fire-emblem-drabbles
I care about you, from the bottom of my heart.
Hi I'm Sydney || 24 || This is an 18+ space, minors and ageless dni with me and my adult content|| Here for all your self insert needs! || Requests and comissions are currently ???|| Check out my pinned post/Desktop blog for links ||
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I know this is a silly question. Because this is the reader insert blog where I only write reader inserts like ever but...
under the read more I'll tell you a little more about it... she makes me soo embarrassed but I put a lot of love and attention into it <3
Okay sooo its so so so self indulgent BUT. It's like jjba part 3 reserve harem for me because I said so.
The premises is Syd, not knowing a lot about stands and other stand users, heads to Cairo in hopes of learning more about the mysterious power she seems to have. While there, she is captured by Dio, who fails to realize the cat traveling with her is her stand, Love Club.
Love Club is a particular stand with no combat abilities-- able to be seen by stand users and normal people alike, her ability is charming people: once Love Club (or Sydney herself) touches another person, the stands effects come into play and slowly and subtly charm the other person into liking Sydney more.
As a stand, she sort of has a will of her own-- often doing what she think will best help her user survive, rather than acting on her users will. So, having been taken away by someone who is obviously stronger (and terrifying), Love Club does what she does best and charms Dio, who doesn't realize the woman he picked up for a meal is another stand user.
A lot happens during her "stay" with Dio, but Sydney eventually manages to escape, but only after Love Club's ability has been put on full display. Dio, the feared vampire and powerful stand user, is hopelessly infatuated with her. Will time away from him allow her stands power to fade (and surely secure her death?) or did he spend too much time around her and her stand, making the effects permanent?
There's no way to know for certain, but Sydney knows she only has one choice: find the Joestar's, Dio's sworn enemy, and beg for their help.
She travels with them, learning more about herself, and her stand. One thing is for certain, though; the next time she faces Dio, she won't be afraid of him. Not with the friends she's made on this journey.
Right now its at like 43000~ words, and I'm at the Daniel D'Arby fight. I've been working on this for well over a year and having a lot of fun with it, and I think I've mentioned it before. I don't know if I would actually publish it but I have to talk about it sometimes or I'll explode lkjalskfdj If you have any questions or just want to talk about it you can send an ask or message me!
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Oh folks I am so mentally unwell about Laios Touden...
#sydney speaks#dungeon meshi#hes so... litterally my ideal man#its the passion the courage the sillys the love#hes so eough
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So I just saw a post by a random personal blog that said “don’t follow me if we never even had a conversation before” and?????? Not to be rude but literally what the fuck??????????
I’ve had people (non-pornbots) try to strike conversation out of nowhere in my DMs recently, and now I’m wondering if they were doing that because they wanted to follow me and thought they needed to interact first. I feel compelled to say, just in case, that it’s totally okay to follow this blog (or my side blog, for that matter) even if we’ve never talked before.
Also, I’m legit confused. Is this how follow culture works right now? It was worded like it’s common sense but is that really a thing?
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Art credits: Buttons by Viktor Gogela, Backgrounds by NoranekoGames, Textbox by afiniwind.
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These Violent Desires
Pairing: Yandere! Risotto x reader
Description: You never really had much of a love life. Not for lack of trying on your part, thank you, it just never really happened. Of course, like most people you wanted it: a romance so sweet and comforting it swept you off your feet and left you on cloud nine. But between working full time, being chronically online, and not to mention a depressed mess, you didn't see that happening any time soon. Perhaps its good timing, then, that your ASMR channel starts to take off. Just the distraction you needed from your day to day monotony!
Content Warning: Depression, more depression, minor intrusive thoughts, parasocial behavior, use of female titles (queen, girl) and female reader (will come up more in other parts), I wasn't kidding when I said she chronically online, ask to tag, other parts will different/darker warnings
Rating (fic as a whole): NSFW
Rating (Part): SFW
Word Count: 3640
Ao3 Link:
Notes: I am SO excited to bring this to you! You guys remember the original these violent desires? I sure do! As much as I love that fic, that little series I realize... I really went in to it with not a clue of what my end goal was. Not a great way to write a story. With it being two years since then, and me reading a FANTASTIC FIC [waiting for approval to tag] that inspired me to reconsider my whole characters and motivations I bring you... this mess (affectionate). I'm actually really excited to bring this back and im gonna start writing the next part as soon as I finish this draft. Also, note: I suspect tumblr isn't gonna respect all the formatting and fun stuff I did so feel free to check it out on Ao3!
Part: One | Two
Sometimes, you really hated your job.
Hated seeing all the cute, happy couples out on a date night. Hated seeing all the happy families and precious little babies. Hated seeing people be so effortlessly happy and carefree. Hated that you had to pretend to be just as enchanted. It made you bleed with jealously, and want to scream and hide in shame.
Although you did feel bad about your burning envy, you hated that it was somewhat malicious; it was just you wanted that same kind of love, someone you were best friends and lovers with-- who you had been together with for years and knew you as much as you knew yourself. Someone you could be yourself with, through thick and thin…
Thinking about it just made you bitter. These things don’t just pop out of nowhere. Relationships had to be worked for; love didn’t just appear. It had to be made, to be cared for and nurtured. So even if you wanted (cried screamed begged) that fairy tale romance to come of sweep you off your feet, it wouldn’t happen. Not unless you find yourself a prince charming awfully soon… And at your current rate well, it wasn’t likely too happen.
You were notoriously bad at dating and getting close to people. Of course, you tried dating apps and meeting new people through your friends but nothing really seemed to click… It didn’t help that you were incredibly dense, as well; with little insight on how dating even worked in the real world you were left just as clueless (and alone) as you came in.
You had a sinking feeling you knew what it was, too; beyond being dense or clueless. You had been struggling against your depression for the better part of your adult life. You got by with plastic smiles and laughs that didn’t really meet your eyes, living life just on the outside looking in. Maybe, people could tell. You always had felt a little different, anyways. Maybe one day you would get better. Maybe one day, you could find something to be happy for. Someone to be happy with.
Today, however, you have a job to do. Rent to make. Jealousy to stew in while you smile and nod and play the perfect little hostess at work. And then you would come home, numb and tired, and not be able to fall asleep. Just to do it again tomorrow.
Work is the same as usual. You’re the only support staff-- no back server to be seen. The servers are too busy with their tables to help you. Seat the table. Water the guests. Grab them bread. It’s all monotonous, said with a sweet smile and voice high and kind. Wait for the guest to leave. Bus the table. Set it back up. And wait for the next guest. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Its one of those moments in-between, where your gaze is lost far off in the hotel and your thoughts are getting darker by the moment. You wonder if anyone would notice if you just left right now. Walked out into the night, took the wrong bus home, and see what happens where ever you end up.
The shrill sound of the phone ringing catches you out of your stupor. You glance at the phone in surprise, looking down at the screen. Private. Not entirely unusual in your line of work, but just interesting enough. With a gentle hand, you grab the receiver and speak.
“Thank you for calling the Mountaintop Bar and Grill, this is _____ speaking. How may I help you?” Talking on the phone was always easy-- no one could see your not as happy as you sound. Strangely, the line is silent a moment, so you repeat. “Hello, is anyone there?” You wait a few moments again, only hearing faint breathing on the other line if anything. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t hear you. Goodbye.” You hang up the receiver, frowning at the phone before looking at the time.
It was so slow tonight, your surprised to find its nearly time to close. You put up the close sign, take back the last tray and make sure the tables are wiped and reset for the next day. You make careful small talk with your coworkers, make sure that they never think to question what lies beneath the surface of you, and check out with your manager.
