, it feels right. You sigh in relief, thanking whatever higher being out there that the process didn’t take as long as before. Medical records, doctor’s notes, psych evaluations, annotated sections, interpreter documents. All in order, all there, only for you to see. A weight lifts off your chest as you shift your eyes around the library, and close the file. 

  You browse through the section of the library, running your finger along the spines of the books to spot a new read.  A mauve leather-bound book catches your eye, the gold letter glinting in the dusty light of the library. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: Other Lessons From the Crematorium you skim the summary on the back. Satisfied, you work your way to the counter, where the librarian checks out the book with a smile. She pulls out the book slip at the front of the book and a pen. 

  Riddle Rosehearts. 

  You almost make a sound at the name, but instead, you quietly chew in your inner lip to provide some sort of grounding for the whirling feeling in your stomach. You feel sick when you write your name in the same cursive as the name above yours‒ just like your mother taught you. 

  “ Again .” Your mother would say. 

  You write. She slaps your hand with a ruler, reaching over your shoulder to erase the word. 

  “ Again .” 

  You write. She slaps, she erases. 

  “ Again .” 

  You write. She slaps, the paper begins to fray from the friction of your eraser, and the tears that run hot down your cheeks. Inertia. Inertia. Inertia. You repeat the word in your mind, trying to mold it with your hands. But the black text above the frayed paper seems to weave together, jumble, congeal. You push the hot coal in the back of your throat, forcing your bruised hand to write. 

  That’s not right. Again. Again. Again. 

  Why can't you just do it the way you're told?  

  Medical records, medical recommendations, psych evaluations, doctor’s notes, annotated sections, interpreter documents. So much extra weight that folder holds that you have to carry everywhere with you‒ just in case . 

  Again. Again. Again. 

  You open and close the locker shut, twisting the locker combination each time. At this rate, you know you’ll be late to class, way past your accommodations agreements. You hope Professor Trein won’t make such a big scene. 

  When you arrive at class, you are miraculously left alone by the professor and your peers. Breathing a sigh of relief, you take your usual seat, finding a practice exam on your desk. 

  You didn’t properly shut your locker. People are probably stealing your stuff now, breaking your things, tearing your extra records into pieces. You didn’t properly shut your locker. The documents are ruined, and you have to start all over again. You didn’t shut your locker. You grip your pencil, bouncing your leg, digging your nails into your palm. Yes, yes you did lock it. Three times in fact. Still, a voice persists‒ you didn’t do it right. Again. Again. Again. You scratch, and pick at the broken skin of your palm. 

  Eventually, as you continue staring at the packet‒ you feel a stab at the back of your shoulder. A student jabs forth the packet of papers that were collected from the back with an exasperated face. The papers are basically thrown your way as you add your half blank packet to the pile, swallowing down your anxiety. Trein continues class as usual, going over the review sheet. 

  “Mx. (Name). A word?” 

  You freeze in your seat, in the middle of gathering your things for next class. Students’ gaze furl towards you, and you pick at the wound of your palm to calm the rising panic in your abdomen. Begrudgingly, you pack up your things, and head towards Trein’s desk. 

  “I will excuse your tardiness for today since you have accommodations, but that does not explain the almost completely unfinished practice exam that we took in class. Do you care to explain?”

  You refuse eye contact. “I…” There was no way to explain it with any sane sensibility, or without alerting your mother. “I apologize sir. I was distracted. It won’t happen again.”

  He sighs, you know he doesn’t believe you. It’s your condition‒ you look to the stack of accommodation letters and agreements tucked under his elbow, and you feel that weight in your chest. 

  “Please, sir. I’ll do anything to make up for it I‒”

  A hand is raised at your response, with a pinch at the bridge of his nose. “It’s…It’s quite alright. I know you are trying your best, considering your… situation . Please finish the packet before you come to class next time.” Trein hands the packet back to you, which you accept with a silent nod. 

  The situation, the condition, the baggage. There have been many terms used to describe your disablement from the world‒ each more alienating than the other. You draw blood on your palm once more, looking inside the crescent-shaped holes in your flesh. You feel nothing but the trembling deep in your chest. 

  You sit in the shared space of the Heartslabyul dorm, hoping that body doubling will allow you to finish your workload. Though it takes you some time, you manage to finish your work before the sun sets, and you scurry back into your dorm room to begin your book. As you try to relax, the thought of a missing assignment, a failed exam, a systematic blunter pricks at your skin, spreading and choking your flesh. You read the same sentence over and over, but understand nothing. 

  Why can't you just do it the way you're told?  

  You hear a knock at your door, seizing you from your thoughts. You sigh, shove whatever scrap paper that had been lying around into your book, and reluctantly open the door. 

  Riddle Rosehearts. 

  You remember him from his perfect handwriting, his words that mirrored your own mothers. You could never get the “R” quite right, something both your brother and mother scolded you for. 

  “Rule of threes, you understand what will happen when you fail the third time.” Again. Again. Again. 

  Riddle had always resembled his mother much more than you had‒ in voice, in appearance, in tone. “ Rule of threes, (Name). You know what mother will do to you when you fail the third time .” He extended your mother's violence with all his likeness to her, in his face that would look down upon you with aberration, and his tightened fists that dragged your head to look closer at the paper, and realize your error. Every way he came into contact with you had been wrapped, tightly as flesh, your mother's violence. 

  You imagine that cold table again, but Riddle’s silvery eyes tethered you to the moment. It was as if you could feel every shifting tendon of your body, every pull of sinew and blood that pumped blood rapidly to your heart, and the back of your ears. But the guilty look on his face reminded you of one of the rare times he had broken mother’s rules. You realized he was as much of a child too, that day. Stretched thin and tall to fill your mothers expectations. 

  His stare is unbearable, you push through the tension in your throat. 

  “Can I help you, Dorm Leader Rosehearts?” 

  You think you see his worried expression, but your eyes dart from his gaze when he looks towards you again. 

  “You left this on the table in the common room.” He extends you the file that you thought had been safely tucked with your belongings. Your vision begins to distort‒ graying and distancing as you attempt to keep yourself calm from experiencing your literal nightmare . “I thought you wouldn’t want anyone to see it.” 

  “I…do not, no. I would not wish to shame you, or this dorm.” 

  Riddle takes a sharp inhale. You unconsciously tightening your body‒ imagining the postmortem stages. Pallor mortis, your blood pools to the souls of your feet. Algor Mortis, your skin feels on fire, and cools dead, limp. Rigor mortis, you stiffen and contract. The nutrients of your body drained, breaking down to gray sludge. You prepare for the breakdown of your body, your psyche, and your soul‒ the wounds on your body are only evidence to your movement through temporality in this system. Livor Mortis, your blood bruises your skin. 

  “I did not…mean that. I only meant‒ I felt…” He sighs, looking towards the floor. “I’m bad at this. But I didn’t mean that this is something shameful. I only wished to protect your privacy.” 