You walk slow to your bus, taking the time to put on your earbuds to drown out the world around you. You board the bus, scan your card, and take the same seat you do every time you ride. The same as you always do. The same playlist you always listen to plays, but you don’t really hear it as you open your phone and prepare for the bus ride home.
There was one thing that made you smile, though. Explaining it made you feel kind of silly (mostly strange), but you had a youtube channel. It was kind of small, less than 1000 subscribers really, but the community you built really made you happy. The type of content you created was kind of… niche, to put it nicely. You made asmr videos. Stuff like “Your shy girl friend asks you to spend the night during a big storm (she’s so scared! 🥺🥺)” or “Your roommate asks for your help with her homework (but maybe she wants something more 👀)” or even things a little more raunchy like “You accidentally summon an inexperienced succubus!!! (You Are A Dark Mage Looking For A Familiar)”.
Making them was kind of fun, but what you really enjoyed was your fans. Even if you had never shown your face, (some) of the people in your comments were downright simps. You really only lived for the attention at this point. You even got kind of parasocial with it, talking with some fans in your members only discord.
You scroll through the comments, reading them all and responding to a few while you had the time. Most were sweet, telling you how much they liked your voice and content, others talking about how much you made them blush and giggle. You can’t help but notice you have a new commenter, too. From the looks of things they’ve been following you a while, but have only just now left a comment.
@metal_metalica5
Next time, let me take care of you
It almost feels out of place, with the fully black icon next to it. It’s not like you haven’t had people leaving frankly strange and concerning messages in your comments, but this one rides the line. You wonder who could be behind the comment for a moment. Maybe someone just as depressed and lonely as you, seeking comfort they find in your stories and voice. Someone who just wanted to return the favor. You don’t want to consider anything else, really-- you’d like to think the best of this new commenter.
In the end, you like the comment, smiling to yourself. You check your members discord, seeing the server is a little more abuzz than usual. It was relatively small, with only around 60 people, many of which were lurking themselves. You’re not surprised to find its the same name as the comment left on your most recent video. Your mods and a few members have already greeted them, but you make sure to as well.
work work work today at 9:17 pm
Hi @metal_metalica5!! Thanks for joining the server, and commenting on the latest video! It’s nice to have your support <3
You don’t wait for a reply, checking out your ats and whats happening in all the other channels. Interacting with everyone brings a smile to your face, and you find yourself grinning as you thank the bus driver and get off at your stop. Cool darkness greets you as you walk down the street to your apartment. Things seem okay-- its your weekend, and you think you could finish recording the last bit of your next video.
Safely indoors, you set your coat and purse down, and make haste to change out of your uniform into something more comfortable. Once you have on some comfortable clothing, you take a seat at your desk and open your laptop. Discord pops open there as well, but you minimize the window for now, opening your recording app. You had been teasing your followers about a 1000 subscriber special for a while, but the idea still made you nervous.
Your plan was to do a live stream/face reveal. It would mostly be talking and playing games, but people could donate to you and you would read out their message. You were still working out the logistics, but you suspected that you would breach 1000 soon so you had better hurry.
“You haven’t ate any food today.” You jump a little at the voice beside you.
“Glory.” You scold, looking over to your stand, Glory and Gore. “I’m not hungry, and I’m busy. I’ll eat before I go to bed.” You turn back to the screen, reading over your transcript for any typos and bad wording.
“It’s not a good idea to neglect the needs of your body.” You can see a frown reach her perfect, pretty lips. You always thought it was unfair your stand was prettier than you. You also thought it ironic that the literal ghost of you was better at taking care of you than the real, physical you (that often felt like a ghost). “You’re already suffering from a few vitamin deficiencies, which aren’t helping with your depression and anxiety at all.”
“Why are you worse than a doctor.” Truthfully, she was right. You should take better care of yourself. You knew that if she could, Glory would fix these things for you. She was a healing stand, able to fix any injury or disease from a person. But vitamin D deficiencies, your stupid little brain chemicals being imbalanced and giving you the Big Sad? Nope. Out of her hands, unfortunately. Ironic that you would have a healing stand and suffer from one of the things she couldn’t fix.
“I just want to see you better.” You look to her, even if she doesn’t have eyes to really see you also, she frowns. Funny, how she was also much more logical and level headed than you.
“Fine, fine. I’ll find some food.” Her hand stops you as you reach for your phone, a stern look taking over her. “Finnnnne, no doordash.” You sigh and place your phone in your pocket, and stand to go to your kitchen. Seeing you head that way, Glory de-manifests, content in knowing you would try to find something to eat.
“...Need to go grocery shopping.” You sigh as you look through the fridge. You really didn’t mind her looking after you. You were aware just how stands were manifest of a users soul and desire-- you wanted someone to take care of you, since you seemed to be failing to do it all by yourself. But at this particular moment, you didn’t have that: what you did have was cheese, and butter. And… turning around, yes, you still have some bread, not yet moldy. Grilled cheese dinner, queen.
You’re even lucky enough to find a singular can of tomato soup in your barren cupboards. Hell yeah, that’s a whole meal. And one you can make in less than 10 minutes. Look at you, being all self sufficient. Queen of mental health over here, cooking her own meals.
As you butter bread and let the pan warm on the oven (soup uncondensed but not quite in the microwave yet), you read more discord chats, surprised to find you have multiple ats all in the gen chat (and a few in the mod chat as well). Everyone is abuzz, with “several people typing” showing up on the bottom of the screen. Gen is moving too fast so you move to the mod chat to see whats happened.
The Best Mod (Jax) today at 10:22 pm
holy shit work work work get in here
Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10:22
work work work ‼️‼️‼️‼️
work work work today at 10:23
why is everyone going crazy lol whats up
Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10:24
smh she don’t even know
The Best Mod (Jax) today at 10:24
you’re over 1000 subs 😤
was like 1010 last I checked
Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10: 25
just keeps going up ‼️
work work work today at 10:26
wha
am grilling chesee hold up
You put your phone down, placing the bowl of soup in the microwave and setting the timer with beating heart. Over 1000 subs already? You take a deep breath and place the bread, butter down in the hot pan, placing a generous handful of cheese on top and then the next piece of bread. You pick up your phone barely hearing the sizzling of the bread, instead closing discord to open youtube.
Sure enough, your creator widget shows it: 1013 subscribers, at least a hundred or more than when you last took a look at it. The number was indeed still going up, as when you refresh the page it now reads 1015.
“Where are all these people coming from?” Is all you can wonder. You send a quick “holy shit” to your mods, but quickly return to your food when the beeping microwave calls for your attention.
You pull your soup out quickly, and realize your grilled cheese is starting to burn on the first side and flip it over, relived to see you got to it before it got too bad. Little burnt never hurt anyone anyways. Even as you feel renewed energy and excitement moving through you, you make sure your food is all ready, make sure to turn off the stove top, and fast walk back to your desk with your dinner, eyes quickly going to discord again.
You make sure to send a message in the gen chat, telling everyone thank you and that you’ve seen the good news. Reading back on messages, it seems another popular asmr youtuber (a guy, one you actually follow yourself) had brought you up. He was apparently live streaming (right now), and one of his followers had sent a donation, asking about his thoughts on you. And apparently, he loved your content-- was excited to see what you would do once you hit 1000 followers and not so subtly encouraged his (thousands) of followers to check you out.
work work work today at 10:31 pm
holy fucking shit!?!?! fuckging,,, golden experience likes my content ⁉️⁉️
I can die happy now
im disceased
Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10:31 pm
nooo don’t die
work work work today at 10:32
joining his stream rn
gonna try to lurk but also I wanna thank him 🥺
The Best Mod (Jax) today at 10:32
im already in lol
I’ll tell everyone you’re here :)
work work work today at 10:33
wait nOOO
You tab out over to youtube to where the stream has finally loaded, to see Mr. Golden Experience ASMR himself smiling.