  You avert your eyes, unsure of what to do with him wanting to protect you in some sort of way. Perhaps his overblot changed him, but all you see if your mother’s shadow, when you look towards him. 

  “It’s not important, I apologize for the trouble, Dorm Leader Rosehearts.” 

  Maintaining his grasp on the file, he attempts to keep this connection going. “There’s so much I need to apologize for.” 

  You only manage a strangled sound, afraid to pull the file towards you. Afraid of movement, of air, of space, of time, of him. Everything seems to strangle you, you know that it was precisely designed that way.

  He cups a hand over your own. You try to repress the tremble in your body from the searing feeling of his palm, too afraid to look, speak, or move. You remain still, like a corpse, hastily trying to turn off your nerves and the bursting blood in your body, slaughtering it, and draining all feeling from your body. It’s been so long‒ your body rushes to catch up. You’re always catching up. Always. 

  “I don’t want to upset you. I just came to apologize, but I understand if you don’t want to see me.”

  Your mouth is sewn with silence, your jaw caught in a tremor in your mouth. Quickly‒ your mind makes the decision to speak‒ mother never liked when you didn’t answer to her questions. 

  The words scrape through your throat. “I…” A gulp to lubricate the convulsing motions of your esophagus. “Nothing is wrong. I apologize, dorm leader Rosehearts. It will never happen again‒ I apologize‒ I will make up for it. Please.” 

  His gaze softens. “I’m not asking because I’m asking you to apologize, or make up for anything. I’ve learned some things…I wanted to make up, but, I want to make sure you’re okay first.” 

  “Are you okay?”

  You spare a glance at his face, almost caught in the worried expression adorned on his features. “I don’t understand what the purpose that question serves. I can’t understand…” Still, you worry what will happen if it seems like you blame him for your lack‒ so you shift the weight on yourself once more. “I am incapable…of understanding. I apologize.” 

  “Hey.” He mellows his voice as much as possible, releasing you from his grasp. “It’s okay.”

  “You asked me a question. I was incapable of giving an answer that satisfies you. That is a violation of the rules, is it not?” You retract your hands to your chest, pressing your nails into the wounds on your palm. 

  Riddle folds his hands, almost nervously fidgeting with them. You almost react visibly with awe at the sight. “Our mother may have been wrong about a lot of things. I only recognized that after I attended here, and made many friends who helped me understand that. I am extremely regretful of the things I’ve done to you, and the things I’ve said. There’s no excuse for the things I’ve done, but I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me someday‒ I want to reconnect, if you’ll allow me.” 

  You push the file against your chest. “...I don’t think it will be easy. For me, or for you. Especially for me.” 

  “Most things that are worth something aren’t. I realized something while I was overblotting.” His cheeks gradually bloom pink, a habit he’s had since he was a child. You remember the color most when he cried, but he looks sheepish. Igniting the same warmth in your cheeks, you look at his feet. Heels, you never noticed. He must be shorter than you. “I missed you. I really did. And I missed what we could have had. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better brother to you.”  

  “I think…I missed you too.” You admit. “I think neither of us can ask for help, we’ve been raised that way. We have drastically different ways of coping with that isolation.” 

  “I think so too. I have a lot of work to do.”  

  “ We do.”

  Rubbing your arm up and down, you soothe yourself‒ thinking of bodies and corpses, your skin buzzing from the thought of decomposition‒ what grows from them. The fruits of death lay thick and sweet on your tongue, as you stumble through a small smile. Riddle reciprocates.

--------------------------

End Notes:

Obviously this is only a small glimpse into what healing from abuse and trauma is like. But it’s a start. The first steps count.

I’m also in no way shape or form attempting to justify Riddle’s behavior. He’s a complete and total asshole for sure, but he was a kid‒ I definitely see him as capable of change.

The terms Orchid/Dandelion child are relatively new, and I find the pop-psychology approach to it very distasteful (as pop psych usually is. do your fucking research people. PEER REVIEWED ARTICLES!) But I wanted to use the terms to kind of critique the notion of this divide between "resilient" and "nonresilient". It's just a matter of needs, which are different for everyone. Making this hierarchical distinction is arbitrary and often times ableist, as it normalizes a singular, hegemonic way of reacting/experience/compartmentalization/coping. Anyways read more disability studies if you want to know more.

Because I’m not officially diagnosed (my disabilities are not officially recognized by law because for me the disadvantages gross outweigh the benefits, like literally having your human rights stripped away) I don’t know the specific details of acquiring accommodations in a school setting apart from my position as a teacher, but please let me know if there are any errors in the information so I can fix them expeditiously

I also wanted to write about the systematic issues disabled people (particularly those with “invisible” disabilities or those who are “undiagnosed”), I feel like I’ve been experiencing a lot of issues and push back from a system which is not built for disabled people in mind (and often is used against the community in an attempt to eradicate the category). Furthermore, I wanted to explore the aspects in which traditional psychiatry/curative methods are not built for neurodivergent individuals specifically. We often get diagnosed (especially those who have been socialized or perceived as female) with other disorders because of the perpetual stigma against ADHD, and autism in particular. Mainly why I didn’t go the psychology/psychiatry route, despite (one of) my undergrad major(s). It would have been immoral for me to be one, if held up to the current regulations set by the American Psychology Association, or the regulations in my home country. Anyways, lots of problems I wanted to address‒ not sure if I was able to explore them more at length, but I’d like to do more of this in the future.

The book Smoke in your Eyes is a reference to Caitlin Doughty’s book. I highly highly highly recommend her youtube channel and any of her books tbh. She writes/talks a lot about death culture and our perceptions of death throughout history, and creating a more death-positive culture.

I wanted to avoid some of the common stereotypes and misconceptions of OCD, which is predominantly characterized by excessive handwashing, needing things very neat and in place. I wanted to explore the more internal obsessions, rather than focus solely on the external compulsions‒ as I feel like the external behaviors that are often portrayed in media don’t explore the inner workings that make the disorder so hard to live with (and treat).

[althea-and-alcestris]

Infection AU is back on track

Gonna re summarize the lore because changes have been made

TW: Mentions of gore and death

So the main plot is that a strange fungi was discovered on Sage Island that soon began to make people ill. At first everyone thought that it's just a regular magic fungi, however it quickly turned out to be an incorrect assumption. Those infected with the spores began to develop odd symptoms such as nosebleed, gums bleeding, bloodshot eyes, discoloration of fingers and soon the limbs as it spreads. By the ending stages of the infection, the patient will resemble more like a bleeding and decaying tree with elongated limbs, hollow eye sockets, skin melting off at some parts of the body revealing the flesh and bones beneath and often times unhinged jaws. The infection spreads through either bites or the spores of the fungi. Coming in contact with the infected without any safety gloves also results in infection. Those with high magic drive are able to remain sane for longer periods of time than those with lower or no magic drive at all.

One of the firsts to ever come across this new anomaly was Jade himself who (due to his interest in mushrooms and fungi) began inspecting and analyzing it. He didn't notice it at the time that he was infected, his symptoms only started to show later but in such a small amount that he didn't think too much of it. However as other reports came in about the odd illness, he began to get sicker and experience the same symptoms the reports were talking about. Having no way to effectively deal with it, he slowly succumbed to the infection eventually growing hostile towards his peers, biting a few of them before eventually being killed by Alce. However it was way too late as the infection began spreading amongst students and the other residents of Sage's Island which soon caught the attention of the S.T.Y.X. Organization and sent the island into lockdown as to not spread the illness to further parts of the land while they work out a cure. This was 2 months ago. NRC has been turned into a safety camp and STYX provided them with special weapons that help keep the infected at bay until help arrives. The news do cover the incident and this is how the families of those stuck on Sage are informed about what is happening there, yet no other information gets out, no updates, no journals, no documentation. Everything remains in the dark to the outside until the very end.

[kamiraaah]

Saw the person with the TWST Infection AU and that reminded me that oh hey I have my own that created like a year ago

Uh uh TW for mentions of blood and gore and allat

So the main plot is that a strange fungus was discovered on Sage Island that soon began to make people ill. At first everyone thought that it's just a regular magic fungus, however it quickly turned out to be an incorrect assumption. Those infected with the spores began to develop odd symptoms such as nosebleed, gums bleeding, bloodshot eyes, discoloration of fingers and soon the limbs as it spreads. By the ending stages of the infection, the patient will resemble more like a bleeding and decaying tree with elongated limbs, hollow eye sockets, skin melting off at some parts of the body revealing the flesh and bones beneath and often times unhinged jaws. The infection spreads through either bites or the spores of the fungi. Coming in contact with the infected without any safety gloves also results in infection. Those with high magic drive are able to remain sane for longer periods of time than those with lower or no magic drive at all.

STYX gets involved and they place Sage under lockdown until this disease is cured as to not spread it to other parts of the world and our entire cast is locked on the island with no connection to the outside other than the STYX HQ. 2 months roll by under lockdown with several students either dead or infected and Jade was amongst the first. The families don't get informed of what is happening regularly, they were only informed of the outbreak via the news and nothing else. NRC has been turned into a safety camp with the mirror chamber and botanic garden boarded off and forbidden. The students and staff have formed scout groups and medical teams, scouts who scavenge for supplies around the island and were provided with special weaponary by STYX against the infected. Naturally those on the scout teams are the ones who are more in shape and preformed better in sports and P.E. so students like Jack, Sebek, Ruggie, Jamil, etc.

Crowley is missing, his whereabouts are unknown.

(LOL Sorry for the yappery)

Ohmygod??????? This is amazing??!?! AND DON'T YU DARE SAY SORRY!! THIS IS AWESOME AND I LOVE IT¡!!!!

And I can only sit here, imagining all the scenarios that this could result in. The desperation of the staff, students and STYX to the point of having to take more drastic and dangerous measures that could put students in danger, and the families becoming desperate wanting news about their boys AND WHERE IS CROWLEY, IS HE PART OF THE BLAME IN ANY WAY? WAS HE INFECTED? WAS HE SEARCHING FOR A CURE?!?! SO MANY QUESTIONS AND DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW COOL YOUR AU IS?!??!?!

[aria-bun]

ONESHOTS

A world without pain [Unrequited Sorvus, Soren Angst, Soren POV, MCD, oneshot based on instrumental]

Blazing [Sorvus, post s6, Soren angst, oneshot based on instrumental]

I'll see you in a dream, ignoring the alarm [Sorvus, Halloween modern au]

I love you like the ashes in my cigarette box [TMA, Post-s4, Tim Angst]

Kissing you in broken cathedrals, upon charred holy grounds [Sorpeli, post s6]

Minor fable [Soren Angst, post s7, Sorvus, oneshot based on instrumental]

The Perfect Moment [Sorvus, Modern AU meet-cute in the woods, oneshot based on instrumental]

There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface [Soren angst, Soren using dark magic, Sorvus if you squint. Part 1/2]

The silence [MCD, Soren angst, Sorvus, oneshot based on instrumental]

The sacrifice [Sequel to The Silence, Sorvus, MCD, oneshot based on instrumental]

To Keep You From Breaking [Soren angst, MCD, oneshot based on instrumental]

Tree falling no one would hear [Soren angst, torture]

Wright and West [Sorpeli, post s6, oneshot based on instrumental]

POETRY

All Blackout Poetry

Betrayal

Coruscated

Decay

Destruction

Falesia

Ghough

Kudoclasm

Like Your Saints Do [TW: Religion]

Mundane

Music (PoetryNation Semifinalist)

On Sleep Apnea

Our Fears [TW: Mentioned Abuse and Abandonment]

Six Feet Under

Temporary

Untethered

Your Perfect Daughter [VENT]

FICS

And with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp [In Progress] [Sorvus-centric Mermaid AU with a side serving of Rayllum, featuring Mer!Soren and Mer!Rayla]

But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same (rises the moon) [Completed 1/5/25] [Sorvus Coffee shop AU with background Rayllum and Christmas shenanigans]

Cherry Collins [Completed 5/11/25] [Samicolin Pub/Band AU]

Gunpowder and Cigarettes [Completed 4/24/25] [Jacoffel Roommates AU]

It's quicker and easier to eat your young [In Progress] [Sorvus-centric S7 prediction, featuring HalfElf!Soren, written with @sorinethemastermind]

Smoke rings and coffee stains [Completed 4/8/24] [Sam x Colin College AU with background Dyhard, displayed in vignettes]

The night has a thousand eyes [In Progress] [OC x Finian De Seel, canon divergence]

The swan upon Leda [Completed 12/25/24] [Sorvus post-s7 microfic, featuring Rayllum babies and Soren's daughter Leda]

WRITING EVENTS

Sorpeli Week 2025 [COMPLETE]

Whumptober 2024 [UNFINISHED]

You can find some of these + more on my AO3!

WORD TRACKER!

My book reviews here!

[vigilante-chaos]

ー " we're crashing this party , why the hell do you need some id -!? "

parody / roleplay blog ! not to be confused with our fictive's blog , @darkh3art

ー rules

no nsfw , lewd stuff is ok sometimes (darkheart is kinda nasty themselves...) , but mod is bodily a minor so dont be weird

respect the host's dni here !