“Oh, look, it seems our new favorite has joined us. Hello, Gore Gone Wild.” He smiles, sweet and serene at the camera and you feel your heart pound a little.
@Gore_Gone_Wild
omg hiii!! My mod told me you gave me a little shout out, thank you so much :D
You try so hard to be normal. All the sudden, you’re the fan interacting with your fav. Your dinner goes ignored, soup and grilled cheese cooling as you focus your efforts on Golden Experience's stream.
“It was a donation from your mod that brought the topic up.” He laughs soft and sweet. When you look to the top donations of the stream, you can see Niko’s youtube (@onionthepaladin) at on the top of the banner, having donated $100.
@Gore_Gone_Wild
omggg that’s… literally so sweet of him. And you!! I’m also a big fan of yours <3
That’s it, you have to kill Niko. You have to travel across the united states, kill your mod, and make sure he never pulls this shit again. You suddenly feel so embarrassed, so light and free.
“Don’t be too rough with him.” Another sweet smile reaches him. God, he’s literally so pretty and perfect. Like, the opposite of you really. How could someone so put together like anything about you…? Oh yeah, you were hiding behind a screen. That’s why. Super easy to keep up the charade… “Truth be told, I’ve been your fan for a while. I was also excited to see what you would do for 1000 followers.” You smile wide as his chat echos his excitement.
@Gore_Gone_Wild
welll… since its you… I guess I can let you in on my secret :) but only you! Not even my followers know yet so… I’ll dm you :3c
You feel so giddy when you see his eyes widen, see his smile widen a hair.
“Well, I look forward to seeing it.” He chuckles again, and returns to the conversation from before your arrival. His stream is nice noise to eat your now cold dinner to, as your heart hammers a bit when hitting up his dms on twitter. You send him a cute little message, telling him your plans: how you wanted to do your first live stream, reveal your place, and just chill with your followers, playing some games and taking read requests for him. But if he had suggestions, or tips for live streams, you would love to hear them.
You hear a buzz on stream, and watch as Golden Experience picks up his phone. “Looks like miss Gore just dmed me.” He smiles as his eyes scan your text. “I don’t want to seem desperate chat, should I wait to respond?” You watch as chat moves a little faster, some people spamming “simp”, others saying “she’s still here lol”. A few people leave actual advice, to which he reads a few aloud.
“Hmm, you’re right, shouldn’t leave a lady waiting.” He winks at his face cam and you nearly die. You’re gonna have to watch something else, now. Quickly leaving his stream, you take a moment to simply breath at your sub feed, heart pounding fast. You hadn’t been this excited in forever… Guess now it was time to tell your followers for real what what happening.
It’s actually your weekend, you have the next three days off… So with that in mind you go about telling everyone your plans. Your mods (Jax, Nico, and Sammy, whose probably already sleeping), already know, but after Golden Experience, you tell your discord your plans to host the live stream in the next two days.
Then, take a teasing little picture of your setup, with just a little plushie sitting next to your screen. “Excited to see you all this friday :3 Here’s to 1000!” is all the post itself says, but you make a live stream reminder on your page just so everyone knows what happening. You’re so excited you refresh all the pages, seeing at the night owls commenting on your posts with excitement. Now, you aren’t surprised to see a familiar name among them.
First comment on your youtube belongs to you newest member, @metal_metalica5, with another kind of ominous, but not quite out of line comment that simply reads “I know you’re perfect already, bella.” Second comment belongs to Golden Experience himself, commenting from his own account that says “Look forward to seeing you! I’m happy to see you’ve grown so much”.
You tear yourself away from your phone screen, and have to close your computer not to end up just replying to comments on that. You steel yourself to take your dishes to the sink, and actually wash them, too excited by the nights events to even realize that you were. You’re even too excited to review your writing, or record it for that matter, so in the end you end up pacing around in your nerves.
Pacing only wears you down so much, so you decide to lay down with your phone pulled close to your face. Curiosity gets the better of you as you look to the comments again. You click on the profile of @metal_metalica5, curious to see if he has anything on there. He hasn’t posted anything to youtube, nor has he created any playlists for that matter. With the pure black icon, it seems like he doesn’t want anyone to really notice or see him.
You recall he joined your discord as well, and open that up (to tell everyone goodnight, you convince yourself), only to find yourself scrolling through your members to find him offline, with the same blank icon and user name. He has no server profile, no custom status, no banner nor nitro. But… interestingly, it says he joined discord today: member since April 3 rd , 2024, joined April 3 rd , 2024. He must have created discord just to join your server. Perhaps even, he created a youtube account just to comment on your stuff. The idea has you smiling. That someone liked what you created so much, they had to subscribe. Wanted to be closer to you. Were interested in getting to know you beyond what you posted…
Soon, you grow too tired to keep your phone up. Your eyes slowly close, phone cuddled to your chest. Tonight, you sleep tight, content and happy with your online life. When you woke up, it would be the same, gray world as the one you woke to today, but it would be different, better-- because there was something to look forward to. Something, if even for just a little while, to stave off the monotony and sadness and jealousy. For a little while, you could be Gore_Gone_Wild, and everyone will adore you.
Oh, and you'll have to read that DM Golden Experience sent you too! You got so excited you nearly forgot you messaged him.
#yandere#risotto x reader#yandere risotto#yandere risotto x reader#risotto nero#jjba#jjba part 5#im so so so excited!!!#had to edit this like 5 times bc of accidentally tagging random blogs#so if you see random links in this thats why#they should redirect to something cute now :)
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sometimes, you have to rewrite an old series because before you didn't have a plan (I rarely have a plan im ngl) but now you do and you understand why you lost motivtion (because you didn't have a plan). Anyway Risotto simps, I return
#sydney speaks#yes its been like 2 years#this is gonna be better i've been inspired#when I post the first chapter (im still writing it) I'll be transparent about what it was hehe#get read for patherthic loser reader AND big pathetic loser risotto its gonna be great
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LOOK WHO I JUST WENT AND PICKED UP FROM THE POST OFFICE!!!
#sydney speaks#byleth#fe 3h#litterally she only took 2 weeks even though i bought he off amiami (and did not pay for good shipping) i was so happy
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Happy birthday!!!!!
THANK YOU ANON!! I ended up getting super sleepy and passing out super early hehe, and then I had work today but that wasn't terrible at all 💖
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Happy Birthday 2
@fire-emblem-drabbles
Happy birthday again! I saw you mention that it was coming up, so I thought that I'd write something again. I thought I would do a loosely-connected sort of sequel piece to the dandelion one I wrote last year.
This time, the flower of interest is chicory! This little cutie is also known as 'blue dandelion' since it looks quite similar. It has one of my favorite flower stories associated with it.
If you cut a chicory flower with a piece of gold at midnight on the 25th day of July, the flower will be able to open any lock it's held against.
With this knowledge, I wrote this envisioning the reader and Gangrel going on a fun night out to test this bit of folklore. It ended up a bit more perilous than I had originally planned, and I feel it is more of a Gangrel character piece than fluffy romance...but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
The moon was full and utterly opalescent, blessing the flowers below with a dreamlike, gentle radiance. The clouds that had lounged and convened for the rich hues of Askr’s sunset had made themselves scarce. Any stragglers were pierced by the sharp, lustrous edges of the stars as they twinkled, the vanguard clearing the way for what was to come.
Gangrel shivered in equal parts pleasure and apprehension. The wild energy weaving into the air was borne of lunacy, a fine fit for a temperament such as his.