⚠️ tw on this blog for heavy topics such as death , violence , gore , drug & alcohol addiction / usage , suicide & suicide attempts , body horror , cult mentions , dissociation & trauma disorders , yelling , lashing out , swearing & strong language , etc. darkheart is NOT a very good person nor are they in their right mind , if you're at all triggered by any of these things i highly suggest you stray away from this blog

ー basic info

pronouns !〈　they / them / theirs , it / its , cha / chao / chaos

aliases / monikers !〈　darkheart , dark , darky , darkheart sword , deity of darkness , etc.

appearance ! 〈　darkheart is a scrawny , lanky & dark skinned serpentine demon , one arm longer then the other. they wear a large , ripped & floppy green hat with glowing runes swirling around it's brim , fishing hooks & lures dangling down from the brim aswell.

they wear an old & patchy shirt of the same color , one of the sleeves completely ripped off. they wear a large , high waisted corset belt with belt chains dangling from it , & a pair of overly baggy black pants with one chevron on each pant leg.

they wear a pair of decorated yet worn old boots with small heels , & a worn & torn shaped green scarf around their shirt collar.

they have a disheveled appearance , visible sharp looking scales that stick out from their skin that some find either endearing or disgusting. they have a deep shadow over their eyes that obscure their eye , except at certain angles. their hair is long & fluffy , messy. it's heavily decorated with seaglass , trinkets , beads , jewelry , fishing hooks , old fishing lures , & other various items. they're visibly very scarred, the most prominent scars of theirs being around their neck & wrists , a small scar over their mouth aswell. they're missing an eye , but due to their face shadow you cant tell most of the time. they have freckles & sunspots mixed in with the scars on their face , & their nose is notably crooked.

their one arm is covered in an inky black , that has spread to parts of their back & stomach. strange spiky things have begun branching our from it , & their claws are sharper & longer on that hand. they regularly have green runic magic swirling around said arm. their hands are webbed & clawed with green gradient fingertips , complete with a couple scars on their hands. their tail is long , paddle shaped , & drags along behind them. they have a second , inky black arm on that side aswell (their left) , it being just as strange & pointy as their other arm.

their teeth are green , a visible gap between their two sharp front teeth. they have notably longer canines , most prominently on the top. their fangs are long & hooked , & they have a smaller , inner layer of tiny little hooked teeth to latch on. their tongue is long & forked.

ー trivia !

darkheart is the second-shortest deity , standing at seven foot even.

they are the deity of chaos , darkness , & wonder. they are only painted in a bad light due to their sister

darkheart is prominently malnourished & thin , this is due to a combination of issues. one , they are living in poverty & cannot afford it- therefore they have to catch their prey. two , they are struggling with mental health issues , leading to them having an eating disorder.

darkheart is pescatarian , however , they would eat a mortal if they were hungry enough.

darkheart is a did system of eleven , they're a traumagenic system. they also have autism & other various issues.

darkheart had (past tense) wings , however they do not anymore. one of which was ripped off , the other had to be amputated due to the fact it had begun to rot & decay.

darkheart's sword / gear is sentient & very much alive. it's this way because they're left handed , & their left arm & such is 'strange' , so by proxy- some of that rubbed off on their gear & such.

darkheart's voice is raspy & androgynous , sounding like multiple people are talking at once , so many find their voice strange. they also notably have a bit of a scottish accent that seems to worsen / get thicker as they get louder & more upset tone-wise.

darkheart can play the lyre , ukulele , syrinx / pan flute , & ocarina.

they currently are homeless , living under the bridge to blackrock in crossroads. they have been homeless & in poverty for centuries.

they are somewhat recovering from opioid addictions , & are fighting off a smoking problem (weed).

darkheart is morally questionable , neutral chaotic at best. they're irrational & angry , which leads them to just do alot of things out of a blind rage , not so much for the 'greater good' of things. because of this , they cant keep a steady relationship with hardly anyone & struggle to not have immensely complicated feelings towards demons they know.

references / art coming soon ! expect things to vary / change.

ー format

darkheart will speak in half colorless / half green text in quotation marks , all of their actions will be regular text

tagging system is changing , not all fully laid out yet ! things are kinda scattered all over now ... sorry !

＊��alot of things have been changed / retconned ! however most major things that have happened on this blog , aswell as their interactions & relationships with other characters / blogs remain. they are still different though !

[nonnieapple]

⛈ ☂️ Peach Pit, 5- Long Season Through☂️ ⛈

• (Akura-ou x g/n reader x Tomoe)   • r a t i n g: m a t u r e • 1 5 2 3 w o r d s  •  p o s t e d 21.01.2024    🌧  navigation 🍑 previous chapter 🍑 next chapter • s u m m a r y: you're a peaceful farmer in the mountains during the sengoku period. someone starts stealing your peaches, and the thief turns out to be a chaotic oni, and the events that ensue flip your life upside down. • c h a p t e r s u m m a r y: an opportunity presents itself in annoying hues. TW: fire mention, (a copious amount of) alcohol(ism) (being ingested). .

The sound of a shovel hurling through the air and hitting a mound of mud made the birds in a three-hundred and sixty-shaku radius take off flying in a petrified haze. 

  Your mood was a rotten peach decaying in the mud. The amount of negativity surrounding you could summon a miasma. 

  You sat on the grass, hanging your head low. Last week had been tough. You didn't feel the same after what happened in the town. He stopped it, but he was so close to not. If not for your tears, everyone would've... 

  You pressed your hands into your temples. You focused on your breathing. Even writing hadn't gone well today, your strokes were lax and the words wouldn't flow. Neither did cooking go well. You ended up eating a ridiculous amount of bread and pickled plums. 

  You wouldn't need to eat for another century. And when you tried reading, your eyes and mind wandered far from the page. 

  A shadow obscured the dim sun. 

  You looked up. 

  A bold red shadow against the blue sky stood above you. Great. The last person you wanted to see. 

  "What do you want, oni?" You asked with a small voice, cracking throughout. 

  "Come with me, crazy human." He reached out a claw to you. It was framed by black, chrome feathers.

  You took it, and he lifted you easily. A soft reminder of his power. His hand was hot. 

  "Cool." You stood, waiting patiently for him to do some magic. 

  He rose a brow.

  "You're not going to argue with me?" 

  You shook your head. 

  "Take me away from this wretched place. I'm done." 

  After a delay, he smirked, flashing his razor-sharp shark teeth. 

  Instead of fog, everything swirled with black wind, like a thick smog that prompted you to cough. 

  You stood in a worn down castle, once abandoned but now lived in again, taken by force, made evident by the damage and odd decor. It was incohesive, cobbled together, the most expensive treasures and baubles someone had stuffed in corners and stuck on walls. 

  Akura kept walking. You tapped your foot in place. 

  "Huh? Aren't you coming?" 

  "Nah. I've decided to stay and rot here 'til I die." You smiled. 

  "I decide who rots and when in this castle. Move," He ordered.

  You didn't budge as he softly pressed on your back. Your sandals shuffled. 

  "Tomoe has your dagger. He's here. You could, you know, get it back." His hair ghosted over your neck. 

  Your eyes lit up, and you felt determination coming back to you. 

  "Really?" You began walking, his hand still on your back. 

  "Really. But don't think it'll be easy." He laughed behind closed teeth. You felt a chill run up your spine as his claws brushed your skin. 

  The castle was far from empty. It was filled with servants and goons of Akura-ou. You assumed that's what they were. Or maybe they were Tomoe's? 

  Your destination had been a large room with a few floor-to-ceiling windows and various tables. At one with three chairs, in the middle chair, sat Tomoe. Portuguese chairs, carved intricately. Such luxury. 