It demanded those under its thrall to move, to make merry, to slaughter. All was fair, even for the fallen, so long as their actions were fueled by passion. It bade uninhibited words to bubble up and spill from one’s lips, the revelry of such breathing life into the ever-silent dead of the night.
But for those of milder mettle, the light of the moon cast a different spell.
Your cloak was already halfway down your shoulders as you flitted about ahead of him. Mischief glinted in your eyes, belying the serene smile that rested on your face. That hand that had once held his now beckoned him to come hither.
It was as much of a game as it was a dance.
Your fingers were always just a hair’s breadth away, their lingering warmth teasing as you led him deeper and deeper into the field of chicories. Gangrel had always thought himself to be fleet of foot. With a fighting style centered around shorter blades, it was a necessity given how close he needed to get just to scrape the skin. But the frenzied intent thrumming inside him slackened his control, each attempt too single-minded to succeed. In contrast, you were practically placid, each pivot and push off the ground measured and purposeful.
At first, this was ample cause for amusement, but as your destination came into view, his brow furrowed and he let out a hiss of annoyance. This wasn’t you being playful. In fact, it wasn’t you at all.
Your body had stilled, your hand outstretched in genuine invitation. The issue lie with where you—or to be more accurate, the aspect of the moon that was possessing you—was inviting him to. The conspicuous circle of chicories swayed gently, their orphic luminescence taking on a hypnotic quality.
Luckily, Gangrel was no stranger to wild magic. The Grimleal often utilized it in their rituals, especially in the outskirts of Plegia, where skilled mages were in short supply. Despite its name, wild magic could be as predictable as the changing of seasons. What this pesky piece of magic wanted was obvious. The path to this place had been wrought with dust, the earth crumbling with the mere footfall of a boot. With the area so depleted, the chicories had no choice but to beg favor from the moon.
And the moon, being the moon, held no scruples about trifles like human sacrifice.
Angling himself so that the hand that darted to his dagger stayed hidden, Gangrel strolled forward.
With a sharp intake of breath, he pricked his thumb on the jagged pommel, letting the blood flow down the blade, into its engraved runes. His gaze searched the area just above you until he could see the telltale glint. Once perceived, all it took was a single slash to rend the spider-silk strings.
A marionette no more, your limbs fell limp. Caught in a snug embrace, your buckling knees were gently guided onto the grass. Cradling your head against the crook of his neck, Gangrel sighed. Tension now absent, an odd bout of thoughtfulness settled in its place.
As tempting and easy as it would be to exact retribution—lopping off heads of flowers takes much less effort than those of the Risen, after all—he can’t help but sympathize. They weren’t the only ones who had gotten desperate, gained power, then proceeded to do something morally reprehensible with it in the name of survival. And, taking this comparison to its conclusion, the least he could do was show a bit of mercy.
If you were awake, you would have probably made some cheeky remark about your soft nature rubbing off on him.
And you’d be absolutely right.
A hum other than that of magic danced in the air. It was an old tune, some lullaby or another that his mother used to sing. As one hand gently combed through your hair, the other hovered over the edge of the circle. Gangrel kept a steady cadence, in sync with each drop of blood that flowed off the tip of his dagger and enriched the parched soil below.
It wasn’t much, but it would at least grant them a few days more.
Stopping just short of dizziness, Gangrel slipped the dagger back into its sheath with a silent promise to clean it later. He had just managed to stop the bleeding when you began to stir.
“...What’s going on? Did I fall asleep?”
Groggily, you rubbed your eyes. A warbling yawn tickled his neck as you snuggled contently against him.
“Yeah. You could say that.”
The details could come later. For now, with the moon now past its peak, the magic was starting to wane. Peering up at the sky, you wilted a bit and sighed.
“I can’t believe I did that. I guess we’ll have to wait until next year.”
Despite this, you didn’t seem terribly sad. To be fair, Gangrel couldn’t imagine that you had any serious plans that involved owning a magical lockpick flower.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that you just liked dragging him along to flower fields.
At your urging, he reclined. The chill of the grass was almost enough to make him shiver. Luckily, you were the best blanket he could ask for.
Soon it would be time to leave. Time to go back and play the facade of simply being hero and summoner.
But for now, the two of you could stay a little longer.
#fe gangrel x reader#reblog#birthday wishes :)#thank you againnnn#this is very cool#brain is kinda hurty rn but i really enjlued this tbsnk you again for writing for meee
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YAY ITS MY BIRTHDAY!! I'm 25 today!!
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This is so cute (thank you for linking lock!!) I encourage everyone to do this as well!
i was tagged by @uvobreakmylegs and @anantaru to do this little cosmic persona thingy !!! i am apparently a light cone ... i can vibe with that. the link is here to anyone who wants to give it a shot as well!!
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ROUND 3 MATCH 28
Seteth propaganda:
“Mmm green dilf”
“Now he may just seem like a typical vice principal at catholic school for war criminals. But in reality he’s way more than that. He is really nice, and at sometimes overprotective over his daughter Flayn but he has a good reason for it. But in supports with other students he serves as a father figure to a bunch of traumatized teens. While being a traumatized dad himself. You may ask “how is he dateable?” Well Dilf. A man who’s a good dad is a man you can trust. And he enjoys writing stories too.”
"
The man literally looks at your character, who has been continually manipulated by almost everyone around them and had absolutely zero control over the course their life has taken and in his A support scene says "where I go and what I do will depend wholly on you" and "our future is yours to determine" AND HE MEANS IT and for a person who has so so little control over their whole life it just really hits home how much he cares about them to let them drive their own future. Like this man is willing to turn his back on his own family member for them after he learns how much said family member has manipulated the MC's life and I just 🤌🤌🤌 we love someone willing to stand up to their own toxic family members and tell them that what they've done is wrong
And when he proposes he says "But there is one thing I want to make sure you understand beyond any doubt… I am not proposing to you out of a sense of duty, nor a desire to perpetuate our bloodline. I want this because I am in love with you. I cannot conceive of a world without you in it." (because he and the MC are two of the last remaining people of their species, which was a part of the manipulation from his family member, so he just continues to reassure the MC that he just wants them not what they could give him) AND I JUST LOVE THIS MAN SO MUCH IT'S SO IMPORTANT TO HIM THAT THE MC KNOWS EXACTLY HOW HE FEELS AND WHY AND HE'S NEVER HAD ULTERIOR MOTIVES TO GETTING TO KNOW THEM UNLIKE LITERALLY ALMOST EVERYONE ELSE IN THEIR LIFE 😭😭😭"
Emperor propaganda:
"- has tentacles ;)
- I like him 🥺"
#if seteth loses we've failed as a people#i understand wanting to fuck a mind flaylr but any other one than the emporor *please*
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Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]
Title: Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One: The Last Day] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]
Synopsis: Years ago, you were the captive of a serial killer named Strade. And you weren't the only one he kept. After Strade was killed by one of his victims, you ran away--and now your past is finally catching up with you. Chapter one is set during Boyfriend to Death.
Word count: 6352
Chapter notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, past noncon, graphic violence, descriptions of blood, violence and gore, descriptions of death (not reader)
AO3 LINK
She was crying again. Well, no wonder. There were holes in her feet, dotting the top of her thighs. Blood had dribbled down from the gored holes in her flesh like little streams, then dried out.
The thin, wavy dried out trickles made you think, abruptly, of unfettered period blood, then of Carrie by Stephen King. The scene in the shower, where she gets her period and freaks out. The other girls threw tampons and sticky pads at her and shrieked, chanting, bonded by a morbid commiseration of the entrance to so-called womanhood: Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!
Plug it up, you thought.
But she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her hands were bound behind her. Did he tie them back like that so that she couldn’t try to hurt him, or because it gave him easier access to her flesh? Maybe a bit of both.