  Next to him on the table were several flasks of sake, sake cups, brushes, and... ink... and paper. How peculiar. 

  A sparkle. Your dagger was lying in his lap. His tail swung quickly. 

  "You're back quick." 

  The door closed loudly. It shook the walls. The room smelled of incense- standing in the other corner of the room- and... alcohol. And pine, and a subtle cherry smell. So much was going on, and your brain had trouble processing it, including the unusual spirits on either side of you. 

  "I don't like dragging things out."

  You plopped down in one of the other chairs, Akura-ou in the one opposite of you. 

  You inspected the table, glancing up at Akura and Tomoe with owlish eyes. 

  "You get your dagger if you win," Akura said, nodding over to Tomoe. His ears perked up. 

  "You and Akura-ou will drink undiluted sake until you're as drunk as can be. Then, you both will attempt to write [the kanji for] "melancholy rose". The one who manages to do so- will keep the dagger," Explained Tomoe. 

  Your joy faded as quickly as it came. 

  "Drinking with a yokai?! That's damn impossible!" You tangled your hands in your hair. Tomoe smiled. 

  "We'll see." Tomoe glanced to Akura, and their eyes met, smiles matched in mischieviousness, one face demonic, and one ethereal. 

  You inhaled. 

  You smiled smugly. 

  "Fine. I take your deal." 

  The first drink was a puppy. 

  The tenth was a hellhound biting off your head. 

  Some time after that you had stopped counting. 

  You groaned, hot face held in your shaky hands. The alcohol burned in your stomach all the way back up your throat. Your mouth had started to numb. You could see well enough, but your body was loose, and each movement seemed so much more broad and intense. You laid your head on the table. You kept feeling the fabric of your clothing with your fingertips. 

  Akura had a lightly flushed face and kept needlessly fixing his hair. You had an... uncontrollable urge to go for a run. And to knit. You never knitted. Or went for runs. 

  "How drunk are you?" Asked Tomoe, watching you with disinterest. Akura-ou flipped his hair, and it hung from his horns. He attempted to fix it, only managing to tangle another piece of hair on his golden disc earrings. He growled. 

  You tried to lift yourself. Your body was heavy. You huffed, clinging to your chair. 

  You gasped. 

  "Drunk... enough..." You sighed, folding over. Your hair obscured your vision. Akura-ou's eyes were glassy and squinting at a corner in the room. 

  You stared at him through your hair. 

  "How are you drunk? When you drank at the festival... you downed what seemed like bottle after bottle with no issue-" You forced out between breaths and nonsensical hums. 

  "I drank only.... a glass.... or two. The rest was... juice." He tried to lean back, almost falling and catching himself by gripping the table. 

  A screen was placed between you two. His horns still peeked out from behind. 

  You were given a brush, ink, and a piece of paper. You inhaled, trying to focus and pull yourself together. You only made yourself dizzier. 

  The melancholy rose kanji... the shapes were vaguely in your mind. One was like a chicken coup with a skewer on top. The other was like a wise old man squinting... or something like that. 

  You were thankful you had eaten a lot that day, as it seemed you were faster to sober up. Akura... by his shadow, it seemed like he wasn't writing at all, only swaying back and forth like a maple sapling in the wind. 

  You made your best guess with the parts of the kanji you remembered. You cringed. And empty page- a writer's worst nightmare. Shapes swirled before you and your world spun as you felt nausea rise in your throat. Your body felt weightless and you felt yourself floating away into a reverie. 

  You closed your eyes. A while ago you wrote something with those exact words. You audibly hummed as you thought and your face scrunched in frustration. You wished you could shove your hand into the deepest parts of your brain and retrieve the memory and slap it on the page. You bit your lip. 

  You opened your eyes. The page stared back expectantly. 

  "Don't look at me like that." 

  It didn't reply. You huffed, tapping your brush. 

  Your hand trembled as you dipped the brush into the ink, and set it down on the paper. If you never tried, you'd never win. And you couldn't miss the opportunity. So you steeled your nerves and wrote like you weren't drunk and being scrutinized by sly purple eyes. 

  You placed the final stroke, checking the writing. It was as close as you were going to get. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as sobriety came creeping up to you. 

  The screen was removed. 

  Akura was in the middle of falling asleep over what was... well, it could've been an abstract painting, it could've been an ink spill, it could've been a hallucination; it was many things- but it wasn't "melancholy rose". 

  You looked down at your paper. You hadn't fared too badly. 

  Tomoe's eyes widened. He banged on the table. 

  "Akura! That's abhorrent!" He pointed a grey claw at the paper. Akura ou hummed incomprehensibly in response. Tomoe stared at him with disappointment. They switched places. Akura was shoved out of his chair and into Tomoe's. He didn't seem to mind. He was in a place far away now. Rest in piss. 

  Tomoe sat down. He placed the dagger on the table. Your hand reached towards it. He spawned fire in his hand. You slapped it away. The fire faded. Tomoe looked surprised. 

  "I... HATE... fire," You mumbled angrily. You glared at him. 

  He tapped the table. 

  "I request a rematch, with me." 

  Tomoe poured another cup of sake. 

  Things were never as simple as you wanted them to be, huh? 

[animateobject14]

Wings of fire zombie/infection(?) Au

Tw: mention of gore, and zombified characters.

Based on arc 3 where the Hive, silk and some leafwings are controlled by the other mind/ breath of evil. Except months past with no freedom for the infected and controlled, most start to die of exhaustion and starvation, through means to keep the army alive the breath of evil attached itself directly to the dragons patching up massive wounds.

Or boom magical shit and the dragons die but the breath of evil is so deeply connected to it's hosts it forces the dragon's systems to stay alive and their bodies just get more and more decayed due to neglect. There would be a small effort to feed them but the young and the old would definitely be in this zombified state. And because of the dragons population they could afford to loose 'less valuable' lives.

Which includes Blue, there is an underwhelming amount of death in wings of fire, and this adds on to Sundew's decision to plant the breath of evil and would add more to her regrets. I'm personally not attached to Blue but him and most of the infected living in the books is very stupid?

Though I am yet to read the final book to the series I'm still gonna be biased at the lack of death. And reading it will fill in some of the gaps in this concept.

[sanguisxferox]

{ THE ESSENTIALS }

Name: Knox Marquis Age: 160 Species: Undead Shapeshifter / Familiar Powers: Knox doesn’t have special powers, but his natural shapeshifter powers are significantly enhanced as a reflection of his master’s growing powers. When they kill in their bear form, they absorb the life force out of their targets to act as a battery for Mathias later on. Deity: God of Life Gender, Pronouns, Sexual & Romantic identities: Cis-male. He/they. Pansexual. Greyromantic Residence / Years: Bayou / 140 years Affiliation / Years: The Deathrunners / 140 years Job / Workplace: Bodyguard / Wherever Mathias is and he's needed Relationship status: Single Positive traits: Strong-willed, loyal, reliable, confident, wise Negative traits: Violent, unstable, detached, inhibited, overprotective

{ FAMILY TREE }

Father: Deceased

Mother: Deceased

Adoptive Brother: Kazimir 'Vanja' Voronovitch

{ HEADCANONS } TW: Mention of death

His birth name is Lennox MacMharcais. They were born on November 17th, making him a Scorpio. He's of Scottish descent.

He has a Scottish accent and it thickens when he gets agitated or joyful.

He speaks Scots, Scottish Gaelic, English, Louisiana French, Spanish and understands some Hindi

He is Mathias Attano’s familiar.

His animal forms are much larger than usual. They are an albino alligator and a bear, both corrupted. Though, the bear is also rotten (like the bear and alligator from the movie Annihilation). This is due to Mathias’ powers and decaying.

They weren’t born a familiar. They were initially a very loyal and devoted shapeshifter and member of the Deathrunners. Before their first death, their two forms were a Red Deer and an Adder.

They were Sebastian Atlas’ bodyguard until they got resurrected.

They died for the first time at 45 to save Kazimir and brought back as an undead by the Higher Ups. He was an undead for a century.

They have died countless of times and always brought back as an emotionless undead (golem). Until the the age of 145, when they were fully brought back to life by Mathias Attano; magically binding them together which turned Knox into his familiar.

He’s very comfortable in his gator form, but hates the bear one, because it’s more painful and corrupted. Now seeing his own human skull on the side of his head and his eye also traumatized him. The bear form also has many other skulls across its body. So he only shifts into a bear when commanded by Mathias.

Knox doesn’t remember much from their time as a “Golem” if any and still has a hard time remembering his time before his first death. Even after 15 years, he still struggles with emotions at times.

Standing at only 1.70m (5'7"), Knox compensate what he lacks in height with an imposing muscular figure. He has shoulder-length hair, often styled in a half ponytail, highlighting his striking blue eyes and well-kept short beard. While his few tattoos hold deep meaning for those close to him, they remain largely hidden beneath his casual (and sometimes chic) attire. Often dressed in knitwear or open-buttoned shirts those always reveal his well-defined pecs as he carries an air of effortless confidence. His rugged physique speaks to a life of hardship, marked by countless deaths and reanimations, adding depth to his presence and an intriguing story beneath the surface.

{ CONNECTIONS }

Mathias Attano / Master: As both his bodyguard and familiar, Knox is extremely close to Mathias; probably more than either likes since there’s not much to keep secret between them. Knox―at times―interchangeably sees Mathias as a son, younger brother, his Master or just his favorite person when he’s in his gator form. He’s extremely protective of him; hence his growing hatred for the Higher Ups of the Deathrunners whom he holds sole culprits for Matty’s suffering.

Kazimir 'Vanja' Voronovitch / Adoptive brother: Initially, they were both from the same nomadic pack of shapeshifters and grew up together. Prior to his first death, they had a really close relationship. Knox still hasn’t fully regain his memories from before he was resurrected, so there’s a lot he doesn’t remember about his time within their pack. Nowadays, 15-16 years after his resurrection, their relationship is almost back to its former glory even though Knox misses a lot of information.

Suresh Lal / Fuck buddy: They’ve technically known each other for much longer than Knox can remember. So because Knox was first Sebastian Atlas’ bodyguard, he has unknowingly met Suresh before his first death and during his time as an undead, but he only remembers the times after his resurrection. He has an intense fascination for the naga’s true form and they’ve been sporadically sleeping together for the past 3 years. There’s no great love story between them; just sex and camaraderie.

Father Jude Freling / Contentious ally: They have a mutual dislike of each other. From his side, Knox finds Jude ungrateful for being saved by Mathias and doesn’t like his antagonistic attitude toward him. They’ve fought on multiple occasions, but always away from prying eyes―unless it’s Mathias’―and in public Knox will always defend Jude or show a united front so that their dislike of each other doesn’t affect Mathias negatively.

Ricardo Jimenez / Close friend: Knox has known Ricardo as long as Mathias and in both case, he doesn’t remember either before being resurrected by Mathias. Because of the two younger men close proximity, Knox who’s tightly connected to Mathias’ emotions grew naturally closer to Ric over time. Knox can count on one hand those he blindly trusts and Ricardo is among them.

{ WANTED CONNECTIONS }

Friends, Gang members, Frenemies

[dimentio-fan]

Okay, I forgot if I've mentioned this idea, I don't think so.

I have seen this idea going around that Floro Sprout roots are red. Blood red. This has inspired a new headcannon.

TW: Mentions of blood loss, brain death, possibly decay.

So, the floro sprout roots looks blood red because they are stained with actual blood, like how normal plant roots look weirdly water-stained. Now, where does this blood come from?

The part(s) of the brain that control conscious thoughts, free will, and emotion.

But what happens with a human circulatory system which connects the entire bloodstream together, now includes the Floro Sprout itself?

The human body gets slowly drained of blood while the Sprout feeds.

This means that the Sprout will take blood from the body, starting with the brain, and as more parts of the body die from lack of oxygen (blood carries oxygen around the body), the Sprout starts impacting the actual brain, making IT die as well.

Now, if, say... this Sprout were magically modified, then it could keep the body moving long after death, allowing for a fun little puppet that is completely dependant on the thing that is killing it.

I wish you luck, Luigi...

🌱

This headcannon was partially inspired by a Pokémon RP of Luigi, where a bird pecks his head and reveals a dead Floro Sprout stuck to his brain, blood dripping from the roots.

[althea-and-alcestris]

Infection Au

The results said the audience wants to hear my Infection Au so I shall deliver. (TW for blood, mentions of gore and su1cid3). I based this on the MLP Swamp Fever Au and the general Infection aus <3 Also this au includes a lot of ocs that belong to me and my friends

So the main plot is that a strange fungi was discovered on Sage Island that soon began to make people ill. At first everyone thought that it's just a regular magic fungi, however it quickly turned out to be an incorrect assumption. Those infected with the spores began to develop odd symptoms such as nosebleed, gums bleeding, bloodshot eyes, discoloration of fingers and soon the limbs as it spreads. By the ending stages of the infection, the patient will resemble more like a bleeding and decaying tree. The infection spreads through either bites or the spores of the fungi. Coming in contact with the infected without any safety gloves also results in infection. Those with high magic drive are able to remain sane for longer periods of time than those with lower or no magic drive at all.