She looked uglier when she cried. Snot bubbled out of her nose and joined a dried streak of blood that went from her nose down to her chin. Her nose was probably broken, hence the blood; the flesh of it was black and blue and an awful shade of green.
One part of you longed to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and hold it to the bruised, swollen flesh. Hush her cries. Give her an ounce of humanity that might carry her for another few hours, the way Ren once did to you.
Another part of you, the new you forged under Strade’s knife (and boots and hammers and power drill) wished she’d just die already, so you wouldn’t have to hear her cry or be standing here obediently, waiting for Strade to come back down. You were probably going to have to participate in this next stream–why else would he call you down in the middle of one of his “projects”?
Unless he was lonely. But even so, he could always kill two birds with one stone. You, here to give him company; and you, here to entertain his horrid audience. And himself, above all. Himself, always.
The basement door at the top of the stairs creaked open and you heard his heavy bootsteps–thump, thump, thump–before he called out jovially.
“Are you still there, Liebling? You didn’t run off, did you?”
As if you were stupid enough to do that. You were many things now. Stressed. Afraid. Desperate. Tired. More selfish. Maybe a little bit masochistic, a trick of your brain to keep you from totally losing your mind as you were tortured. All these things and more besides, but stupid was not one of them.
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” You called back, lightening your tone. It was important not to sound too scared. Strade wanted you scared, yes, but he didn’t want you to be some obedient, squeaky little mouse. That was too boring. It was best to act as normally as you could, considering the circumstances. That seemed to please him more, at least on most days. Some days nothing you did was right and you went to bed with a swollen eye and broken fingers, eased by frozen peas that Ren snuck you from the kitchen before he went to sleep.
You’re not the only one who noticed him coming down. The woman in front of you began to tremble and sob more violently, pulling at her bound wrists. It wouldn’t do any good. It never did. How long did she have to live? How long did any of you in this house have to live?
By the time Strade made it down the stairs, her cries were practically at a fever-pitch. You didn’t want to look to see what he’d run off to fetch, but he didn’t give you a choice.
He called your name. “Come here, darling, I need your help with this.” And oh, you kept your eyes downcast until all you could see was his boots. But then it was time to look up, and you did, and no matter how many times you witnessed him preparing to torture another person, it still made your stomach roil.
He’d brought down a p[ot of boiling water, which he carefully held by the handle with both hands. Tucked underneath his armpit was the bag of frozen peas. The bag, you thought, because for as long as you’d been here, no one ever cooked them. They got passed around between you and Ren under cover of night.
Here they were, in the light of day. You suspect you wouldn’t want to re-use them after this.
“Be my Lamm and take the peas, won’t you?” The sensible part of you eyed him warily; it wouldn’t be below him to toss the pot of boiling water at you while you reached for them, just to fuck with you. But you didn’t disobey him, either. You carefully leaned over and slid the bag from underneath his armpit, and held it in your hand.
He smiled. Grinned, really, which was a bad sign for the sobbing woman tied to the pole. His good moods and bad moods were both equally shitty, but in your unfortunately well-experienced opinion, it was his good moods that produced the most painful scenarios.
“Now!” He crouched down in front of the crying woman and grabbed her chin. She shrieked and tried to jerk her face away, but he held her tight. “I’m sure your wounds are sore, aren’t they?” She sobbed out something–meaningless pleading that you’d long since lost the ability to discern–and he tsked.
“Oh, poor thing. I know just what might help!” He snapped his fingers and looked back at you. “My lovely friend here will give you some ice to help you feel better. Won’t you?” He grinned wider and you nodded, feeling both scared and numb in a confusingly equal measure, as you crouched down next to him.
She yelped when you placed the frozen bag on a group of puncture wounds on her thigh, but you held it fast. It probably hurt more than it soothed. An icy bag right up against wounded skin didn’t sound pleasant. But maybe it would numb it a little. That might be better than nothing.
“Perfect! Now…” He reached over and picked up the steaming pot of water, still bubbling from its boil on the stove. “Hold still, my Lamm… wouldn’t want to splash you.”
It was so strange, the way that your time with Strade had made it possible for you to actually keep your hand there, despite the fact that you knew he was about to pour boiling water on the skin of this poor woman. Pour it right where it would surely splash on you a little, if not a lot. Probably a lot. Two birds, one stone, and all that.
It didn’t matter if it was strange. Your fingers flexed and your muscles tensed as you saw him turn the pot over slowly, and steaming water came flying down, pouring over the woman’s wounds.
She screamed. It was loud. It hurt your ears. The irritation of it distracted you from seeing Strade move the pot around so that the water trailed over the frozen peas–and your hand keeping it pressed against her–as he covered her thigh in the water.
“Fuck!” You said, biting your cheek hard. Your fingers danced on the bag but you didn’t dare pull away. You could see your own skin turning a shade of red. Her thighs had taken the brunt of it, though. There were even blisters forming on her skin already as she sobbed and cried and begged for someone, anyone, to help her.
You were someone. You were anyone.
You couldn’t help her.
“Language, liebchen,” Strade said, teasingly. You mumbled out an apology, although you doubt he actually cared.
He sighed when the pot was emptied, and tossed it on the floor.
“I don’t know… I just don’t think it’s enough. Do you?” He grasped your burned hand and you couldn’t stifle the sound of yelping pain as he gripped it hard. Your skin would blister too–it was already peeling a little.
“What…whatever you think is best,” you stammered.
“That’s right,” he said, grinning. He gave your hand a squeeze and you groaned. “I think I’ll work a little more on this project myself before dinner.” He let your fingers go, and you cradled your hand against your chest. “Have Ren take care of that. Come back down when it’s wrapped up.” his free hand grabbed the chin of the sobbing, bleeding, blistered woman again. “I think we’ll make a movie, and I need my prettiest co-star to help me out.”
“Of course.” You gave her one half-pitiful glance–the way her frightened, bloodshot eyes darted to you with a mixture of anger and pity made you want to hurl–and went up the stairs.
By the time you’d made it to the top, you already heard Strade pulling out his video equipment.
—
“It… doesn’t look too bad,” Ren said quietly. He held your hand underneath the sink, letting the cold water soothe your burn. But every time your hand trembled and the stream went just out of reach, it burned again, and you winced.
“Most of it hit her thigh,” you whispered. Though you didn’t need to, since both of you were well aware that Strade was busy in the basement. Old habits die hard, however. “She got it worse.”
Ren hummed. “They usually do.” He told you to keep your hand in place while he fumbled in the cabinet under the sink, looking for supplies. “I don’t know if he has–oh!” His ears twitched and perked up as he found what he’d been looking for.
It was a tube of burn relief ointment. He flipped it over and read the back, mumbling all the while. “It’s expired but…”
You smiled, just a little, and finished his sentence for him.
“Better than nothing, right?”
Ren smiled, and you caught sight of his tail curling behind him as he turned off the sink and told you to sit down on the toilet so she could wrap you up.
Was it wrong that some of the most pleasant moments in this house, if you could call them pleasant, were with Ren? Especially quiet moments like this, where he took care of you, or you took care of him. You were both well acquainted with fixing up the results of your time with Strade by now.
He’d cleaned out deep cuts on your back, and you’d iced and splinted his broken toes. He let you curl up in his nest of a bed after a particularly awful night of torture, and you let him slide under your covers when he’d had an nightmare about the last time Strade made him kill someone.
It was transactional in some ways, you supposed. But when you saw his ears perk up or his tail swoosh or the way his eyes seemed to light with something genuine behind them while you talked with him, you realized it wasn’t all practical. It couldn’t be. Not when you were in this together.
Ren made quick work of bandaging your hand. The cream was smoothed over the reddened, flaking parts of your skin and he wrapped your hand up with a bandage. It hurt, still, but nothing to write home about. Hah! As if you’d ever be allowed to write home.
Hell, if by some miracle you could write home, how would you even word the letter?
“Dear mom and dad, last night my captor-who-also-fucks me made me keep my hand on a table while he hammered nails underneath my fingernails and asked me which one hurt the most. P.S. The milk in the fridge is expired and he’s threatening to make me or Ren drink it because of the waste.”
The thought made you snort. Ren looked up from his spot on the floor, where he’d taken to impromptu digging through the cabinet to look for some undisclosed item.
“What’s funny?”
You mulled it over. Sometimes, you didn’t like to tell Ren what you were thinking. You trusted him, to an extent. You liked him, to an extent. You were friends, to an extent. How far did that extent go? It depended.
He was here first, and sometimes, the tension between the two of you was too taut and fraught to ignore. There was always that underlying worry, an electric buzz you couldn’t turn off all the way: what if Strade decided he didn’t want two captives? Or what if he felt two was his limit, and he wanted to bring someone new in?
Which one of you would get the ax–literally?
But this was maybe not the type of thing that Ren might murmur to Strade in a moment of weakness. It was harmless, wasn’t it, to make a joke about writing home?
“I was just imagining what I might write home in a letter to my parents.” You flexed your bandaged hand. “I mean, if we were allowed to write home.”
“Like from a summer camp?” Ren asked. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them.
“I guess,” you replied, smiling a little. “Although this would be one…” Fucked up, disgusting, hellish– “Specialty summer camp.”
Ren snorted a little. “Definitely not like the ones in movies.”
“Maybe horror movies,” you added with a grin. One of your front teeth–not from the center two, thank hell–was missing now, so you rarely grinned. But it felt different when it was just you and Ren alone. It was okay to let him see those imperfections, because he had them too. Maybe not missing teeth, but…
“Sleepaway Camp!” He blurted. “Or Friday the 13th…”
You started to open your mouth, ready to tell him that you once saw a screening of the first Friday the 13th at a summer camp, when an all-too-familiar sound came wafting up from the cracked open basement door.
“Liebling! It doesn’t take that long to bandage a little burn! I hope I don't have to come get you.”
Ren’s tail went straight up at the sound of Strade’s voice. The sing-song nature of his words did not hide the danger in them. If you had a tail, yours would be standing stock straight too. But your body had to make do with your muscles tensing and your bowels clenching hard.
“I have to go,” you murmured, hopping off the toilet seat.
You paused in the doorway. Ren had his knees hugged to his chest, his ears flat against his head. No doubt he was wondering if Strade would call him down, too. Or if he’d be pissed off about something and take it out on Ren later.
“Thanks for patching me up, Ren.” His ears twitched, and he glanced up at you. “Really, I mean it.” You smiled–grinned, showing off one of your missing teeth. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”
His tail relaxed a little and he smiled back, an almost puppy-like grin crossing his expression for a moment, and it was enough to give you some vague emotional relief as you left the bathroom before Strade was forced to come up the stairs and retrieve you.
–
She wouldn’t last another day. That much was clear. Her blood was everywhere now. On the floor. Smeared on her skin. On Strade’s hands–on yours.
Of course he’d made you participate. You were his lovely assistant, after all. Although he always said Ren was better at the work, when it came down to it. You were too prone to trembling and hesitation. To say nothing of your occasional habit of vomiting at the sight of anything more than blood–guts, in particular, were your weakness.
Hers, too, by the way she quivered at the sight of the large hunting knife Strade twirled in his hands.
“I think this has gone on long enough. Don’t you, Schatz?” He looked back at you with a thoughtful smile. “Shall we end it?”
Without thinking much, you nodded. Yes, it had gone on long enough. Yes, you wanted her to just die already. Yes, you wanted to go over to the sink and scrub your hands until they were pruney and wrinkled and there was no trace of her visceral fluids on your skin.
“Go on,” he told you, gesturing at the trembling woman. Covered in cuts and gouges and burns. Where there had been dried blood earlier today, there were now smears of fresh gore. From Strade’s boots and the knife. Strade had even taken a blow torch to the burns caused by the boiling water, making them go from peeling and red to a series of gouged, pus-like craters in her flesh.
Cold seeped into your socks from the floor as you walked over to her. She regarded you with dull, dying eyes. She opened her mouth, maybe to say something, but whatever word she might have come up with wouldn’t come. Her swollen, bruised lip trembled as blood dribbled out of it.
One of the handcuff keys was taped to the back of the poll. Strade always liked to keep extras around, in case he lost the original but still wanted to uncuff someone. He usually didn’t uncuff people unless they were being bound in some other way (usually not a good sign) or he was just about finished with them (definitely a bad sign); and in this case, you knew she was being released only to make killing her a little more fun.
Her hands flopped forward as soon as the cuffs were undone. There was a brief moment where you saw her regard her wrists, all reddened and cut from where the metal handcuffs dug into them.
But the moment was over as soon as Strade stepped forward and pulled her close with a decisive yank of her hair. She yelped–you were surprised she had the yelp in her, her voice should have been shot from all the screaming–and he twisted her hair tight to keep her still.
“It’s been fun, but it’s time to go now. Don’t take this personally, hm? Or do, actually, it might make you feel better.”
She didn’t have time to respond. He rarely wanted them to say anything, you thought. It was just part of his internal script, a set of syllables that gave him extra pleasure as he snuffed out someone’s internal light.
He stuck the hunting knife into her gut and twisted. She didn’t scream. She barely shouted. The sound, instead, was one of strangled horror. Like she couldn’t believe what was happening to her. He twisted again, and she grunted and gasped, a sound that was almost like a deep, gaping hiccup.
“Shh,” he murmured, a sick grin splitting his face. His eyes darted over her face, and you got a front-row view of how his expression was gleefully illuminated by the sight of her own life fading away. He enjoyed it so much, he even let go of the knife handle so that he could grasp her face with both hands and keep her dying gaze in his sights.
Who was she? What had she been, before the basement? Was she thinking about her friends, her family? Did she have children that were going to be left behind? Maybe she was in college, maybe she’d been studying for exams that would never happen. There would be uneaten prepared lunches in her fridge, a bookmark that would never move past a certain page.
Her hands went tremblingly to the handle of the knife sticking out of her. She held the handle tenderly with bruised, bloody hands. Didn’t Strade see it? No, he was too focused on her face. But he didn’t even see the way her expression shifted.
No, he saw it. But maybe he didn’t know what it meant, because he’d never been on the other end. The way she went from looking confused and horrified to determined.
She didn’t act right away.
You could have said something. You could have called out a warning.
But instead you watched as the dying woman yanked the knife out of her gut, viscera and blood coming out with it, and stabbed it right into Strade’s neck.
He gasped now. A gaping, strangled sound. His hands went instinctively to his neck and it took him a few slow, trembling tries to pull it out. You saw the blood arch and spurt–an artery–and he fell to his knees.
The woman stepped away with what must have been her last ounce of energy. She had only enough life left in her to turn to you and smile–she was missing teeth, too–before she collapsed on the ground. She was still alive, but her shock would come soon after.
It wasn’t her you were watching, anyway. It was Strade.
His eyes darted to and fro until they landed on you. He had his hand pressed against the wound now, but it wasn’t doing much good. He would need a proper compress… an ambulance… surgery of some kind.
You don’t know why you called him. To help Strade? To help you?
“Ren.”
Not loud enough.
“Ren.”
Still not loud enough.
“Ren!”
Before you knew it, you were simply screaming his name, filling the basement with a different pitch of scream than it was used to. Your own voice was barely recognizable.