It has been 4 weeks since the outbreak started. Idia and Ortho were able to leave Sage Island before STYX put the island on lockdown, sealing the dorm mirrors and the Dark Mirror so nobody can pass through. They're working on a cure. Meanwhile the ones stuck on Sage Island have started to adapt to the current situations, learning through several losses. Trein was one of the first victims of the outbreak, having been killed by the infected while trying to protect his students. Riddle, Vee, Marqu, Ellis, Mary, Fox and Jade have been terminated after they could no longer fight the infection and grew way too hostile. Cater, Dominico and Ace are injured from expeditions and attacks but uninfected. Azul and Leona are still under infection, Azul due to no access to any more human potions has returned to his merform and is now kept in a water tank until further notice. Leona is incredibly hostile and staff decided on termination. Trey, Lilia, Adamaris and Crowley are missing with no trace of where they could be. Malleus is infected but manages to maintain his sanity. Ruggie, Jack, Sebek, Alce, Thea, Allen, Deuce, Augustino, Chenfeng and Vargas are the ones on the expedition team who regularly leave campus (what has been turned into a main camp) to gather supplies, look for survivors, kill the wandering infected and clear areas. There are snipers (Thea and Allen), gatherers (Ruggie, Deuce, Augustino) and those who cover the team incase the infected are nearby (Sebek, Alce, Chenfeng). Jack and Vargas do most of the heavy lifting and Jack pulls the occasional carts with his UM. The ones in charge of terminating those who lose the battle with the infection inside NRC are Spider, Alce and Vargas. Vil is also infected but holds on, Rook wrote himself out of the expedition groups to stay with Vil while Epel along with Silver and Kalim are not allowed to join the expedition groups for their own reasons. Jamil stays with Kalim and Spider in NRC, Alto is in charge of the supplies that the expedition groups successfully gathered, Silver is distraught and anxious because of Lilia's absence which is why Sylas stay with him at all times. Floyd is his own person ever since Jade was put down and staff can't determine how much impact his brother's death had on him. He leaves a lot but never comes back infected. Ami and Crewel are the ones staying in NRC at all times to take care of the few children that were caught in the outbreak such as Karina and Eve. Sam is infected but resides in his shop while holding out.

As the story progresses, multiple of the canons and ocs fall. Cater dies to an infected wound, Leona is terminated, Thea asks to be put down by Sebek, Deuce is terminated by Alce due to the infection, Jamil is killed by the infected, Azul ends his own life by leaving the water tank in his merform, Alto is put down by Idia after infected severely, Vil is put down but he ends up killing Rook and Epel, Lilia is found dead, Spider is killed by the infected, Alce is killed by Allen who was infected, Allen ends his own life after realizing what he had done. Crowley is never found.

The last survivors end up being:

Ace, Trey (he is found), Ruggie, Jack, Floyd, Kalim, Idia, Ortho, Malleus, Silver, Sebek, Crewel, Sam, Vargas, Ami, Karina, Eve, Sylas and a couple more ocs.

It's a lot of angst and I know it's a bit jumbled right now but I'm in the making of the character files and I will post them one by one. If you have questions, you can ask away ^^

[cabalxcalamity]

◟✧⡀ ( jayden revri. omnigender. they/he/she/king/queen/majesty. ) … there’s a figure off in the distance, do you see it? wait is that … TSATHA ? how long have they been standing there? if that’s really them, i believe they’re TWENTY-FIVE.  do i know them?  no,  but i hear they’re UPBEAT and POSITIVE, but also FOOLHARDY  and IMPULSIVE. i do know that they’ve been in the City for TWENTY YEARS. it’s crazy that they’re just standing there … shouldn’t they be working at STOKER’S CRYPT as a LIBRARIAN? maybe they’re off today, i couldn’t tell you. hope they get moving soon. i’m starting to feel like NYARLATHOTEP is peering over at me … 

and where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished, for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare.

( when even the avatar to nyarlathotep will not write its name for fear of drawing its attention ...., so he removes the t in "tep" and adds an "h" ... just in case. )

status: eager to meet more people powers:

escape artistry: core skills of an escape artist: picking locks, slipping out of handcuffs and escaping from straitjackets and other restraints. arcane ability to bypass locks, phase through thin physical barriers and increase darkness to their escape. knowledge of eldritch symbols to weaken locks or distract.

shattering: metaphysical: shatter minds, cause psychological breakdowns, hallucinations or insanity. low level reality distortion to force others to see small things that aren't there. environmental impact: decay and shatter of physical objects through corruption and destabilizing by touch. psychic assault: infection of visions and horrors that endanger sanity.

sanity theft: psychological manipulation: influence thought/perceptions/emotions to sow doubt, fear and paranoia as well as create vivid and terrifying hallucinations. nightmarish visions: inflict horrifying visions that drive the victim to the brink of insanity. trauma induction: unleash memories of past trauma or traumatic events to overwhelm the psyche. gradual decay: erode sanity over time through whispers, dreams and touch which can implant obsessions, or compulsions to push someone to destructive behavior or madness.

weaknesses: vulnerable to ancient rituals and seals, weak to banishment, strong willpower/deep-rooted sanity, counter-magic (divine magic).

mythos: the first mention of nyarlathotep appears in a 1920's poem. Nyarlathotep is described as a mysterious figure who has come to Earth to sow chaos and madness. August Derleth developed Nyarlathotep as a servant to the Outer Gods. It is a harbinger of cosmic dread and is a symbol of incomprehensible and terrifying existential fears of humanity in the face of cosmic indifference and outright malevolence. **a note regarding h.p. lovecraft**: h.p. lovecraft was a racist xenophobe. he was afraid of those from non-Anglo-Saxon descent. his writings include derogatory depictions of people of color and he perceived people of color as racially inferior - he was afraid of interracial relationships. hp lovecraft was a product of the 19th century and attitude towards same sex relationships were condemned and stigmatized. the bipoc & lgbtqia+ community have used the laws of public domain to write within the lovecraftian mythos to both add people of color to the mythos without the derogatory depictions and to develop lovecraft's themes of forbidden knowledge, existential dread, the horror of the unknown to discuss supressed desires/anxieties related to sexuality. important: while this writer is using nyarlathotep originally created by h.p. lovecraft - the writer is drawing from victor lavalle, kij johnson, cassandra khaw, and craig laurance gidney among others. the goal is to make lovecraft spin in his grave.

brief background: tw: religion (judeo-christian)

tsatha was born in the city - his first breath was city air, and he was a child of the city. his mother could not take care of another mouth to feed - she was lost in the bottle and in drugs, anything to make her life easier. she dropped him off at the orphanage and left a note pinned to his baby blanket - it simply had a word tsatha written on it. his caretaker believed it was the mark of the eighteenth letter of the Hebrew alphabet and the passage from the Bible, psalm 119, line 18 "Open my eyes, that I may see wondrous things from your law". their caretaker also believed in the power of numbers and saw tsatha's name as the number 90. the number 90 was the number of the cosmic warrior, the dance between man and the universe. to the caretaker, the number (tsatha themself) would be seen as uncompromising and blunt.

tsatha was not loved by this caretaker, but used as a conduit for summoning powers beyond human comprehension. tsatha learned sigils before they could read -- and they survived only through sheer force and a desire to continue living. it was an accidental scribbling that unlocked their abilities - or at least, that is what they think did it. they had been drawing a summoning circle to an unnamed god and ... then there was power.

the first ability they awoke was the ability of shattering. they forced upon their caregiver the pain and agony that had been forced upon them. then -- their caretaker laughed, patted them on their head and told them to grow stronger if they thought that they could escape them.

over time, they grew better at managing their abilities and was able to escape through developed use of escape artistry. they began to live on their own, free finally -- yet the use of their abilities came at a price. they know that they are an avatar for nyarlathotep and in their mind, the cosmic horror is trying to find a way back to this reality through them. in order to combat nyarlathotep, they steal and devour the sanity of others. they are still on the run from the one who "took them in" - though they found a job as a librarian so he could continue to channel and learn... and then they fell into the role of a private eye ... always trying to find more information on the caretaker.

wanted connections:

the one who takes care of them, a soulmate (for what is little left of their soul), the best friend, the one from the high side of town

[crownofconvergencerp]

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

twenty-seven in appearance the vampiress is still young at forty. turned into a vampire with the an unknown tincture in her system as well as her sire's blood bellamy was gifted control over her hunger however lost her aasimar abilities. she has two wolves who seem to be with her where ever she goes and works for red thread.