The basement door slammed open and you heard frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs. You saw Ren, only a blur of orange in your shock, take in the scene. His own mouth slowly gaped open, but unlike Strade and the unfortunate woman on the floor and your own panting lips, no sound came out.
Ren said your name. You think it was Ren, because Strade was surely in no position to talk. It shook you out of your stupor and you ran to him, clinging to his arm, crying fitfully. He wrapped one arm around you and the two of you stood, together, watching Strade bleed.
“What do we do?” The inside of your elbow pressed hard against Ren’s back as you held him. You wanted to snuggle, like the way you did on good nights. You wanted him to make it all go away.
Maybe he sensed this. Because while the two of you had clung together in so many occasions, this time, he stood up taller. He held you tighter. And then he assessed the situation.
Ren watched Strade quietly for a long moment. Strade gazed up at him–at you, too, but mostly Ren–with wide-eyed helplessness. The look didn’t suit him at all. He seemed to know it.
“Help me,” Strade managed. It almost didn’t feel like speech. Maybe the knife had grazed his vocal chords.
Neither of you moved at first. There was a long moment in which either of you could have sprung into action; could have ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed thick gauze to press against the wound, while the other could have bounded up the stairs to call an ambulance.
But you didn’t. And Ren didn’t.
And then Ren looked at you, and took a step backward. He pulled you with him, and you went willingly, taking another step, and another, until the two of you were standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“You…” Strade gurgled out the word, and blood came bubbling out in between the fingers pressed against his neck with it. “You…”
He didn’t get to finish. His eyes widened and you saw the light leave them before he collapsed on the floor.
For the first time since you’d been brought here, the basement was truly silent.
Strade was dead.
Neither of you moved for a while. And then you felt a hoarse sob coming on. Relief, terror, and shock coursed through you, fighting for the surface in a way that could only result in tears.
Ren regarded you with an unreadable expression and slowly removed his arm from your shoulder. You whimpered–don’t leave me, you wanted to say–and he smiled, a soft, little thing.
“Don’t worry. I’m just going to make sure he’s dead.”
Oh. That was a good idea. But what if he wasn’t? What if Strade got to his feet and oh, the two of you would be in for it. He’d probably kill both of you–or at least you–and it would be slow and awful and you’d beg, beg, for death.
“Ren,” you said, almost stammering, swallowing a thick lump in your throat.
He turned back towards you, curious.
You pointed to the table of tools at Strade’s disposal. “Take something. Just in case.”
Ren stared at the weapons that had been used to kill countless people. At the blades and torches and nails that had been used to hurt him, and you. Then he grabbed a heavy hammer and slowly approached the bleeding corpse (please let it be a corpse) of Strade.
Strade didn’t move as Ren approached him. Or when Ren knelt down, hammer at the ready. Or when Ren’s fingers slowly reached out and pressed against his neck, his wrist.
“No pulse,” said Ren.
Ren set the hammer down and used both hands to shove Strade’s body until it was fully on his back. His eyes, dull and dead, stared up at the ceiling without seeing anything.
He was dead. Truly dead.
Really most sincerely dead, your thoughts echoed in a half-mimic of the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz.
You barely registered Ren digging around in Strade’s pocket before he returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he began to lead you upstairs.
“Let’s not stay down here,” he said. He gave Strade’s corpse one last look before staring ahead at the basement door. How many times had the two of you gone up and down these stairs at Strade’s whim? It always meant you would get hurt, or you would help Strade hurt others. It was never willing, going up these stairs. Never a choice.
And now the two of you were going up them together, Ren leading you, of your own free will.
Free will! What a concept. One you thought you’d lost forever. And yet here it is, given by the hands of a woman whose last days were filled with unnecessary, unfair agony. You wish you knew her name, so you could thank her properly.
Ren shut the basement door. It sounded louder than it ever had before. Or was it because the house was so quiet now?
“Come here,” Ren said. And you didn’t know why he said it–shock, confusion, uncertainty still reigned–until you saw what was in his hand.
His collar. It was… off. But how and–
Ren held up the key he’d taken from Strade’s pocket and shook it back and forth, like a well-earned prize. That’s what it was, in some ways.
You stepped towards Ren and turned around, breathing heavily at the thought of being truly free from the collar. Strade only took them off the pair of you when you were showering and, once you had learned to behave well enough, when you slept. But they always went back on first thing in the morning, and their threat was an ever-constant presence in your mind, just like the metal was ever-constant around your neck.
Ren’s fingers brushed the back of your shoulder. You heard him breathing just as heavily. For a moment, he didn’t do anything. Wasn’t he going to…?
“Ren?” You asked, voice quivering. The air felt suddenly too heavy, your collar weighing you down more than normal. There was an awful thought, then: What if he doesn’t take your collar off? What if Ren is… what if, what if…
But then you felt the pressure from him sticking the key into the back of the metal contraption, heard it twist, and felt cool relief on your neck as Ren lifted the collar away from your neck and set it down on the coffee table.
Both hands went to your neck. The skin was sensitive, bruised. A few days ago, Strade had come into your room at night for a session of “fun,” which ended with you being choked into unconsciousness. You’d woken up to Ren splashing cold water on your face. “Thought I’d lost you,” he’d said.
The bruises Strade gave you would fade away in time. At least the ones on the outside.
And Ren…
You turned around and gave him a fractured smile. You leaned in, and Ren leaned in, and you hugged each other tenderly. Not just because it was the nicest way to hug, but because Ren’s rib fracture was still healing, and your back hurt, and both of you were littered with scars and cuts and bumps and bruises.
After a while, Ren pulled away. “Let’s… sit down.”
He sat down on the sofa, which was dotted with sprinkles of Ren’s orange fur; no matter how much you lint-rolled the furniture, you could never quite get all of it out.
Well, that didn’t matter now. You’d never have to clean up this living room, or the kitchen, or the brain matter and blood stains in the basement, again. You could go home.
And Ren could go home.
And the nightmare would be over.
For now, you sat, side by side, on a sofa that had never seemed more ordinary. The house had never seemed more ordinary. Its secrets were primarily down in the basement. The rest of the house was bland and boring by comparison. Unless you counted upstairs, as it was not unheard of for Strade to take his particular brand of “fun” into your respective rooms.
And now? It was quiet. Still. There was no chance that Strade would come walking up the stairs. No chance that you’d be called down them to torture someone.
Certainly no chance that he’d call both of you down, which never ended well. He liked to see Ren hurt you, because it seemed to hurt Ren. But sometimes, sometimes, you thought… there was a glimmer of something in Ren’s eyes in those moments.
Something that reminded you too much of pleasure to ignore. Just a spark of it, but that was enough, when you were bound to a table and he was clawing open your thighs at Strade’s behest.
“Ren?” You forced yourself to stop thinking like that. That was the past. This was now. No, more than that: this was the future. A future without Strade, without this house, without pain.
Ren looked over at you, slowly. The realization of what had just happened, and what it meant, seemed to be catching up to him, too. “... Yeah?”
Your fingers scratched at some of Ren’s stray fur on the couch. Some of the orange fur had already started clinging to your bandage.
“What do we do now?” A simple question for you to ask. Several plans rushed through your head but it was hard to make sense of them. What was the best course to take; which authorities did you appeal to, when there was a dead serial killer and one of his victims in the basement, but your hands were on the torture tools, yet the same tools had been used to hurt you?
You swallowed hard, shaking your head, willing the dizzying thoughts to quiet down. “Do we call the police first? Or… an ambulance? Or–or–”
Ren gripped the hand that idly scratched the couch. He intertwined his fingers in yours, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were wide. And just a bit wild.