TW: child abuse mention, trafficking mention, body mutilation mention, death and murder implication mention, sexual assault mention.

Blessed at birth by the celestial withermore goddess of beasts Bella was her families entrance to the court. To have an aasimar child was a true sign of devotion on the part of her parents, at least that was how they played it as their daughter was shown off to the court, their sweet girl wrapped up in her beautiful wings that in their full black hue seemed to glimmer as though stars filled them each time light hit, and her green eyes seemed the same shade as. The older she became though the more interested those at court became at getting close to the aasimar, and her parents obliged their desires. Bella's only reprieve was her wings, at night she would wrap herself in them tightly, so no one might reach her, and by day she would fly to the woods, to be amongst the monsters within.

Of age, Bella denied suitors suggested by her families church on the basis of her celestials guidance, regardless of truth, but she could not deny other duties. Ones she had been doing since her youth, including escorting members of court safely through the woods, calming the beasts that roamed. Not all monsters, however, were in the form of owlbears and arachnids, some were shaped like men and had felt denied access others had been given to the aasimar. Rejection pained them, and in her sleep, protected by her wings, one of the men she had been escorting tried for her company again, cutting at her wings with an eldritch poisoned blade, the aasimar throwing him off and causing a loud scene interrupted by others in their party but no punishment was made and Bella was expected to continue escorting them.

The poisoned blade's cut was not so easily healed however. The eldritch tainted potion that had been spread across the blade grew from the source, the injured wing decaying and losing strength, dragging along the ground behind her. Bella waited, believing that the diety who had blessed her with her form and abilities would arrive to heal her. It was only when the infection reached her back that Bella became doubtful and afraid, the idea of losing her wings, the very part of her that had always made her feel safe and free, was too much. It was that fear that lead her outside the court and to the estate of a vampire of alchemy whispered about amongst court. He was using something different to usual magic, something reactive and strange - science. He was rumoured to aid those who would allow him to practice his methods and Bella would have done anything to save what felt like it was withering away at her back.

True to rumour the vampire agreed to assist the young aasimar but the trade would be steep. He would turn her, and her body would be returned to peak form, so long as he could turn her with some of his work in her system. A tincture of various elements that he believed would reduce the insatiable hunger of newborn vampires and allow for mental clarity upon being risen. It would be entirely revolutionary, but even the vampire himself admitted failures had occurred, no successful participant had been found.

Even if she failed, even if she was filled with insatiable hunger upon rising if she had her wings Bellamy would be grateful after she had aged out of a newborn vampires hunger that she had endured it to remain whole. Unfortunately, the failure was not in the vampire's tincture but in her bodies ability to hold on the celestial blessing she had been gifted upon her birth. The withering of her wings intensified as her body took hold of it's vampirism, severed from her form as the bones broke away and skin healed over where they had once protruded. Clarity, as she truly had been gifted, was a horrifying success because the sorrow she felt seeing her wings against the metal slab she had been turned on made her weep for days.

The heartbroken vampire lingered in the estate of the one who had turned her, consenting to the various tests he ran on her hunger and her habits, but each time their eyes seemed to touch he no doubt saw sorrow. In moments she would beg him to reverse things, beg him to sew them back on and see what would happen but he did not even allow her to look at them, having locked her wings away in his laboratory. His unspoken sentiment seemed to be that it would do more harm than good and Bella knew each night she woke from horrific nightmares that whatever reason he had was probably wise.

Whatever reason he had her sire seemed to spend a great deal of time in his laboratory. Bella had been a success in ways others had not and while she had lost her wings, and various other traits of what she had been, she did not seem mindless in her frenzy for blood. He was quite surprised to find Bella had a skill for a delicate but agonizing kill, things she had wished to do in the past filling her mind and able to be enacted with precision her prior form was incapable of. It was in these small moments happiness seemed to fill her, and as time went on that feeling seemed to fill other acts. Bellamy relished watching him idle away in his journals, painting her face in rooms where he sat, reading while he wrote, and occasionally able to drag the vampire from his stern faced thoughts to walk in the woods, gleeful as the most terrifying of monsters sensed what they were and ran.

Perhaps things could have continued on, deepened beyond their soft feelings, but Bella overstepped, and maybe he had to. The young woman entering his labratory, forbidden since she had been turned, and found her sire slicing apart her wings, as it seemed he had been doing for a long time. Bella's eyes filled with tears as she saw her own ground bones in jars, the delicate skin of her wings dried out and sitting in various chemicals. Sorrow and anger bubbled and no room for explanation was left. What was left of who she had been was desecrated by someone she had grown to trust and, in her anger, Bella knocked over one of the standing lamps within the room, lit candles touching various acids and oils and filling the room. He could not have her wings and he could not have his work.

Bella did not linger though, her sire was older, and the only advantage she believed she had in escaping alive for what she had done was by running as he tried to save his work. With her new ability for speed she ran as far north as she could until she sensed the rising sun, hiding in a gnoll den, it was in this den Bella realised while her wings had been lost and her magical ability to connect with beasts had been taken many had come to learn of her presence, could still sense her intention with them and calmed.

She no longer had her parents designs, she no longer had her devotion to her celestial diety, she was no longer her sire's project to monitor, and sorrow once more filled her. Arriving in Destarin, having found protection from the monsters within the woods, all her heart could muster was the desire to attain her wings once more, to find a way, any way, to get them back. Once that purpose came Bella sought a home in Destarin and vowed to find someone whose magic could do the dark things she desired and pay any cost for her wings to be returned.

WHAT ARE YOU...?

species: valentin vampire weaknesses: various flowers from the sunflower family are poisonous, direct sunlight, beheading or heart removal, holy ground and private residences require invitation, requires blood to live. strengths: enhanced senses, healing, enhanced strength, reduced hunger, speed. physical description: mortal for the most part in appearance bellamy has fangs and eyes that seem to shimmer. additional info: bellamy was turned by the alchemist vampire valentin and was his first successful progeny, though others have lived and do exist they did have to suffer through newborn hunger where as she did not.

bellamy chevalier is played by paris and her fc is dove cameron