“We could stay here.”
Your heart thudded. Once, twice. A third time.
“What?” You shifted on the couch, facing Ren more clearly. “We… we can’t, it’s–”
Ren squeezed your hand, a little too hard–the burn–and you winced. He didn’t let up, but he didn’t know you were hurting, did he? It was all just a rush right now, confusing, scary.
“We can,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. His mouth broke into an almost childish grin as he continued. “Strade’s got a lot of money, we can use that to keep up the bills. Buy whatever we want. We won’t have to worry about anything!” His tail swished behind him, thumping into your side.
When you didn’t respond–words weren’t coming–his grin deflated a little. “I’m… I’m a good roommate,” he said, ears flattening. “I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed even tighter now. “We’ll do everything together, and we don’t have to worry about Strade getting mad about it. We’ll watch movies or-or play games or whatever you want.” He swallowed and you watched his throat bob. “And I promise I won’t leave fur everywhere.”
“Ren–” It was your turn to give his hand a squeeze, and you took his other in your free hand and clasped them both. “I’m not worried about your fur.”
His ears perked up and his smile came back.
“It’s… we can’t stay here,” you said, voice wobbling but gaining more firmness as you went on. “We need to leave. We need to call the police.”
Ren’s ears twitched. He looked thoughtful, opening his mouth, and shutting it. He was just confused, that’s all. Like you were. He needed to be reminded that if Strade was gone, the both of you were free. You’d go home, and he’d go home, and you could call or text or email or something but…
“Don’t be stupid.”
The firmness in Ren’s voice shook you a little. More than that, it made you worry. He frowned at the sight of your tense shoulders, the quirk in your mouth. “Think about it,” he said, gently saying your name. “Remember all the people who watch his videos? Don’t you know who’s in those chats?”
The reminder of the chatrooms came hurtling straight into your guts. The chat… the people there paid money to watch people suffer. Watch them die. How many times had they encouraged Strade to indulge in some fucked up torture? Hell, they’d asked him countless times to string you up, cut you open, pull out your guts while you were still alive. Strade had danced away the requests with a teasing lilt, but the threat was never gone.
Ren let go of your bandaged hand and gently cupped your cheek. He spoke slowly, almost sweetly. “They’re rich. Important. Mayors. Politicians. Doctors. Police.”
The anguish your stomach began to stretch. Ren didn’t stop talking.
“They know both our faces. Do you know what they’ll do to us, if they find us?”
Tears pricked, unwanted and unbidden, at your eyes. He was right. You couldn’t go to the police. You couldn’t go to the media. This could never get out. But that didn’t mean you had to stay here. More than that: you couldn’t stay here.
It would be another type of collar, to find yourself stuck here with Ren. And the collar might not be electric, but it would be just as dangerous.
“Okay,” you said slowly. “No police.”
Ren grinned hopefully.
“But,” you continued. “We can’t stay here. I want to go home. And you–you get to go home now, too.” Ren had never talked much about his life before Strade, but surely he had friends. A family. An apartment or a house. A life. Just like you.
“You want to leave–” His voice was thin and there was a fissure in it, ready to crack.
The hand on your cheek pressed harder, and you felt the thin press of his claws against your skin. Your eyes must have widened or perhaps you flinched, you don’t know, but Ren saw–and yanked away.
“S-Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”
No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He was upset, he was scared, hell, you didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry or start belting out show tunes right now.
Freedom was confusing as hell.
“I know,” you said, slowly. “It’s okay.”
Ren stared down at the ground. Then he stood up and fished Strade’s keyring out of his pocket and set it down on the coffee table with a jingling rattle.
“I’m going to get us some water. And maybe a snack. We’ll… we’ll talk about this more. We can talk about it, and not make a decision right away. Okay?” He fumbled with both his hands in front of him, looking like the meek young man you’d met that first night, when he cleaned your wounds and gave you water to drink.
You stared at him, perhaps for too long.
“Okay, Ren, we’ll talk about it,” you lied.
You watched him walk into the kitchen, where Strade would never saunter in for a case of beer again. You heard him open the cabinet for an empty glass, none of which would ever again find themselves dashed into tiny shards that could be ground into your skin for fun.
And then you leaned forward, grabbed the keyring off the countertop, pulled out the key to the front door, and softly padded your way to the threshold that neither of you had been able to cross in ages.
Your heart thudded. Your stomach heaved. But you unlocked the door and bolted, socked feet aching on the concrete sidewalk.
Ren said your name after the third step you took beyond the door of Strade’s house of horrors.
You could have kept running. Maybe you should have.
But instead, you turned around, to look at Ren standing in the doorway. There were no glasses of water in his hand–you don’t remember registering the sound of the sink at all, in fact. It was just Ren, with his hands at his sides, looking at you with an expression that was equally pitiful, agonizing, and worrying.
He said your name again.
You felt hot tears squeeze out of your eyes as you shook your head, turned around, and ran for your life.
#reblog#yandere#boyfriend to death#ren x reader#theo youve done it again i am SO excited to see more of this!!#the little details make this... ugh im so excited
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💝 🍫Happy Valentine’s Day 🍫💝
💖 Who will be your Valentine? Take a screenshot 📸 and find out! ⤵️⤵️
⚠️Content warning!! Flashing Image ⚠️
BONUS: Risotto V-Card with bad iron joke
#reblog#Yay i got risotto!!#its fate hehe...#hmm I was just gonna play more rust when i got home but maybe i write a little something
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In honor of the new banner (IKE AND SOREN YES) may I ask for Soren with “Uh..w-will you be my Valentine?”, if you think that would work? Tysm!!!
This one was so much fun!! I wrote it in the car but it’s very cute… can you beleive this was my first request for Soren? How sad!!
Edit: this just in; mobile tumblr sucks why can’t I save things to my drafts.
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Ike x Reader Day of Devotion
This was a commission for anon, for a 1000 word story of Ike and his crush being generally cute/flustered at the day of Devotion fair. The final piece is 1240 words!
“You know that there are fairs like this back in my world?” You were strolling along with Ike, though he really just felt like he was following you around like a lost puppy, unable to tell you what he had been wanting to the entire day. He could curse his skills when it came to expressing feelings but.. he was too nervous to really even be mad at himself. At least he could thank himself for still being able to act somewhat normal around you.
“Really? Is it for the Day of Devotion too?” Ike tried not to speak with his mouth full, but really he wanted to occupy his mouth so he didn’t end up saying something stupid to you. You didn’t seem to mind his silence, or stuffed “mm hm” replies, though.
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Pairing: Ranulf x reader
Prompt: Day of devotion cuteness with an added twist of mixed up traditions!
Description: Having only recently got together with Ranulf, you’re more then a little nervous to celebrate the day of Devotion with him. Ranulf, however, is more than happy to share in traditions with you, even if they aren’t necessarily for the right holiday…
Rating: sfw
Content Warning: Nothing really, it’s a pretty cute fic in my opinion
Word Count: 1540
Notes: This is a commission for anon! It was such a cute idea and I’m sorry it took me so long to get to writing it. Between work and getting back on lexapro, writing has been kinda difficult… until I got sick for a week and found some time sdlkfjdlkfj
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You fiddle with the material of your clothing, pulling the long material and watching as it slowly gathers again at your feet. It was once again the Day of Devotion but… this year, you had someone to celebrate with. The thought made you as happy as it did nervous.
“Boo!” You jump as a voice startles you from your thoughts. You turn behind you, finding the grinning face of you partner.
“Ranulf!” You cry, pout on your features. “You scared me, geez.” You let out a smile sigh at his grin.
“Well, tis the season right?” He chuckles softly. “Now, where’s my treat?” He adds, coming in close to you.
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